The Answer to Everything
Only through the declaration of the will of God can an ignorant man defend his answer to everything.
Release
Release. One foot follows the other.
Release. The body glides as though flowing water.
Release. Toe to toe. Heal to Heal. Shifting gate. Changing stride.
There is a pleasure in the run unmatched by anything else humans do. Like the dance, it is ingrained in us, only we have confused the sense of freedom which comes from moving with our feet with the pleasure of acceleration when riding a machine. There is a unique confidence in knowing that a few miles, half a dozen, even ten is easily achieved.
When the car breaks down or the bus is running late. When the weather beckons that you step outside of your routine and into something more comfortable. When you simply cannot take another day moving from one seated position to another. It is when you have run farther than you thought was possible, when you found that place deep inside which comes alive, it is then that you will recall a connection to ancient times, when we used to chase down our prey. We the human hunters, the longest distance-runners on this planet Earth.
When the knots grow bound in muscle, release.
When the lungs cannot find ample air, release.
When the shoulders tire of their burden, release.
When the pain is unbearable, leave fear behind and the smile will run faster, catching you mid-stride. Release, and let yourself remember that you are the animal man.
34
It was 2007 when last I had the pleasure of working with my brother Jae in the production of a short film (When Art Recreates Life). While every year I assist with the Almost Famous Film Festival, and usually have opportunity to work with Jae on a shoot or two for BallBoy Productions, to work with him on set is a different matter.
Jae’s business partner and A3F Board member Jason Francois wrote and directed “34”, a magical, moving story about a man who struggles against time and life itself to revisit crucial points in his life. In just twelve minutes 34 is engaging in a surprising way, causing both me and Jae to wipe tears from our eyes while watching the first edit. That says a great deal about Jason’s story, the acting, and Jae’s editing. No surprises and yet it hit us just the same.
I love the process of film making. I find the overwhelming detail required to perfectly reproduce what we do a thousand times a day a paradox of tremendous ramification.
Acting and film making are breathing meditations, engagements of self- and other-awareness not by just one person, alone, but by a collection of individuals, each of which who contributes their own expertise. Recreated moment to moment, actors, directors, and support staff hyper-focus on a segment of a greater story when the Directors says–
“Quiet on the set.” Motion is replaced with still, the last rustles fade. Support crew walking halt mid-stride, freezing for a few seconds to a minute or more until the shot is complete. It’s like that game we played as kids, to see who would fall over when someone yelled, “Freeze!”
“Camera rolling.” Not a sound is heard. The entire world collapses to a single point of focus. Nothing else matters anymore. No cell phone calls, no text messaging, no email or Facebook posts. Be there, in the moment, present for the duration of the take. It’s relaxing, to know that nothing, save an airplane overhead or car alarm off-set will disrupt this moment. I usually close my eyes, to just listen, focused on the muscles in my arms and hands to be certain the light or microphone I hold does not waver.
“Action.” The set comes to life. Will this be the one? The perfect take in which the director nods, smiles, and everyone claps knowing it was life recreated in snapshot perfection?
Whispers of a father who fears he has failed to express his love for his daughter. Horrific, painful engagement as the ultimate trust is destroyed in one selfish act. Tears of reconciliation reflect set lighting under a desert night sky. Frustration amplified as time is running out to obtain the highest level of connection and forgiveness before it is too late, before opportunity to visit 34 is gone.
Thank you Jae and Jason for inviting me to participate in the expression of your waking dream. Eager to see the final result.
For more information, visit www.ballboy.net/34/
Memories of a Lemonade Stand
As posted to my LinkedIn profile tonight …
“My brother Jae and I opened a lemonade stand at the corner of the block where our family lived in Columbus, Nebraska. I could not have been older than nine, my brother six at the time.
On our first day, under a hot, humid Midwest summer sun, we enjoyed success with our new business. The customers came at a steady pace. Our Radio Flier red wagon served as our mobile stand, an iced pitcher of homemade lemonade enticed passersby on foot and in cars to exchange twenty five cents for refreshment.
