Intermittens 2011

[Don Coyote]

I can't really think of anything noteworthy I did this year, but feel free to use any of my WOMPs for filler?

[Placid Dingo]

Nigel's stories from the soul eater, as used in the failwhale compilation is great.

[Cramulus]

Just to clarify the intent of this thread --- if you've got content you want to share, please link it or x-post it.

We probably aren't going to go through each other's post history digging for material. Finding the board's content is a pain in the ass, that's why we're making the mystery editor's job easier by linking to it from here.   

[Dimocritus]

Dimo: Does that mean you're officially quitting that issue? If so, you should make the material available for another editor.

I really want to finish it, but between the fact that I'm not very tech-savvy in the layout/design dept, and the unpredictable BS that keeps popping up, I think it may be better off if I handed it over to someone else to finish. I was having a hard time finding proper images, as well.

I'll tell you what, though. If someone from the area was willing to meet up with me to take an afternoon to do a layout, I'd be willing to finish it up. Otherwise, I can send all the material to any willing party.

[LMNO]

LMNO: The spider vignettes: are they fun to read in of themselves? I suspect a random stranger probably wouldn't enjoy reading the sequence of events within the game, but if the vignettes form a coherent and interesting story, it'd be worth reprinting.

I'll post one of them here, and let people judge for themselves.  If they like, I'll post more, and y'all can take yr pick.

[LMNO]

Rain.  Grey, cold, penetrating rain.  It was the kind of weather that makes a person want to crawl back under the covers and sleep for the rest of the day.  Megan was that kind of person.  Putting her head under the pillow, she tried to block out the sounds of the morning commute. 

She knew that any moment she'd start feeling the inevitable guilt about skipping work.  It always crept up on her, like a heavy weight on her chest.  She always wondered where this dedication to her job came from.  In school, her work ethic left much to be desired, and a streak of anti-authoritarianism made it hard for her to get a job when she left college.  It probably cam from those years when I was living on Ramen noodles and cheap beer, she thought.  That'll make anyone think twice about holding on to a paycheck..

Ah, there it was, the tickle of guilt that starts in the gut, and spreads.  A heavy pressure eased its way across her body.  With a groan, Megan tried once more to avoid the facts and escape into her bed.  Hell, maybe she should just play hooky today, skip work and just go where her feet took over. She rolled onto her right side... Maybe five more minutes? 

Or at least, she attempted to roll over.  Snapping awake, she suddenly realized that there was an actual physical pressure on top of her.  With the pillow over her face, she couldn't see what was going on, and began to panic.  A pair of hands held the pillow fast, and Megan felt another pair of hands circle her throat.  They tightened, but didn't squeeze.  It was as if they were searching for something. 

The hands dropped to her shoulders, and Megan was roughly flipped over onto her stomach.  She heard a voice hiss, "It's time to go to work!  Working is better than sleeping!" as a rough and sticky rope was wrapped around her neck.  It began to tighten slowly, and as she started losing consciousness, the hands began to pull and tear at her pajamas.  She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, and then, with a forceful shove, she could feel—

Megan woke with a startled, choked scream.  She was alone.  She raised a hand to her throat, but there was nothing wrapped around it.  She stumbled out of bed, shuffled into the bathroom, stared in the mirror.  Half-asleep eyes gazed back. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.  Work.  Have to go to work, she thought as she wandered back to her bedroom closet and tugged at the door.  She shrugged out of her nightshirt, and began getting dressed.  There was a long day ahead of her, and another one after that.  As she thought about her future, endlessly cut into eight-hour increments, she idly scratched at the back of her neck.

There, in the hairline, were two small bumps.  They itched now, but that would soon fade, just like everything else.

[Freeky]

Oh man, the spider stuff. 

Not only is it awesome to read by itself, it makes me want to play another game.

[Placid Dingo]

Meow's The Giant

http://www.principiadiscordia.com/forum/index.php?topic=30463.0

[Bebek Sincap Ratatosk]

So since I'm enjoying some serious slack these days, I'll toss in as an editor for this if no one else is currently working on it. I had a couple ideas on structuring some mindfuck into this.

I'd like to have some real sounding quotes to support content, especially if there can also be some real quotes worked in as well... then, on the back page of the issue have the following image:



Thoughts?

