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Blog Archive August 2015

The Enigma of Emotions: Before the Time of Emotionally enabled AI

Attachment-1 

The reports from the AI battlefield have been grim for the self-esteem of the human race. We’ve acknowledged defeat with our best chess and poker players left to surrender, and our doctors left in the dust when it comes to medical diagnosis and treatment options. On many fronts, we’ve been routed and in our long retreat, we pull out our last defense—emotions. We are filled with them. Anger, sadness, fear, joy, disgust, trust, surprise, love and hate are emotions most people feel as a reaction of another person, an event, or situation. Or an idea—ones to which we pledge our identity, and ones that threaten that identity.

The idea of AI being with superior cognitive skills with far advanced critical reasoning becoming emotionally equipped with triggers beyond those available to human beings is a cause for discomfort. Such an idea makes people feel uneasy. We are fearful enough of governments and corporations manipulating our emotions. The thought of AI much more capable of emotionally spinning us like a weather vane creates powerful feelings.

As a writer of novels, I spend a great deal of time with fictional characters, describing their emotional reactions to each other and the world. If novelists provide a valuable contribution, it is to enhance the emotional literacy of the reader. Emotions run as scripts through our movies, TV shows, paintings, music, and dance. Authors have a dog in the discussion about AI developing emotions that will out-compete our own.

The world we travel through every day is filled with patterns, noise, distractions, disturbances, and possibilities. We look for patterns and react, for the most part, with feelings. That’s the gravity well where our emotions exist. From 18th Century Scottish philosopher David Hume to contemporary psychologist Jonathan Haidt we learn that our emotions are our operating system and our morality and logical, rational mind are apps that run on this system with various degrees of success. So long as you can place that Skype call, you don’t think very much, if at all, about the operating system that permits that connection to be made.

Remember the emotional impact the widely circulated photograph of the body of three-year-old Syrian boy named Aylan washed up on a Turkish beach? It changed public opinion about refugees overnight from London to Berlin. But like most emotions, the feelings don’t stay at those high elevations for long. It didn’t take long for politicians to pull back from their heart and return to their cooler, rational heads. Emotions are transitory, taking us hostage but never having the strength to hold for long. You might say that revenge can last for generations. Not even the most vengeful can maintain the elevated state for long without refueling with some orchestrated violence.

Emotions are like snowflakes, intricate, beautiful, a force of nature. They create unity, binding people together who share them. Emotions are also closely connected with our physical bodies and translate pain and pleasure into emotional states. What we desire and what we avoid are mediated by our emotions. Our emotions act as our carrot and stick.

Professor Burton’s opinion piece in The New York Times titled “How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love A.I.” reads like a report from an experienced field commander who sees his main lines of defense have been overrun and his last stand against the enemy is the secret weapon of emotions. AI will never defeat us so long as we claim exclusive access to emotions. The premise is our emotions involve a process that no AI can duplicate. Burton argues for a division between emotions (we human beings get those) and intellect (we concede we’ve lost that battle):

“The ultimate value added of human thought will lie in our ability to contemplate the non-quantifiable. Emotions, feelings and intentions — the stuff of being human — don’t lend themselves to precise descriptions and calculations. Machines cannot and will not be able to tell us the best immigration policies, whether or not to proceed with gene therapy, or whether or not gun control is in our best interest. Computer modeling can show us how subtle biases can lead to overt racism and bigotry but cannot factor in the flood of feelings one experiences when looking at a photograph of a lynching.”

Emotions shelter with consciousness under the label of ‘hard problems.’ We can explain and describe the end result, give them labels, and predict their range and power, but for all of that knowledge we remain in the dark to give scientific explanation as to how consciousness or emotions emerge in our brains and bodies. It is that hole in our self-understanding that gives some comfort that an AI system can be designed with consciousness or equipped with emotions as we don’t understand the mechanism that creates these states of being.

The point is—we might not be able to explain the mechanism but we most certainly have feelings and are ‘conscious’ of ourselves, our mortality, and emotional states of those around us. A hard problem means we’ve hit a wall. Burton suggests we negotiate a truce: Humans get emotions, Machines get quantified wisdom. Everyone is happy with the armistice. But this peace treaty is unlikely to last. The reason has to do with the acceleration of data about perception and our other senses, which contribute to our emotional state. Can critical reasoning decode the mechanism that is responsible for emotions? That’s the unanswered question. We don’t know.

