You know, you talk to people, and you ask them, "Hey, did you know you're all covered in huge spider webs? Christ, these things must be a quarter inch thick! I can cut you out of them but you're going to have to help me." And they just turn for a moment to look at you, but they don't really have real faces, do they? No, they just have eyes and this little tube where there mouth would be, where you and I would have a real mouth that we could talk and sing with, and that little tiny tube is somehow big enough to suck up a Big Mac while they slowly shake their heads and look back at the glowing box.
And while you're doing this, the spider comes. Man, that's one bigass spider. It's as big as Madison Avenue, no scratch that, it's as big as the world, it's as big as everything...And it opens its fangs and drools a bit and says "There's nothing physiologically wrong with you. Your problems seem to be entirely stress related." and then it gives you a bottle of pills and you know that all you have to do is take the pills and you can be happy like everyone else and you can finally relax a little and learn about all the fun things that glowing box will show you and you didn't really NEED a mouth anyway, right?
That's a powerful big spider, LMNO. And it loves us all. It wants you to be happy. Happy like me. So happy you can't stop crying.
Or kill me.
TGRR,
Has had better days, yeah.
And those pills... Fuck, they're everywhere. You can't put them down. You can't throw them away. Somehow, slowly but surely, They've managed to sneak them into everything. They're in the newspaper. They're plastered onto the walls of the bus kiosk you stand under when it's raining, all the food tubes huddled together, separating into class wars based on which brand of caffiene and fat they buy at inflated prices. Those pills leap out at you from the sides of the bus that pulls up, timed to make you five minutes late for work, programming you to hurry that much more, to make you anxious about your survival, that more desparate to find something that will calm you down. They're strewn throughout the liquor store, morphing themselves into the illusion of choice, but all decisions leading back to those pills. They even found a way to put them into the songs coming through your radio, selling us on the dream of faultless love, and perfectly scripted heartbreak.
Whoops, gotta go. The spider is getting hungry again.
Jesus fuck, you guys. This needs to get published.
The pills give you a pouch like kangaroos have, and you keep your screams in it. The screams are uncomfortable, because they move around and remind you that something just isn't right and you worry a little that one day your health insurance will run out and the pouch will open and you'll deafen everyone when the screams keep coming and coming, you'll scream until your throat bleeds and you'll never, ever stop.
And some days you worry that your boss or your spouse might see that pouch, just like you've started to notice their pouches, and sometimes you maybe even wonder why everyone has these pouches I mean where did all the normal people go, where did June Cleaver and Mister Rogers and Captain Kangaroo go, they didn't have pouches, right? They were always happy and everything was nice and all the problems got solved in a half hour, minus these words from our sponsors.
And you want a world like that, the glowing box tells you there's a world like that, if you do what it tells you, so you do, but maybe you got something wrong because everything is still a river of shit full of copies of the Three Stooges, and Moe keeps poking Curly in the eye over and over again, but unlike the Stooges on the glowing box, Curly goes blind and eventually drowns, still screaming and holding his bloody eye sockets, I guess his pouch ripped under the strain.
And that's too bad because Curly had a real face, not just eyes and a tube, and he always seemed so happy anyway. And the Spider tells you that Curly was unpatriotic so you don't have to care about what happened to him, that sort of thing happens all the time to people who don't have the right values.
But I miss Curly, and I kind of wish I could fish his body out of that river of filth and at least, you know, give him a decent burial. But there's no time, really, and I have to keep working to afford those pills that keep me so very, very happy.
it's eh, .. wow. where did that come from .. lump it in with the other lumps in the horrormirth contest?
Quote from: Triple Zero on September 25, 2009, 05:06:09 PM
it's eh, .. wow. where did that come from .. lump it in with the other lumps in the horrormirth contest?
Yes, yes, lump it in I guess. With all the other lumps of things that I can't quite fit in my pouch, that dribble out and stain my brand new shirt. Maybe if we put it with the other lumps, it will stop nagging at me and making my chest feel all empty. I'm cold.
So I buzz by, and I see the web. It's just fucking hanging there in space, strung between skyscrapers and apartments, churches, satellite TV dishes and cellphone towers. I see almost everyone, friends, family, love interests, enemies, and irrelevant fucks tangled in it some way or another. Twisting a struggling (about what they web says they should twist or struggle for), they just cocoon themselves deeper.