Jae ran the cash drawer while I ran refills, a hundred feet to the front door where our mother supported us with the essentials. But when a generous customer gave us an unprecedented $5 tip, we closed up shop and called it a day.” –kai
It will unfold.
What form this takes, I do not know.
Words move through vessels and veins, circulating.
Fingers motivate keys to release the pressure inside.
Wanting to say more, knowing I must hold back.
Time. Give it time. Wait. It will unfold.
The Catalyst
I am the starting gun, the witness to your bang.
I am the ripple that repeats again and again.
I am the emotion, the motion, the channel for your fear.
I am the reason you resonate, the connection you share.
I am the one who knows the beginning and the end, but
I cannot see from the middle when my work is done.
I am the pot, the frog, and boiling water.
I am the steam, the fire, and the frothing layer.
I am the protagonist, the force behind your unraveling.
I am the reason you came apart, in order to be rewound.
I am the function, the parameter, the broken rule.
I am the law without limit, expansion without form.
I am the Catalyst, the motivator of the reaction and the heat.
I am the cause for change, for lessons repeat.
Though I return to the beginning without you, I will not recant.
When the embers glow, you remain unique.
The combustion is done and I am consumed.
I am love received, shared, and lost again.
Homeless in Austin
Shot in January of 2009, this 48 minute autobiographical film tells the story of Luciano Mendez, a man who has been without a home for many years, often living on the streets of Austin, Texas.
His story is familiar–a childhood fraught with the pain of a broken home, violence, alcohol abuse, and self destructive behavior. He lost his mother and father to cancer; his daughter grew up without him. He has never held a job for long, forever challenged by alcohol and drugs.
Luciano also speaks of forgiveness at the side of his mother’s deathbed, acceptance of his brother, and love through the pain. Luciano shares moments of powerful insight to his own behavior as he moves to change over time.
A Supercomputing Future
Northern Colorado Business Report
“A Supercomputing Future”
by Kai Staats
December 2011
Today, November 18, was the closing day of SuperComputing 2011, the conference and trade show for high performance computing research, labs, and industry. For this week the Seattle Washington Convention Center hosted representation of the latest, greatest, and fastest computers in the world, an overwhelming array of blinking lights, whirring fans, and massive LCD, plasma, and projection screens demonstrating human brain power applied to the human quest to learn how all things work.
It was my first time attending since 2008, my ninth or tenth show in total, but as I have been away for three years, I experienced a jump in the otherwise, relatively steady evolution of compute power and associated research results.
As in the movie “Minority Report” there are now fully interactive touch screens the size of a wall. Up to four people may interact, moving, panning, zooming, and annotating documents, photos, and film. I was able to not only resize a movie while it played, but with one hand rotate it 360 degrees, the motion never even hesitating. The immersive 3D worlds are faster, smoother, and of course, much higher resolution. Still a bit awkward for data visualization, but the flight simulators are amazing!
The challenge of building supercomputing clusters has in many respects remained the same, the balance between data storage, bandwidth, calculations per second, and visualization an ongoing battle.
As CPUs get faster, they need to be fed data at a higher rate. The interconnect fabric (network) advances, from 10/100 ethernet to gigabit, from Infiniband to 10g-e and beyond. But then the memory bus is saturated and can’t keep up, so the speed and quantity of RAM and cache must increase too.
As CPU frequencies have for the most part stalled, Moore’s law is maintained by adding more cores, two, four, and eight on a single socket. But even this has its limitation as we reach the boundary of how small we are able to manufacture a transistor and how effectively we may move heat without building quantum machines.
We add more processors in the form of GP/GPUs, advanced accelerators which grew out of the graphics card industry. Nvidia is leading the charge. Ah! A new challenge is presented, for now we have 500 cores in a PCI slot and four slots to fill. But with 2000 cores, a million or more across an entire cluster, we find that our programming models no longer hold up for the message passing interface which moves fragments of a computational problem takes more processing power, diminishing returns due to fabric latency, OS jitters, and kernel interrupts not easily be solved.