Let’s take the metaphor of color. Except for the color blind, we see only a small fraction of the color spectrum. No one sees (without using a specialized tool) in the infra-red or x-ray spectrum. The fact we have technology that clearly demonstrates the limited range of our own perception of color is an indication that there are experiences of seeing that are more refined, nuanced, and detailed beyond our biological, unenhanced vision. Emotions may turn out to be like our sense of color. Could, for example, anger and fear be crude, narrow spectrum feelings that evolved as just good enough for us to survive in our environment?

What if emotions, like color, cover a large spectrum of possible shades of feelings? And if feelings shape our rational, logical mind, would the ability to feel in the counterpart of x-ray vision, increase the possibilities for rational decision-making from vast pools of data. If AI can defeat the best chess player in the world on the chessboard, is it a stretch to imagine an AI that could feel multiple emotional states along a broad spectrum of feelings in order to make a move? Such an AI wouldn’t have ‘human’ intelligence, or ‘human’ emotions. The combination of vastly more powerful mechanism and the ability to edit, revise and expand emotional range to cope with digital environment loaded with noisy data. This will be accomplished without human intervention. AI will pull away from anything remotely human in terms of emotions. At this point we leave the bell curve in the dust. We fit within the revised bell curve as an eyelash away from the chimpanzee.

At this transition stage, we are like the Wright Brothers at Kitty Hawk trying to get lift into the air. Only unlike them, we are trying to get the tricycle with wings to the moon and back. With AI we’ve just started with the equivalent of Kitty Hawk technology. A hundred years from now, AI and humans will look back at this point in history, this final battle, where the last hurdle was emotions and consciousness and wonder whether how people in the old era were ever happy with the tiny emotional prison in which they’d been confined. As for novelists, our world of emotions slots into the archive detailing the reactions of human being as the full range of their feelings. Novels were ‘empathy’ exercises; yoga for our feelings. Until AI found a mechanism to open the doors of emotional perceptions and felt a sense of pity that we couldn’t follow what was on the other side of that door.

Posted: 9/24/2015 8:56:27 PM 

 

A Slice of Post-bomb Bangkok Reality

01 

In Bangkok, press reports of the bombing said at least 20 people had been killed and more than a 100 people were injured at Erawan Shrine on early Monday evening during rush hour. http://edition.cnn.com/2015/08/17/asia/thailand-bangkok-bomb/ The subsequent police investigation of the crime scene, the announcements by various officials in government, and the post-bombing analysis pulsates along swift currents of the social media in Thailand and elsewhere. One of the many stories is that of BBC correspondent Jonathan Head who several days after the bombing found pieces of shrapnel which he tried to hand over to police only to be told they station was closed for business.

Here’s a link to Jonathan Head BBC report where he seeks to handover evidence to the police in Bangkok: http://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-34006372

Head’s adventure with the police has elements we come to expect from contemporary reporting on major disaster scenes: irony, sadness, inexplicable official response and disturbing lack of professionalism by those on the frontline. Evidence connected to a major incident involving the death of many people had been refused by the police in front of police headquarters in Bangkok.

Head has provided evidence of a much deeper story beyond the refusal of police to accept evidence. I want to look at that story in this essay in the context of a book I’ve finished reading. The book tells the story about the process of how the manufacturing process of truth serves a reality designed to favor the interest of the powerful.

The book was written by Matthew B. Crawford, and titled The World Beyond Your Head, Farrar, Straus and Giroux(2015). He has three messages worth considering.

1/Our connection to reality is largely a consumer product that has been manufactured.

2/Truth’ isn’t found in reality any more than a bottle of vintage wine is found on the moon; truth has become indistinguishable from any other product and is processed and packaged like any other commodity.

3/Designing the architecture of reality is a business and political model. There is profit and power in such design.

4/The modern cult of personal autonomy, fueled by the consumer-based political and economic world, rests on an individually atomized notion of free will.

On lying, the whole structure of manufactured reality is built from lies. The Matrix was a little sign that maybe people should pay attention. They don’t. They’re distracted. Look, there’s a squirrel and they forget a moment ago they were upset about something. But they forgot what it was. Lies need stupid and ignorant people to thrive and create the vast colonies you see around the globe. None of the official stories hold together any longer. Presidents, generals, ministers, all of them avoid the truth. You can understand in a strange way. Truth is complex, vague around the edges, no real certainty and constantly needs updating. Lies avoid all of that mess.