"This is nice, this is what I care about." They say, but they're just wrapping themselves deeper into it. Some days it's not even worth trying to tell them there's more out there. They don't believe you because all they know is the web. And it's SO soft, they must be comfortable there. Some days I wonder why the hell I'm not in there too. It'd be easy, just plow in, wrap around into those strands. They'd be so warm, and comforting. Like being hugged.
They'd be sticky too, I'd never get out. Then again, once I've met the spider once or twice, would I WANT out again? I'd just be another thing on the web. I'd be happy. I'd be able to relax.
So I buzz by, and I notice the web has started to wrap a few strands around my leg. (They ARE warm.) I think about panicking, flailing, and ripping them off, but then I wouldn't have them.
So I buzz on by. Some part of me won't LET me fly into the web, even though being outside means misery, cold, struggle and strife. I'd rather have that than sitting happy, waiting for the spider. Some part of me hasn't gotten the balls to throw off the strands either.
And the strands are all colorful, too. They're red, white, and blue in some places and in other places they are the colors of your favorite sports team or the colors that make up the logo of your favorite products. And inside that web, everything is warm and bright and happy, and everyone smiles. Sure, sometimes the smile is actually a rictus or even the cheerful grin of a skull, but nothing's all the way perfect, right?
And as long as you look at things the right way, and don't ask annoying questions, the web will keep you safe forever, or at least until you die. Sure, if you look at things the wrong way, the happy fat people around you are actually emaciated skeletons, like some horrible golem made from Dachau inmates...but who wants to look at things that way, when the life they pump into your head is so much happier? You can even be an American Idol, if only in your dreams. Yes, that could be you up there, and maybe someday it will be, but it's been a bitch of a day at work and you just want to relax with a bucket of chicken and the glowing box...the glowing box that tells you to be proud to be an American or a British subject, or whatever, you're proud because you should be proud, because you're part of all this, right?
I'm happy in my web, and I know I have the Spider to thank for it.
But sometimes I still miss Curly.
All you need.
It smells like the boiled bleach cleaner and grade B lunch room food at a public elementary school.
It looks like smiling social workers and DSS Christmas parties.
It's handed out happily by people who honestly expect it to make you happy. After all it's "proven" to satisfy 99.9% of the wants that the average kid will have.
It's the average number of beers, and bong hits rationed to mining town workers on Friday nights at the bar. It's tabulated and calculated to be what will make the majority of them happy enough to keep moving smooth and intervention free, made JUST difficult enough to get to keep them thinking they're getting away with something good.
It's parceled experience, tourism in places you can only ever be a tourist. Meaningful sites, friendly locals, respect and tea with the monks, shamans, and Bedouins, all paid to give it to you.
It's having your fun and your comfort and not acknowledging the nagging that there might be something WRONG, insincere, and overly, tastelessly prosaic about it all.
You should enjoy it. It's All you need.
I remember there was a time when things were different. There was more laughter. Honest, joyous laughter. More tears, too: But the funny thing is, even the crying felt good. The world I remember was brighter, lighter. My days were full of new things, and running through sprinklers with no pants on. I can't tell when things became muddled and murky; maybe it accreted like rust on a ship. But I remember.
I remember when the glowing box was the sun reflected off the ocean, when this busted sofa was a desk. There was a time before the feeding tube, when strong hands chopped and sliced, when the buzz at the table was conversation, not bombastic tirades of ignorance. I remember waking up with the sunrise, full of life and energy, wondering what the day had in store... a time when I wasn't dragged from anxious sleep by an electronic whine, when my brain didn't need to be kickstarted by chemicals, caffiene and nicotine. I remember that before my life became a semi-endurable routine, it was a blank page, an unopened book.
Or was I dreaming that?
It's hard to say what things used to be like, before the Spiders came and made everything real. I, too, have memories of a time when summer was warm and not unbearably hot, when people had big smiles that contained some form of warmth. But that was long ago, and is probably an idealized memory of a time similar to this one, when people are things as proper people should be. Newfoundland probably was never the way I remember it, and I half suspect that...well, how DO I get to Shell Beach?
But that's not what's important. What's important is Here, Now, Bigger, Faster, Sexier. Implants to make women look like Barbie, because what little girl wants a Barbie that looks like a woman? Viagra for men, so they can remember that they're still 22 years old, and their current body is just a phantasm, a bad dream that will end any time now, and they can go back to getting hot chicks with bodies like rubber bands. That's what's important. That's what's good. Buying your love, eating your love, because love you can eat won't hurt you, and besides, it's easier to get...right down at your local supermarket.