IBM builds a rack-mount node which takes four people to carry (let alone install). HP and Dell design higher density blades which require water cooling. Cray reinvents the wheel (it’s a very nice wheel). TI brings to market new digital signal processors while the ARM processor makes enters this industry with a many-core architecture, but the OS platform remains infantile, lacking industry support for compilers and management tools.
Tired yet? I have only just begun. Super computing is super confusing and yet somehow it works. The competition is fierce, new companies claiming fastest and best their second year in the industry. Big guys buy up small guys as the small guys continue to innovate, racing to support the most advanced research in the world: bioinformatics, nuclear physics, brain mapping, three dimensional imaging of the earth beneath our feet, climate modeling, quantum interactions at the event horizon of a black hole.
We now understand more of the universe inside, immediately around, and far beyond ourselves than ever before. Our knowledge of how things work is growing at an exponential rate. We now compare the DNA of a newly discovered species with another, from wet lab to sequencing in a matter of hours, and we know how many millions of years separate the two in their evolutionary tree. We model with incredible accuracy the proteins that make up various parts of our body and the function of individual cells in the human brain. We better predict the movement of hurricanes up coast lines while the mathematical prediction of fluctuations on Wall Street continues uninterrupted.
I watched a 3D model of a protein-ligand interaction, the colors ranging from white to blue to red to represent the heat-energy in various parts of the system. It jumped, danced, and moved in apparently intelligent ways, an “arm” of the protein connecting to itself only to break again where the synthetic drug attempted to bond. The model from start to finish was over a minute in length, and yet it happens millions of times a second throughout our bodies. For a moment I felt alive in a way that is difficult to explain, picturing in my mind these molecular interactions inside of me at a scale I cannot fully comprehend.
I want to know how all of this works, all of it! –but even in ten lifetimes it is impossible to gain this understanding for the people who bring these discoveries to life are experts in increasingly narrow fields.
Next year I want to attend the show again, and as I have promised myself too many times before, read the posters, interview the grad students and professors who have traveled across the globe to present their latest findings, for their knowledge is our future, a future modeled in supercomputers.
The Roundabout at the End of Town
This story was originally written for the NPR “Three-Minute Fiction” short story contest.
Downtown was unfamiliar to me as I had only recently acquired my apartment two blocks off Main. The job which brought me here offered a leisurely break to enjoy a walk after a midday meal. I approached one of the two roundabouts which defined the beginning and end of the street just three blocks long.
I stopped at the crosswalk before the roundabout, looked to my left and then forward again. An elderly man sat on a bench in the middle, to his left a bronze statue of a beautiful elderly woman. He was bent forward, his head held in his hands and elbows upon his thighs. As I crossed the two lanes and drew near, I could hear him crying.
Two people to my front had walked by him, looked, but did not stop. I nearly did the same, but could not. It just didn’t feel right. I turned round slowly, the statue of the woman between me and him. I took a deep breath and then reached out to steady myself on the crown of her head. It was warm to the touch despite the cool fall air, the metal so perfectly carved as to give soft texture to her hair. I lowered myself a bit, knees bent, and saw the man’s tears flowing free.
“Excuse me, sir, but are you ok? Is there anything I can do?”
He did not seem to hear me, his head yet held in his hands. I tried again, “Sir. You’re, … you seem so sad. What happened?”
His sobs lessened as he attempted a deep breath. He said nothing but lifted his head from the support of his arms. With his hand he motioned for me to sit upon the bench to his right. Both our gazes fell upon the red brick path at our feet. I waited. A long time passed.
When he found his voice he said, “I have never felt such grief. I have never felt such pain. The loss inside me, I could never live with this again.” He shook his head slowly from side to side.
In that moment my heart sped. I could feel his grief as though it were mine. It was difficult to speak, “May I … may I ask what happened?”
Two cars drove around the circle, one in each direction. A cloud moved to cover the sun. The wind blew lightly and then stalled again. I looked at my watch without lifting my arm, not wanting to press him for time.
He sat upright and then slowly turned his head. Our eyes met, his dark, nearly hollow inside.