Reality, unmediated by governments and corporation, is brimming with noise. Embedded in all of that noise there may be a signal. But it takes an enormous amount of effort, resources and patience to find a meaningful signal in the noise. The unpredictability, randomness and uncertainty of reality causes people to feel anxiety, frustration and fear. Emotional needs compel most people to seek certainty, peace, and predictability. Everywhere you look, someone will be offering you a platform that promises resolution of these problems. The scaffolding is hidden out of sight and the more shoddy ones collapse around us every day and we hardly notice.

02

There are good emotional reasons to recoil from the raw material of reality. It’s not a hard sell. Sifting through reality for the truth is more painful than going along with the lies. People are basically lazy except they emotionally are better able to deal with half-truth, lies and just-so stories than that dark, hidden place called reality. We go shopping for the truth among the purveyors who promise they know the reality. Who offers the best deal? That deal is the one that sit well with what we wish reality to be and mainly that is enough for most people.

Without a deep-seated narcissism we would challenge the stripped down, communized comic strip reality and make independent inquiries. On this basis, reality is what you choose it to believe, and that choice lines up with your personal beliefs, cultural habits, and aligns the reality jigs designed by the commercial world. We don’t set out to upturn our internal reality. Quite the opposite, we do our best to confirm our reality through representations made by others who share our beliefs.

Why does such a powerful force easily capture and hold us hostage for a lifetime? We are afraid of the messy, unpredictable, contradictory and confusing state of affairs that lies outside the doorstep of the commercial lies from the private sector supplemented by the official lies told by governments. There is no longer a lie-free space to escape to—it has vanished in the workplace, schools, shops, clubs, shopping malls, restaurants, airports, hospitals, etc.—all the public spaces we pass through have been colonized by truth fabricators. The images and voices of the hawkers are all around us—in the newspapers, TV, social media, film makers, authors, generals, politicians, celebrities, and board rooms.

There is an entire industry devoted to creating ‘your’ experience, ‘your’ style, ‘your’ self and ‘your’ knowledge about how the world works and ‘your’ place in it. What you know and believe has been through committees, consultants and experts, audience tested, rolled out and delivered to with the right emotional hooks to grab your attention. And what is worthy of our attention? Or more important what is your attention worth? Look at Google, Facebook and Twitter and you’d find it’s worth a great deal of money.

We hunger for ideas and representations that put us in the centre of the action, of the world and reality. Like a virus it infects our view of the world and each other. We think we can step out of ourselves and have a look around as if we are from an alien world; we have no third-party vantage point. All we can do is engage in the world, with each other, and accept that co-operation and competition are normal, and that normality includes conflict and uncertainty. What politician or corporation is going to abandon the truth manufacturing business? None of them will because it has no benefit.

We no longer have to be force fed, as full-blown narcissists we are addicted to constant reconfirmation that our psychic needs are being attended to. At some level, people must know that what is being fed is noise. But it is pleasant, addictive noise that lulls, soothes, and comforts. By disconnecting us from reality and feeding our addiction to fantasy, we find the real world jarring and soon enough retreat to the manufactured reality.

We need to live in a world that is represented as real. It turns out that government officials and corporations have long ago figured out that our basic physic needs are vastly more important than evidence or facts, and those who can serve those emotional needs to feel secure and protected, popular and loved, admired and special, will win wealth, fame and power. It is a dirty little racket—this marketing of lies. There is no official or commercial incentive to offer people the red pill—the Matrix is too seductive and powerful to resist.

———————-
Christopher G. Moore last book of essays is titled The Age of Dis-Consent.

Posted: 8/21/2015 4:10:35 AM 

 

The Hot Countries (2015) Soho Crime by Timothy Hallinan

Reviewed by Christopher G. Moore

Ever since Paul Theroux’s classic Saint Jack, with its Singapore, appeared in 1972, and Jack Flower uttered the famous line that “it is kinda hot,” the idea of the oppressive heat and steamy nights in the tropics has become the weather report in contemporary novels set in Southeast Asia. The heat drives people mad; it makes them careless, languid, and bleeds them of energy. The personal cost to live an expat life in Southeast Asia has been a theme for a couple of decades in Thailand.