That fat person on the couch isn't you. You're Bourne, Bond, the Desperate Housewives, Simon Cowell. All it takes is time, and you'll be rich and beautiful, too. Somehow...and the how doesn't really matter, does it? The brass ring is there to be grabbed, and all you have to do is wait for the merry go round to bring you around to it. It's only a matter of time. All you have to do is sit on that couch and wait. For God's sake, don't get up, don't touch that dial...because the ring might go by while you aren't looking, and then you'll have nobody but yourself to blame for your unfulfilled dreams.
But it sure does take a long time for the merry go round to go all the way around, and the calliope music sounds like a dirge and the other riders look almost like they're screaming in horror instead of excitement and I still can't see the brass ring yet.
I used to be happy a long time ago, you know, the sort of happy that comes on its own, that just sinks in slowly from being alive. These days, I'm Happytm. Happytm comes from the glowing box, and the pills, and the bright shining faces and bodies of the Beautiful People. Happytm is delivered right to my door in a wrapped box with a pink ribbon, and an offer inside ACT NOW, YOU TOO COULD BE THAT MUCH MORE HAPPYtm IF YOU JUST TAKE THIS OFFER, and days pass as I sit in Happytm land.
And days pass.
And days pass.
And days.....
The smell of grass and dandelions perfumed and punctuated every evening. The roars of laughter echoed throughout the neighborhood in an epic game of hide-and-seek. Even as the daylight faded, the games went on. Only after several beckonings from our Mothers did we retire to our homes. There was no schedule to keep. There was no pull from the purveyor of artificial imagination. We frolicked in the oceans of our own visions. Played in our own possibilities. We were the guides and the guided. Now, far too many surrender and far too much is surrendered. How was that allowed to happen?
I don't know, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe the spiders are trying to help me. I mean, they know things. They know what will make me attractive, they know what will make me popular. They know what I should be listening to. And for a small fee, they can all be mine. They have ideas, too; so all I have to do is repeat their ideas, and then I'll have ideas. And they're always right -- the proof is right there on TV. See? All the pundits are saying the same thing. Just like the spiders whispered into my ear.
The spiders say that it's a good thing to spend 60 hours a week grinding your soul to a nub just so you can almost afford a mortgage -- because then you're safe. Plus, the pills they give you fill up that hollow emptiness in your gut - and if that doesn't do the job, by God a glass of whiskey and some out-of-focus internet pronography will do the trick! Thanks to the spiders, I don't have to do anything when I get home from work. I can just sit here, and watch other people pretending to do the things I don't have the time or the motivation to do. It's right there, on the screen. Now hush: The new Melrose Place is about to come on, and my Megan Fox downloads are almost complete.
Sweet Holy Fuck, you guys! :mittens: :mittens: :mittens:
They said there was a time when we were all young and beautiful naturally, but now we have to work for it, and we have to pay for it. The glowing box made us understand that we were losing our youth, and perhaps never had any real beauty to begin with, but then it told us that we could go to the Doctors and have it restored. One of us started first, of course; one of us noticed her youth slipping away and went and had just a little age cut out, just a little, to begin. And we all agreed that she looked so much better.
So one by one we all followed suit because it was the right thing to do; snicker-snack like hair at a barber shop bits of age were snipped off and cast into the biohazard bins; goodbye crow's feet and eyebags and wattle. And we all agree that we look so much better. The spiders agree, too, and the glowing box tells us so all the time. Every once in a while I have a nightmare where I look at us and realize that we've made ourselves into scarred, ludicrous monsters, mockeries of youth, but then the spiders tell me that it's only a dream and that I just need to look at the glowing box and go back to sleep, back to sleep, back to sleep.
TGRR. Your second post, with the pills and the pouches, is fucking insanely good. I mean that literally: Insanely. Good.
Quote from: Nigel on September 26, 2009, 01:30:38 AM
TGRR. Your second post, with the pills and the pouches, is fucking insanely good. I mean that literally: Insanely. Good.
Thanks. I consider it either the best thing I've ever written, or the worst.
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on September 26, 2009, 01:34:11 AM
Quote from: Nigel on September 26, 2009, 01:30:38 AM
TGRR. Your second post, with the pills and the pouches, is fucking insanely good. I mean that literally: Insanely. Good.