Finally he said, “I have taken many risks in my life. I have challenged death more than one time. But the greatest reward I was ever given was experiencing a love that transcends time.”
He grabbed my hand with an agility and strength that surprised me, holding me tight. He breathed more than he said, “If you are ever given opportunity to feel this way,” his eyes penetrating mine, “stop at nothing to love this deep.”
He turned to face the statue of the woman, his left arm holding her in a familiar embrace. The warmth of his hand around mine was lost and when I looked up carved metal now defined his face. I pushed away from him and nearly fell to the ground. Tears were replaced with a smile on the left of two statues, side by side, on the bench in the middle of the roundabout at the end of town.
© Kai Staats 2011
Homeless in Seattle
It feels like just yesterday that I attended the SuperComputing trade show and conference in Austin, Texas, 2008. That week I met Luciano, a man without a home for whom I provided a hotel for two nights in order that he could get off the streets. I flew back to Austin two months later to capture his story on film. I spent two nights on the streets with Luciano and his friends, his life unfolding for the camera.
While walking from my hotel to the convention center yesterday afternoon, a tall (much taller than me) man approached from my left side, I assumed homeless by his tattered apparel and streetwise stride, hunched, favoring one side a little more than the other.
He shouted while coming across the street, “Hey! Hold up man.” A bit winded, he moved faster to close in, “Hey, God bless you man,” pausing while he caught up, “Man, you some kinda business guy! Look at you, you look like the mayor of Seattle!” referring to my new pleated pants, dress shoes, and Puma jacket (which passes for business casual on a good day).
I laughed, “Thank you. But no, I am not much of a business guy, at least not like that,” I responded.
“Hey, I ain’t want’n to bother you or noth’n, but it’s been a hard week and I was just wonder’n if you could help me get a bite to eat?”
“I won’t give you any money, but I will gladly buy you dinner.”
“Really? Hey, that sounds great.” He was walking along side me then.
“Where do you want to eat?”
“Hey man, I don’t want to change your plans. So, where you head’d?”
“To the convention center. You know where it’s at?”
“Oh yes sir, just up this here hill. I’ll take you there and right next door is a Subway shop.”
“Sounds great. I’ll buy you a sandwich.”
He reached out and shook my hand, “My name is Myron.”
“I am Kai.”
“Kai? What kind of name is that?”
“A short one,” I smiled.
“Man, I like you. You’re all right.”
“Thank you. I like you too.” As I said this, and we neared the business district, I could feel eyes watching, people trying to understand the relationship between this man and me. I made a point of making eye contact with him as we walked and allowing our shoulders to bump every now and again as though we were best friends. I did not want, in any way, for him to feel ashamed or unclean.
Myron pointed to his shoes and said, “You know, if I take off these shoes, my socks would just plain fall apart. There ain’t much left to even call them socks. Know what I mean?”
“Yes, I had a pair of socks that were like that.”
“Well, if you can spare some change, maybe I could buy a new pair of socks.”
“Socks. Not drugs. Right?
“Yeah man, I promise. Socks.”
He refused the twenty and so I gave him ten dollars in cash. We talked about where he lived and how we moved through the world. He was polite, funny, and a great conversationalist. We arrived in front of the convention center and I remembered being there before for the 2005 or 2006 SuperComputing tradeshow.
We walked up to the Subway shop, it’s outdoor counter facing the street. Myron looked at the options and at the request of the sandwich artist, ordered a foot-long meatball sub. He asked if it was ok to get a drink, chips, and a cookie. I said he could get whatever he wanted.
While we waited for the sandwich to be made, interrupted by the usual questions for type of bread, cheese, veggies, and sauce, the conversation unfolded something like this.
“Ain’t you gonna get something Kai?”
“No, there will be food at the trade show in just about an hour.”
“You want a bite of mine?”
“Thanks man, but I am vegetarian. For twenty three years.”
“Twenty three– What? Twenty three years without eat’n meat!? Maaaan, you is crazy. No one can live like that! I am SO sorry for YOU!”