Bangkok is an idea with multiple landscapes, some of them imagined, some real, and more than a few caught in the no man’s land between the two. The expat territory is as varied as Thailand itself with features running from valleys, rivers, mountains, field, pastures, scrubland, and beaches. There is no representative expat. Nor could there be with people from China, Canada, Norway, England, America, Nigeria, Burma, Cambodia, India, Denmark to mention just a few of expats that form enclaves in Bangkok and elsewhere in Thailand. No one will ever write the definitive expat novel. One would need to switch to writing an ethnographic encyclopedia. Such a book would have a dozen readers.

In Tim Hallinan’s The Hot Countries, he does what the rest of us who write novels about expats in the tropics do: we show up at the mine face where these expats live, work, play and die, looking for the rare nuggets buried inside. Hallinan’s series, set in Bangkok featuring Poke Rafferty, has produced an extraordinary cast of American expats whose lives intersect at the Expat Bar. Rafferty and his fellow expats carry a heavy Cold Countries cultural cargo strapped to their souls. Hallinan focuses his novelist’s eye on the busy intersection where Hot Countries and Cold Countries cultures collide in Bangkok, where everyone is running the red light and driving on the pavements. The readers in the front row seat watch the ice melt as they adapt to Thai life.

Poke Rafferty, an American from Lancaster, California, has settled into expat life as a travel journalist. He’s an old Asia Hand and he and his gang remember the life of expats when Bernard Trink wrote his weekly column for the Bangkok Post. While Bangkok has moved on, Poke Rafferty and his friends continue to live on the margin. Poke showcases the low-budget expat life weighed down by demands of an ex-bargirl wife named Rose and an adopted daughter name Miaow (the Thai nickname for ‘Cat’). Miaow, a street kid, carries the damage of abandonment. Seven years earlier Poke Rafferty adopted her. Poke’s world revolves his family and his friends. Within this circle, Hallinan excels at allowing a free-flow of ideas between his characters, which ably colour their emotions, foreshadow their motives, and limen their beliefs.

His friends have secrets and painful pasts. Some like Wallace are haunted by their experience during the Vietnam War. Wallace’s Vietnam experience, along with others he served with, figure into the mystery. The 1960s in Bangkok and, in particular, the Golden Mile, the hedonistic playground, where young American GIs left the jungles of the Vietnam war for R&R, are stylishly imagined and with a genuine feeling for the era.

The Hot Countries takes time to establish the networked interaction inside the family members and friends, showing their weaknesses, loyalties, foibles, egos, doubts, and defenses. Poke’s wife for seven years, is three-months pregnant, but refuses to have an ultra-sound to confirm whether she’s carrying twins. Their 14-year-old adopted daughter, who’d been abandoned by her parents, is addicted to British TV (particularly period dramas), books and celebrities. This isn’t a conventional mystery. Instead of a series of actions and clues, Hallinan allows the reader time to explore and understand the full range of cultural difference that caused difficulties for his characters. Poke’s friendship with Thai cop Arthit (and his family) brings to the story the Thai threads to the mysterious game of power, culture and thinking.

The centrifugal forces start to spin inside Rafferty’s world, gathering warp speed with Arthur Varney unexpected arrival. By this time, we know what is at stake for the characters and the limits of their life. The mystery and thriller elements take over and push against the walls of those limits. The heart of the mysterious Arthur Varney, his connection to Rafferty, a young luk-krueng Thai girl named Treasure and Treasure’s dead father. Varney shows up at the Expat Bar and hands Poke Rafferty a number he written down: 3,840,00.00. It was the US dollar amount that had disappeared from Haskell Murphy’s house the night Poke killed Murphy and the house was destroyed in a massive explosion. Poke managed to pull one case containing $640,000 and has hidden it in his Bangkok apartment under the floor. The rest of the loot has, we presume, gone up in smoke. But Varney, by his very presence, suggests he believes Rafferty has the whole amount and he’s come to Bangkok to get that money. And for his partner in crime’s daughter, Treasure.

Treasure’s father was killed by Rafferty. He was a hardcore, dangerous criminal. He dragged his daughter through Southeast Asia. Treasure was at the scene the night that Poke killed her father. She approved, thinking he’d done her a favor. Rafferty secured a safe place in a shelter for Treasure, and is waiting for her to become older before handing over the money he took that night from her blazing house. Varney scares Treasure, causing her to panic. She presumes that he’s come not only for the money but for her, and she carries the memory of her father warning that if anything happened to him, Varney would own her. Like Miaow, Treasure is psychologically damaged, and we learn a about expat life as Poke balances his role as her self-appointed guardian and his family.