Thanks. I consider it either the best thing I've ever written, or the worst.
Best.
I'm compiling these into a PDF
That's how much I love this
Quote from: Agent Pariah on September 26, 2009, 01:45:14 AM
I'm compiling these into a PDF
That's how much I love this
Not done. More cactus.
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on September 26, 2009, 01:56:20 AM
Quote from: Agent Pariah on September 26, 2009, 01:45:14 AM
I'm compiling these into a PDF
That's how much I love this
Not done. More cactus.
I'll add more as it continues
As for the cactus
Cactus evil
Cactus badwrong
Quote from: Agent Pariah on September 26, 2009, 01:59:01 AM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on September 26, 2009, 01:56:20 AM
Quote from: Agent Pariah on September 26, 2009, 01:45:14 AM
I'm compiling these into a PDF
That's how much I love this
Not done. More cactus.
I'll add more as it continues
As for the cactus
Cactus evil
Cactus badwrong
Cactus is evil. Of this there is no doubt. But it is a lesser evil, than to be left all alone in The City. My friends are all gone except the perverts.
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on September 26, 2009, 02:03:24 AM
Quote from: Agent Pariah on September 26, 2009, 01:59:01 AM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on September 26, 2009, 01:56:20 AM
Quote from: Agent Pariah on September 26, 2009, 01:45:14 AM
I'm compiling these into a PDF
That's how much I love this
Not done. More cactus.
I'll add more as it continues
As for the cactus
Cactus evil
Cactus badwrong
Cactus is evil. Of this there is no doubt. But it is a lesser evil, than to be left all alone in The City. My friends are all gone except the perverts.
Degenerates
There was a day when they taught me to look for the sun, and instead I found a moon and turned all inward and shit. Something jim-jammered me in my ear and hey! presto! I was no longer the little girl with a smile. I thought it was time, that kept on slippin, slippin...slippin--into the future! But no. It was instead the whir-whir of something I'd forgotten and then remembered painfully. Like a splinter you don't remember getting but know you gotta get out. And your teeth don't work, but you cringe at using that damned needle your mom stuck in the pin cushion after sewing a button.
The pitiful thing is that the songs have no meaning except what you remember about them, and the food only tastes like a sliver of what you think it should. Smells are no longer sharp, and words are so bloated they're exploding into the sky, inking out the stars with their blackness, so very dark, forgetting you're so small and here and just waiting for something significant.
I don't remember anymore what I did that was so special, but I know I did it. Somehow I've forgotten but I have the feeling left, and that feeling makes me touch myself where they say it's not best but THE best, and I still don't remember anyway. I like to run, but I don't know where I am going most of the time, though I can give you directions to anywhere you want.
Sometimes, I forget what my name really is, and I forget how long I've been married, and what year it is. No one knows where I came from, what I look like or what color of eyes are in my face. But they know what my breath smells like, and they know the colors of the ribbons in my hair. I'm done with wishing for tomorrow, because when it comes, it never delivers like the newspaper--on the lawn, in the dark, in the wet, and crinkly as fuck when you finally get it out of the damned grass.
I saw Roger's spider once, in fact, and he offered me a cup of joe. Turned out it had fleas, but they smiled kindly as I sipped, and I was forgiven for being alive. For that forgiveness, I have paid dearly, and something within says I will pay for the rest of my living days.
Rog, you asked me if this was the best or the worst--I say it's best...but everything else you've written doesn't diminish in retrospect. Just becomes that much better. :D
http://www.scribd.com/doc/20265224/HEYLMNO
Rough Draft. And only 6 pages. Just need people to telll me if I'm taking this is the right direction
Most of the pages are pretty barren, that is except for pages 3 & 4 which allow me self-:1fap:-ize are the most graphically pleasing.
If you want to split this into a seperate thread in multimedia menace.
Also Nigel and Jenne :mittens:
Quote from: Agent Pariah on September 27, 2009, 01:21:20 AM
http://www.scribd.com/doc/20265224/HEYLMNO
Rough Draft. And only 6 pages. Just need people to telll me if I'm taking this is the right direction
Most of the pages are pretty barren, that is except for pages 3 & 4 which allow me self-:1fap:-ize are the most graphically pleasing.
If you want to split this into a seperate thread in multimedia menace.
Also Nigel and Jenne :mittens:
I like it. I really, really like it. I'd personally get rid of anything color in it though; the starkness of the black and white fits the tone beautifully.
I like it.
