My Obligatory Inaugural Post Here On This Day Of... Whatever
Greetings and salutations, ye olde Internet!
It is I, William Andrew. Hainline, and after forty two years of gestation in the guts of American society's subconscious mind, I have emerged as a projection of its eerie id, here to haunt you and cavort with your demons. Nah, not really. I'm mainly here for the cake. Er, I was told there would be cake. There is cake, right? No? No cake? Well, fuck. Guess I showed up for nothing, then. Oh well. Since I'm here, I might as well kick back, have a Coke, prop up my feet, and write something meaningful here on this blog. Because that's what this is—my blog. I intend to talk about things here that are important to me. Things like writing, literature, art, politics, science, and imagination. Especially imagination. Because that is important . . . oh so important. Without imagination, we're just stumbling drunk monkeys, scratching our butts and wondering where all the bananas went and why we bothered to come down from the trees in the first place, right? Right. We're a race of dreamers and explorers, and that's what we're meant to do—dream and explore. Everything else is just a life-support system for those two functions. And that's why science fiction and fantasy are important as genres of literature. They reinforce that drive, that imperative. They teach us to go out there, kick some ass, and come back with whatever we find; to sit it down, poke it and prod it, ask it questions, and wonder about what else we might find. Even in the dark days of Donald Trump and his minions (and these are, mark my words, some very dark fucking days, my friends), we cannot give up hope that there exists, ours for the taking, a better world somewhere out there in tomorrowland, a world waiting for us to claim it and build it, create it out of discovery and invention, out of human ingenuity and creativity, to forge it out of raw imagination and endurance and good old fashioned hard damn work. We can't let go of that hope. If we do, we're toast, and Donald wins by default. Do you want Donald to win? I don't. No way. So stand up. Dust yourself off, and dust off your telescope and your typewriter (okay, word processor, whatever, I'm old). Get ready to resist. Do so through your art if you have no other means. Do so through imagination. Do so by having the guts to dream of something better, and then act on that dream. Write about it, and share it with others. Work toward it. Create it. Build it. After all, "if you build it, they will come." And that's why I'm making this blog. To build something. To make something. To send out a beacon in the night. To beam my own signal into the darkness, and to see what bounces back. Hey . . . it can't hurt to give it a try, can it?