Rafferty makes it his mission to find Varney in Patpong and resolve their outstanding issues one way or another. And Varney is seeking to get Rafferty’s attention, including murdering a street kid. As in all good mysteries, who you are looking for and what you find are often two different things. And the person you start out chasing after, you end up taking steps to avoid him finding you and your family. Rafferty’s life and times show the melting point when the Hot Country and Cold Country make him shiver and sweat at the same time. That may indeed be the expat’s fate. He loses his ability to know how to culturally dress for the bad weather blowing his direction.

The Hot Countries is an absorbing and rewarding look at life in a hot country expat sub-culture. Poke Rafferty’s humanity, commitment and ingenuity are rare qualities and they allow him to adapt and survive in his life as an expat. Any reader can forgive the odd slip or mistake in the narrative flow when he or she is in the hands of a talented author like Hallinan. All of us (including myself) who write about Thailand, make them. It is what makes books and us human.

The characters in The Hot Countries are finely detailed along with their vulnerabilities, tragic flaws, and mutual dependence. Hallinan takes us inside their dreams, nightmares, fears, and hopes, making them larger than fiction. They are characters that will stay with you. Hallinan knows how to bring memorable fictional characters to life. His characters cling onto the edge of a bleak, hardscrabble expat group as if they’d been tossed from a life raft into the jaws of raging rapids. Poke Rafferty is the one person they trust to conjure up the life vests and guide them safely to shore. The Hot Countries hurls you down those rapid and when you emerge at the end, you will know that you’ve been on a grand adventure with characters you care about.

———————————
Christopher G. Moore’s latest novel is
Crackdown.

Posted: 8/13/2015 8:52:48 PM 

 

Working Magic in the Shadow of Time

This week the producers of the Calvino series are in LA working to put together a deal. Maybe they will or maybe, as in the past, it will come to nothing. This kind of work reminds me of a gravediggers shove—it can be used to build or to bury.

It is a devilishly difficult business. Film. Books. Life.

01

A friend shared the thought of a Danish author who toiled without moral support and against the wishes of husband, family, friends until finally she succeeded in having her novel published. By that stage all of the people who had been negative shrugged off her success and let her know that was nothing special. They, too, were now writing a novel. It seems many people are feverishly writing books.

The Danish author’s insight illuminates a core problem. The vast number of people have led fairly predictable, organized, safe and ordinary lives until one day in their 50s or 60s an alarm goes off inside their head. Maybe someone close to them had a novel published, reviewed, admired, loved. Or someone close to them died on the way to the funeral they started to ask: What is the meaning of life? Have I wasted my life? The thought arises that I can confirm and signal the singularity of my existence by writing a book. Preferably a novel, a work of art, and I pour my heart and soul into this enterprise as if the demon of a new religion had seized hold of me.

There is a slight problem. Writing is more than sitting behind a keyboard, imagining a world as if tapping into a magical pipeline and typing the script of what you’ve discovered. All writing, in the larger sense, in travel writing, notes from the frontier of a journey, which has been unpredictable, unsafe, disorganized, and from that web of uncertainty patterns emerge. It is in the assembly of those patterns after observation and thought that makes us turn the page. When your worldview is turned upside down, you flee or you find a way to restructure, evaluate, modify your factory template of constructs that defined your home reality. You begin to see the context as an aggregation of symbols, patterns, ethics, or morality shaped by forces outside of your own experience.

We acquire an array of weapons and shields when we go into the world. You sense when someone’s shield logs in a speedy reaction time until the psychological or emotional threat passes. Or when they deploy a weapon to defend themselves. Our culture and language equips us with both shields and weapons to go forth in combat mode. Along the journey you learn the art of reading when shield are activated, what they are protecting, and understand it is our vulnerability that makes us human and expressions of that vulnerability differ in substantial ways around the world. We react too quickly. We shoot to fast. We try to hold our ground even as it moves beneath us. What is universal is how people’s shields locked into defensive mode in light of contractions, inconsistencies, disagreement, and disapproval. We have little tolerance, it seems for those who disagree with us or dislike us. We cocoon ourselves in groups that like us and agree with us. They validate our value. We strive for validation at the expense of tolerance and co-operation with those who don’t like us or agree with us.