So much in fact that if I get a new damn ink cartridge for my printer I'd like to make it into a little table book.
In a weird way.
I like the graphics in it too.
:mittens: I'mma print this and distribute @ esozone & the cyclone of slack 09.
Test run
http://www.youtube.com/user/Weaselpanties#play/all
Nice! (and good looking! :) ). Few remarks: the volume could be a bit louder, maybe. I like your expressions in the video a lot (well done!), but from your eyes it is real obvious you're reading off a screen, so much it's kind of distracting. So if you're planning a second take I'd pay some attention to that.
Quote from: Nigel on September 27, 2009, 01:14:25 PM
Test run
http://www.youtube.com/user/Weaselpanties#play/all
:mittens:
Woah, that was even more creepifying than the original text. Nicely done!
Its getting better and better by the minute.
Quote from: Squid on September 27, 2009, 05:44:35 AM
I like the graphics in it too.
I used these sets of dingbats for them
http://www.dafont.com/kids-from-snow-hill.font
http://www.dafont.com/watch-the-city-burn.font
These guy really does a good job
I'm not sure I can get rid of the "obviously reading" effect other than by either taking the time and memorizing the entire text as actors do, or by simply not looking at the camera at all.
Quote from: Nigel on September 27, 2009, 06:23:36 PM
I'm not sure I can get rid of the "obviously reading" effect other than by either taking the time and memorizing the entire text as actors do, or by simply not looking at the camera at all.
What about reading it out just recording your voice, then playing that at the same time as making your recording? If you're lucky you'll make mistakes and get an eerie "many voices" effect :-)
http://www.scribd.com/doc/20285291/Hey-LMNO-v1
Completed for now atleast
Quote from: Nigel on September 27, 2009, 01:14:25 PM
Test run
http://www.youtube.com/user/Weaselpanties#play/all
We make a great team. :lulz:
Quote from: Nigel on September 27, 2009, 06:23:36 PM
I'm not sure I can get rid of the "obviously reading" effect other than by either taking the time and memorizing the entire text as actors do, or by simply not looking at the camera at all.
I think it's perfect, because it gives you a semi-distracted look, almost like you're looking at a TV while you talk.
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on September 27, 2009, 07:16:23 PM
Quote from: Nigel on September 27, 2009, 06:23:36 PM
I'm not sure I can get rid of the "obviously reading" effect other than by either taking the time and memorizing the entire text as actors do, or by simply not looking at the camera at all.
I think it's perfect, because it gives you a semi-distracted look, almost like you're looking at a TV while you talk.
Excellent! Also I'll have you know that I was fucked up on Ritalin, alcohol, and anxiety when I recorded that, and that I did it at approximately 5 am.
Quote from: Nigel on September 27, 2009, 07:19:28 PM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on September 27, 2009, 07:16:23 PM
Quote from: Nigel on September 27, 2009, 06:23:36 PM
I'm not sure I can get rid of the "obviously reading" effect other than by either taking the time and memorizing the entire text as actors do, or by simply not looking at the camera at all.
I think it's perfect, because it gives you a semi-distracted look, almost like you're looking at a TV while you talk.
Excellent! Also I'll have you know that I was fucked up on Ritalin, alcohol, and anxiety when I recorded that, and that I did it at approximately 5 am.
Which enhances the effect no?
http://www.scribd.com/doc/20288105/HEYLMNO-v2
Not much changed
-A few small corrections (I had lots of TGGR instead of TGRR)
-A page that accredits the text and graphics
-A few more graphics.
I love it when a plan comes together.
Quote from: Kai on September 27, 2009, 08:56:58 PM
I love it when a plan comes together.
It is awfully nice
Quote from: Agent Pariah on September 27, 2009, 08:49:49 PM
http://www.scribd.com/doc/20288105/HEYLMNO-v2
Not much changed
-A few small corrections (I had lots of TGGR instead of TGRR)
-A page that accredits the text and graphics
-A few more graphics.
Very nice.
Quote from: Agent Pariah on September 27, 2009, 08:49:49 PM
http://www.scribd.com/doc/20288105/HEYLMNO-v2
Not much changed
-A few small corrections (I had lots of TGGR instead of TGRR)
-A page that accredits the text and graphics
-A few more graphics.
