SOC #12: The Heart of Alchemy

It is theorized by scientists that gold is naturally made at the center of stars, and when the stars die and explode in a Supernova, all the gold is shot out into the universe in all directions, making its way through space and shooting into whatever planet, or moon it lands on. Alchemy is a single Human's attempt at creating gold in a lab, basically from whatever source there is on Earth: Water, Oxygen, Carbon Dioxide etc. etc. In my own personal opinion, the real Alchemy is not creating wealth from a common element, or from nothing, but in the simple belief something such as gold has any true value in the first place. Think about it for a second: What does gold itself do for our health? The answer is nothing. It is simply a shiny rock, no different from a stone that's stuck at the bottom of the ocean, never to be seen by human eyes. As far as I know, it is human imagination that gives gold value enough that we need it to acquire things from nature that would otherwise be free if it weren't for the powers that be. Hell, because of Nixon the gold standard in the USA was thrown out, and now humans base the value of finance on pieces of paper, by which the value of it can be adjusted by inflation. My friend worked for a bank and told me once only 75 percent of all transactions in the "civilized" world are now computer generated. So we went from value of life based on paper, to numbers on a computer screen that can be changed with few people even knowing about it. Anyways, I'm blathering, let me get to the heart of what I'm trying to convey to you. As I wandered through San Diego Comic-con, I began thinking about human imagination and how it has brought us to a self-awareness that, as far as all of us know, only humans have. The ability to ask the question: Why are we here? Why am I alive? Why am I living? These questions have given purpose to billions, and has gotten them through the stress's of simply existing. It has brought people together, as well as separated(a side-effect most people don't like to admit) but it's only because people - to me anyway - have taken those questions too damn seriously. I've come to the conclusion that it's not the question of "Why?" but "Why have I bothered to ask 'why' in the first place?" I look around the showroom floor at all the booths, the artists(illustrators, writers, actors, etc. etc. Then I see Kim Kardashian? Whatever.) Then I see the fans getting autographs, shaking hands with their favorite artists, taking pictures with them. I see all the cosplay people as characters created by established artists, or characters they created themselves just for events like this. That's the Alchemy. It's not in a lab, mixing chemicals to create a shiny rock, which not even Newton could do, but here where there were thousands of stories from thousands of people based on their imagination. And it was not in a fucking lab; it's based on their personal experience, or something they thought about while bored in a classroom, sitting at home, on a hike, reading a book etc. etc. That, to me, is the heart of Alchemy. I was late to Ray Bradbury's panel, but the door was open and I was able to hear him speak - the last ten minutes anyway. I had read his most infamous novel by that time "Fahrenheit 451." It wasn't hard to find a seat, but the acid-shrooms were still going strong, so I sat near the back. He was talking to a man sitting next to him about his life, his writing process, what inspires him, blah blah. Same old shit I've heard writers say on youtube. The coolest thing he said was when he referred to all his fans as, "My bastard children." Everyone laughed and cheered. The day was done. Entering the Hotel room I was met by the sight of Bee Bee's skank co-worker, putting on her cloths. I got to see her tits for a mere moment. Nice tits, but I cared not. She said, "Hey, you, the writer friend. Sorry, I'm in a rush." She picked up her purse and rushed out the door. My friend was in his bed, under the covers, obviously naked. He said, "Toss me my pants, man." I found his pants in the corner of the room nearest to my bed. With only my index and thumb I picked it up, then tossed it to his reaching hand. I asked, "So you two meet at the convention and you persuaded her up to the room?" He replied, "No. I snorted some lines, then went to the ice machine to get a bucket of ice for some Jack and Cokes I wanted. It so happens she was there too. She noticed the powder still in my nostril and asked for a few pumps. We came back here, and as they say, one thing led to another-" I interrupted, "You are one smooth dog." My friends eyes widened. He yelped, "DUDE! She invited us out to a club all the people that work for website hangout at after the convention is over for the day. And the best news," he slammed a fist on the bed, "Bee Bee is single!" I said, "That's cool, man. But there's no chance I can get lucky with Bee Bee. I got no expectations." With his cocaine induced expressions, my friend said, "She loves writer's, man. What's her name told me. Wait, what's that girl's name?" I told him.