In my case, I was lucky as taking this journey has been a way of life since I was young. The need to break free of the known and to explore was something that happened to me relatively young. Can it happen in your 50s or 60s or later? Anything allowed by the laws of physics is possible. Of course the door only has to be opened and you walk through. Easy to say. But how many people open that door and close it behind them? That’s where the stories are buried. Mountains of them are waiting to be unearthed by you. Whatever the age you happen to find yourself, there will come a time when the door to new adventures and experience will be closed. You have passed a hundred times, rattled the doorknob, but the distractions of life pulled you away. People can write all they want, but the bank of experience, exploration, wandering, searching, listening and observing only comes easily in one’s youth. Or to the young at heart.

Pull back for a moment and look out at what is around you. It is theatre. You’ve been assigned a part. You’ve played it. Learnt the lines, know your cues, where the chalk marks are for you to stop on stage. Some have become stars and that has made them wealthy and famous. Don’t envy them. They, like you, are a mere shadow, and locked in their roles as securely as any high security prison. Take the red pill and look again. People have been killed in the slaughterhouse of modern consumer online life where they are turned into living sausages and processed and packaged and eaten on elite buns. And that is hugely important to know. They opened a door like in Monty Hall and thought they’d won a prize with credentials, status, position and power. These all prove to be a poor substitute, an illusion of life. You may be a late starter who never had a chance to take the journey, opening the door, which appears to have nothing inside. Strangely, that is the right door. Take it and you can escape the non-living of the past.

Writing won’t recover lost lives. Breaking out of the grave that they dug all those years ago isn’t going to happen at the keyboard. There is the panic, the envy, the jealousy that winds through the system. It’s not so much about money or wealth, it is about the handful who lived their lives and wrote about that experience to be shared their memories of finding the less traveled path that leads to the same edge of darkness. Facing what we all face is within. There is no government change, program, or TED Talk that can act as a time machine and send them back. That makes them bitter, frustrated, angry and vengeful. They are lost. Writing and getting their book published is their way of finding out the scope of that loss.

I feel compassion for these people. I know how very hard it must be to wake up too late. All the appointments, schedules, and meetings that atomized their lives have left nothing of substance behind. That empty hole can never be filled. Compassion, yes, as much as I can possibility deliver to the world. Whether Calvino makes it on TV or as a film, whether new publishers come along, none of that matters against the larger reality. I took a chance. I never gave up. I found friends like you and that has made all the difference in the world. Better than a film or publishing contract. I don’t share the panic of the others. Nor do I deride them. This is the way people are. They don’t wake up soon enough. A couple of minutes before midnight opens a brief moment in time to do a few things that are unscripted. Just do them. Improvise. There is life all around you, hungry and with wings. Don’t waste a moment behind a keyboard, I’d tell them. The shadow merges soon enough. Don’t turn your back and think you can escape. It has your name.

I know these things and share them with you. I was recently in Paris at the Musée d’Orsay where there is an iconic clock. This is ‘me’ in front of the clock. It is my shadow. I am looking out of the window at the skyline of Paris. The picture tells in an image the story I’m seeking to reveal in this essay and throughout 30 plus books.

We are a mere shadow on the clock face of time, facing outward, watching as the darkness closes in to joint. Does the shadow merge with that large darkness and extinguish it? Or does the shadow find its destiny by rejoining the darkness from whence it came? I don’t have an answer. I don’t really need an answer. Let me tell you why. In that space between my shadow and the failing light, I took a journey of exploration, knowing that one-day a void would be lingering on the horizon. There was no reason to fear the coming darkness. The absence of light doesn’t mean nothingness and this is the main lesson from taking the journey. All of our lives we stand at this crossroads watching the flow like a river.

Along the road we pass people whose lives seem to be invisible to us. Often they are beautiful souls seeking a connection with life. As life has often rejected or ignored them, they find other ways to perform small acts of grace. These are people just like us. These are the beautiful people we pass without seeing.

02

I find elegance and beauty in this image. It touches and moves me. No shield is raised, no weapons to attack. This simple human act of reaching out is where I’d like to find myself as the darkness enfolds my shadow.

Posted: 8/6/2015 8:54:13 PM 

 

 

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