I laughed out loud, the woman at the counter turning to smile at us both, “Well, I seem to be do’n ok.”
“No man, that just ain’t healthy.”
“I ran forty two miles last week and do one hundred sit-ups every day!”
Myron just shook his head, looked at his worn, cracked fingers and long nails. Under his breath, “Twenty three years … you know what, I bet when you let one go,” and at that he bent forward to make it clear what he was referring to, “I bet it don’t stink at all!”
I laughed so hard I nearly fell over. He bent over and stood up a few times, just to get the most of the humor. Then he took a step forward and leaned on the counter, “Fellas. See this guy over here,” pointing at me, “he ain’t eat’n no meat for twenty three years! You think that’s ok? And when he farts, man, it don’t smell!”
The younger of the two said, “Yeah man, it’s ok.” The other just laughed.
Myron turned back to me, just as the sandwich was nearly done, “Kai. You mind if I say a prayer for you?”
“No, not at all.”
He put his hand on my shoulder and bowed his head, his shoulders still resting at a height taller than all of me combined. “Lord, thank you for bringing me to this man. I know now I’m gonna make it one more day. Amen.”
We exchanged a few hand-jive maneuvers, something I love about my many encounters with the homeless in so many cities. Each has a special ending, a flutter, a set of wings, a wiggle, or an explosion of fingers, some just ending in fist bumps. We walked back down the street along the front of the convention center. Dozens of geeks, some I recognized from over a decade of attending this family reunion walked past and through the glass doors.
“I don’t live too far away, just down there on First and Cedar.”
“First and Cedar,” I repeated.
“Yeah. So, you know, keep an eye out for me, ok? My place ain’t so fancy. It’s low income housing.”
“But you have a place of your own. That’s doing ok. You’re better off than some.” He nodded. I continued, “You know, I’ve been living out of my car and a tent for over a month.” I looked up to see what he might say.
He stopped walking. I thought he might be offended, “You put’n me on?!”
“No. I’m being honest. I left my home in Colorado two months ago and have been living a pretty simple life since. Like you said, low income housing. Now, I am a carpenter in a mountain village not far from here. I’m not say’n my life is like yours, but you know, we share something in common. A simple life.”
Myron smiled.
“I’ll look for you Myron. Maybe we can have lunch together later this week.”
“Yeah. Yea man, that’d be nice. See ya around.”
“I hope so. First and Cedar, right?”
He nodded and waved, opening the Subway shop bag.
I turned to enter the convention center.
The first person I saw, at the top of the three step landing was Steve Poole, the infamous “bomb boy” from Los Alamos who once invoked a perfectly timed, one finger salute from a Sr. Manager of Business Development for Motorola for interrupting a PowerPoint presentation with an accusatory question. “Is that– is that an Intel laptop you are using!?”
But he was more commonly known for his introduction to his work when one visited the Los Alamos booth at SuperComputing, “Bombs. We make bombs. Better bombs. Bigger bombs … F-r-i-e-n-d-l-i-e-r bombs,” his crazy white hair giving him the appearance of a modern day Einstein. He’s likely just as smart.
“Steve! How are you?” extending my hand.
Grinning, “Kai, it’s been a few years.”
“Yeah, needed a vacation from this place. Hey, I emailed you a few weeks ago, but it bounced. You still at Oak Ridge?”
“Yeah, that email doesn’t always work. You know, I just work here and there now.”
“You got a new email?”
“Yes.”
“Uh. Mind if I have it?”
“Yes,” smiling as only Steve can.
“Got it. Never mind. I’ll look for you on the show floor,” smiling back.
Two hours later, I got a call from Luciano, the man in Austin whose story I captured on film two years ago. He was returning my call to his sister a few days earlier. He is doing well. He is in rehab, has a girlfriend, email, and even a Facebook account. He sounded really good and asked when I was coming back to Austin to visit. I told him I hoped it would be soon.
The transition from Holden to Seattle, from stoking fires at midnight to SuperComputing 2011 was a stark contrast, but the unfolding of this day was exactly what I had asked for.
I was home, even in the big city, for at least a few days.