It's no secret that sci-fi is one of my favorite genres. Though I was raised consuming volumes of fantasy novels, sci-fi is cut from the same cloth. A good science fiction story draws upon enough believable material to make us engage with the story, with some good imagination and speculation to draw us into deeper, unknown, and perhaps bolder territory. I just saw a great example of how science fiction engages our deepest, very human questions, asking us to think and feel familiar things while venturing into new narrative territory. But before I talk about the film I'll give you a little background on why (and how) I came to love the genre. The journey began with some classic novels new and old (although science fiction is a relatively new genre, coming to prominence only in the middle of the 20th century). Some highlights include Frank Herbert's 1965 masterpiece Dune , where I followed the Messiah-like Paul Atreides on his quest to seek justice for the injuries again...
We go through phases in terms of the stories that really captivate us, that connect to our humanity, connect us to each other, and to our deepest selves. Growing up as a kid in the Nineties, I remember a slough of disaster movies. Comets, asteroids, volcanoes, and other things threatened to end all life as we know it. We counted on people smarter than us, the scientists, engineers, and astronauts, to save us (unless you're Michael Bay, who will tell you that it's easier to train oil rig workers to fly into space than it is to teach actual trained astronauts how to use a drill). Later, in the early Aughts, it was fantasy that took over. The post-9/11 era taught us to depend on clear lines of morality, of good versus evil, and epic quests and heroic virtue that will rid the world of the darkness. That decade ended and ushered us into an era still in its heyday: that of the Superhero. Although Marvel and DC have different textures and color palettes, they both tell the sam...
My mind is busy when you enter, the first one who comes today The space where I work full of books and writings, all Testaments to my people, their pictures covering my desk. Your question is innocent, yet opens wounds again You did not know, and so I answer in truth: "When you ask 'What part Indian are you?' it reminds Me of the way this question was used to separate my people From yours, defining lands and breaking treaties." Yet you persist, and still you ask; the wound becomes A chasm of blood, driven into me like a knife Ten thousands generations deep. You say you know my city, but you do not. All you want is for me to endorse your cause, but No cause will ever heal the war between us, one That wages on because of questions like this, when Our people become numbers instead of flesh And these answers never satisfy your need to Go home justified before your Maker. The violence is done, you shake my hand and leave As I return to the space an...
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