Author Archive: Nate Carroll

Our Place in the Cosmos

If the goal of species-prolonging interstellar exploration ever reaches a common political consensus, I think the ideals of electorates will grow to a point where they “realize” that our running away from the ways the universe will inevitably kill us, is essentially “worthless.” Of course this won’t be an objective truth or something I endorse, but that will likely be the next pseudo-intellectual resistance to terrestrial habitation: We’re going to die anyway…so fuck it. Let’s just fix things, here, now, while we can. However you want to spruce that up with language. And unless there is a surge of scientific literacy then that will be the beginning of the end. It will drive our cognition back towards religion because we can’t stand the idea of being just a fragment of space/time that will never again find itself or the universe intelligible. We’ll perhaps never find common comfort in the grumblings of those who insist a planet, a star, a sun exemplify the same concept of formation, death, and restructure in a system of matter governed by the laws of physics as we know them. The idea of heaven or conscious, personified reincarnation will keep our species content with dying on our birth planet millenia before we otherwise should have. (more…)

Drunken Fridge Rants

Nearly six months have passed since our initial exchange.  The dust has settled.  The tides have shifted, the very planets have elongated their elliptical orbits, and as the world waits with baited breath, I still find myself at a loss for anything even remotely poetic to start with.  Perhaps it’s fitting to leave the more scrupulous semantics to Mr. Chevalier since it is his sentiments conveyed in The Backstage Controversy which I’ve come here to debate, today.  In deciding a direction with my own response, I was left with a bit of assumptive measures needing to be taken, as it was difficult to distinguish the intentions of the targeted thesis.  After much deliberation, it seems Simon proposes the teaching of evolution as fact within our school systems is an extreme disservice to our young people because of a number of questionable issues which challenge the legitimacy of the concept as a whole.  To clarify, for Chevalier, it seems not just the misconceptions or inaccuracies of evolutionary evidence past, which detract from proper evolutionary teaching, but rather evolutionary teaching which gets in the way of reality.  I’m am here to not only suggest that evolutionists have more than answered these alleged controversies which Backstage so eloquently brings to the table, but also that the issue, even for distinguished theologians, has evolved beyond a debate between evolution as theory or as fact, to its current construct: rationalizing a compatible God in an evolutionary existence.


Story Starter II

See, the thing about getting punched in the face while sleeping is you don’t take it seriously.  One blunt force frog knuckle to the retina and your brain tends to think of that cashier at Bed Linens or even Brenda, good ole fucking Brenda simultaneously filling 3rd shift coffee mugs and fantasies for those poor souls stumbling in after last call.  I’m usually one of them.  If she gave me one night, just one fucking night man, I’d make her my wife.  You can BET that shit.  Ain’t that right, Anthony!  What?  Fuck you man, I’m gonna say something to her next time.  Any hypothetical damsel can fill the role and since no one is actually listening, the brain is free to unleash any embarrassing sincerity, the aggressive over- confidence reserved for whatever your version of Anthony may be.


Story Starter I

“Seriously.  At first I was just gonna drive over and smash my car through your bedroom.  Then I thought ‘Be rational.  Just  go over there and knock on the door.  Then kill him.'”

“What the hell!  Why do you get so mad?”  he asked sheepishly, sweeping up glass from the linoleum and trying to laugh. 

“I don’t KNOW, Jared.  Her tone shifted to a point that scared him again and he thrust himself into his work, as he always did. 

Jared didn’t care about the glass.  He could buy another set of dishes with matching ceramic bowls labelled “soup” on the sides.  Need be, he could live off paper plates and plastic Dixie cups, eating by candle light and pretending he was the last of a native people run off by the white man.

“What are we gonna say when the cops get here?”  His voice inflected as if asking the time or talking of weather.

“It was an accident?” (more…)