[Cramulus]

Thats a bunch of rockin ideas, and Id be happy to help you in this quest.

You've always been a member of the Intermittens Cabal, but we would love to have you in the Intermittens Editor Cabal.

[LMNO]

I just remembered, I wrote something for the ill-fated Project for a Weirder American Century.  Try this on for size:



NATURAL'S STILL NOT IN IT.

The problem of leisure
What to do for pleasure

It starts with a guitar, jabbing the ear with short, harsh bursts.  Tinny, angular, pissed off.  A lopsided drumbeat follows, setting up an awkward groove with the bass.  Then a clipped bark of a shout:

The body is good business
Sell out, maintain the interest
Ideal love: A new purchase
A market of the senses
Dream of the perfect life
Economic circumstances
Dream of the bourgeois life
This heaven gives me migraine

What is this chattering, anxious, anxiety-laden song?  Something by Franz Ferdinand, or maybe Art Brut?  Some obscure Brooklyn based art project?  Turns out, it's Gang of Four, from an album released in 1979.  We all know that musical tastes go in cycles, and you can track the resurgence of various musical styles based on what the majority of people in marketing were listening to when they were kids.  But I never thought I'd see the day when political British post punk would be dusted off for the masses.

Coercion of the senses
We are not so gullible
We all have good intentions
But all with strings attached
Fornication makes you happy

The problem of leisure
What to do for pleasure

But, here's the thing: I saw this song, this attack on middle class apathy, this manifesto against the bourgeois, being used as the backing track for a Nintendo Wii commercial.  I suppose it was to be expected, foreshadowed by Nike's use of The Beatles' "Revolution", but to use the tracks of a self-proclaimed Neo-Marxist band to sell video games was... well.  

I imagined some cubicle field at a marketing firm, and a 40-year-old guy being getting an email from one of the many VPs who roam the halls, looking important.  An opportunity, a chance to pitch a commercial.  Something with an edge.  Something the kids will like.  Something to reach out and grab the ears and the eyes of the television-watching masses.  This guy was pretty cool when he was younger.  Read NME, scoured the record bins for imports, rejected what was on the radio: Gloria Gaynor, The Doobie Brothers, Neil Diamond.  He had albums by the Buzzcocks, the Clash, X-ray Spex.  And Gang of Four.  He was going to go to college, major in English or Communications, and then go out and do something with his life.

No escape from society
Natural is not in it
Your relations are of power
We all have good intentions
But all with strings attached

Fast forward thirty years or so, and see what he's become.  Clawed his way almost to middle management.  Got the car, the house, the wife, the dog, the mortgage, the bills.  Has cumulatively kissed the ass of more than half the people who have ever worked at his marketing firm.  And now he casts around, trying to remember what it was that kids liked, how he could get into their heads.  He vaguely recalls a guitar from his past, something with kick, with edge.  What the hell was it?  And when he remembers the track, the actual message of the song never comes to mind.  He plays the first 20 seconds for his boss, and they slap it onto the latest substitute for human connection or emotional contact.

Repackaged sex is your interest
Repackaged sex is your interest

But maybe I'm being unfair.  Because they had to convince these guys to license the damn thing.  What if it was done on purpose?  Now I think about that same 40-year-old guy, but he's got a streak of mischief in him.  He's been keeping his head down, looking for his opening, and it's as if someone hands him this massive silver platter.  This is for Nintendo, after all.  They could just approach Vampire Weekend or Florence and the Machine and throw around wads of cash for something new.  No, this must have been planned.  The execs will be happy, and most people will simply stare blankly at their TVs, nodding in agreement that they need the new plastic toy that replaces their old plastic toy.  But some kids will notice that razor blade guitar, and want to know what the hell it is.  And they'll find an entire realm of music that may have been hidden to them.  Gang of Four.  Mekongs.  Mission of Burma.  Modern Lovers. Magazine.  And if we're really lucky, they might get inspired to do something else with their free time other than staring at a screen.  And even

Remember Lot's wife
Renounce all sin and vice
Dream of the bourgeois life
This heaven gives me migraine

The point being: There is more than one way to toss a wrench into The Machine™.

This heaven gives me migraine
This heaven gives me migraine
This heaven gives me migraine

[El Sjaako]

My letter to the pope could be used: http://www.principiadiscordia.com/forum/index.php?topic=30178.0