Welcome to Wm Bishop's Pages
Explore my writings, photographs, and creative journey through multiple engaging pages.
About Wm Bishop
After retiring from a career as a machine designer and computer programmer, I decided to turn back to my writings.
My first short story, What the West Wind Saw, was published in the Calliope quarterly journal.
My short story Death of an Ugly Woman was published in the Farm to Foul Play anthology of the Capitol Crimes writing group.
Mud Bubbles
(where I allow myself to bloviate on occasion)
Who, What, When, Where, Why….
WHY is it that each of these questioning words begin with a ‘wh’ combination? Why would I even ask such a question? As a young adult, my favorite newspaper columnist was Art Hoppe, who wrote political satire for the San Francisco Chronicle. He once explained how he would obtain inspiration. Explained that he would read two or three newspapers until he found a story that defied rational explanation—which he would then proceed to explain using his own sense of twisted logic.
It seems that every human culture has had need of its own creation myth. While a student at Humboldt State (many years ago) I had occasion to study the philosophies of the Indian Subcontinent. I was especially taken by the Hindu creation myth. Not the myth itself, so much, but rather its preface. As I now remember it, the myth was introduced by a brief statement that ran something like: “We don’t really know how it all started, because we weren’t there. However, if we had been there, we’re pretty sure it went something like this….”
All this reminds me of Vonnegut’s The Cat’s Cradle. His concept of foma: a lie, a harmless untruth that leads people to behave decently. You’ll have to read the book to get a more accurate definition of foma.
So, foma. As in creation myths. Harmless untruths—could not discussions of reality be considered foma as well? In my later years I have come to dabble in creating chocolate candies. When I would hand-temper chocolate, I would use a quick-reading thermometer to monitor the temperature of the melted chocolate. As I stirred the bowl, the readout would come: 86 degrees; 87 degrees; 85 degrees. It all depended on where I stuck the thermometer. So what was the temperature of the chocolate? Does reality depend on where I take my samples?
In his book The Case Against Reality Donald Hoffman argues that reality is not what we think it is. And if reality is not what we think it is, then what is it? Foma, it’s all foma. Foma, all the way down….
WHY not?
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