:mittens:
Quote from: Richter on September 27, 2009, 09:54:00 PM
Quote from: Agent Pariah on September 27, 2009, 08:49:49 PM
http://www.scribd.com/doc/20288105/HEYLMNO-v2
Not much changed
-A few small corrections (I had lots of TGGR instead of TGRR)
-A page that accredits the text and graphics
-A few more graphics.
:mittens:
SECONDED
Quote from: Agent Pariah on September 27, 2009, 08:49:49 PM
http://www.scribd.com/doc/20288105/HEYLMNO-v2
Not much changed
-A few small corrections (I had lots of TGGR instead of TGRR)
-A page that accredits the text and graphics
-A few more graphics.
It is fucking WIN.
Quote from: fictionpuss on September 27, 2009, 06:29:49 PM
Quote from: Nigel on September 27, 2009, 06:23:36 PM
I'm not sure I can get rid of the "obviously reading" effect other than by either taking the time and memorizing the entire text as actors do, or by simply not looking at the camera at all.
What about reading it out just recording your voice, then playing that at the same time as making your recording? If you're lucky you'll make mistakes and get an eerie "many voices" effect :-)
Oooooohh... I like this!
Quote from: Agent Pariah on September 27, 2009, 08:49:49 PM
http://www.scribd.com/doc/20288105/HEYLMNO-v2
Not much changed
-A few small corrections (I had lots of TGGR instead of TGRR)
-A page that accredits the text and graphics
-A few more graphics.
Just noting you forgot to credit Jenne and Nigel at the very end (can't recall if any other's were left out). Otherwise, this is truely awesome.
See? This shit just HAPPENS around here!
Quote from: Kai on September 28, 2009, 03:13:14 AM
Quote from: Agent Pariah on September 27, 2009, 08:49:49 PM
http://www.scribd.com/doc/20288105/HEYLMNO-v2
Not much changed
-A few small corrections (I had lots of TGGR instead of TGRR)
-A page that accredits the text and graphics
-A few more graphics.
Just noting you forgot to credit Jenne and Nigel at the very end (can't recall if any other's were left out). Otherwise, this is truely awesome.
See? This shit just HAPPENS around here!
SHIT
Must of been when I made the font bigger.
My daughter is going to illustrate this, and she says we need to make more.
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on September 28, 2009, 03:59:31 AM
My daughter is going to illustrate this, and she says we need to make more.
I think your original essay worked really well for that. If someone poses an essay and other people follow suit extemporaneously within that context, the shit we could come up with, endless really.
Edit: I keep thinking that the most important part of what happened in this thread was that it was all spontaneous, no planning, just people writing their guts out, and following each other in a sort of friendly Dozens. Like hip hop in prose.
Quote from: Kai on September 28, 2009, 04:33:10 AM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on September 28, 2009, 03:59:31 AM
My daughter is going to illustrate this, and she says we need to make more.
I think your original essay worked really well for that. If someone poses an essay and other people follow suit extemporaneously within that context, the shit we could come up with, endless really.
Edit: I keep thinking that the most important part of what happened in this thread was that it was all spontaneous, no planning, just people writing their guts out, and following each other in a sort of friendly Dozens. Like hip hop in prose.
Seriously. I was so impressed, watching this unfold. I feel like this is the results of months of... whatever. It just fucking HAPPENED. We can spend months bickering and not really doing anything, and then over the course of a couple of evenings our clogged pores start to rupture and everybody writes or does something spontaneously, almost like a reflex, like you have no choice, and this happens.
Those other months, those are when it festers.
It festers like a sebaceous cyst. Deep under the skin, your anger rots and creates a stinking ooze. It seems sometimes that this boiling thick jelly will come pouring out of your mouth, eyes and nose holes like a soapy discharge at the next person who looks at you and says "At least you have a job".
At least.
At least you have.
It's the scalpel that pierces the flesh and allows this fountain of hate and filth to come erupting from the hole it tore in your existence.
As this volcano of scum and blood pours from your gut your hands instinctively yet unconsciously reach out for the neck of the person who auditorilly assaulted you with their speech bubbles of inanity...
Then come the lights. The screams of children. The sirens. The impending doom that you now have to face.
You've done it this time, son.
This is the one.
You'd better run till your lungs explode like an overinflated tire. Run till your feet turn to pâté and legs are just imaginary items you used to have.
Run.
Till it all goes Shhhhhhhhhhhhh.
God damn it guys. I hate spiders.
:mittens: all around.
Quote from: Squid on September 28, 2009, 05:29:55 AM
It festers like a sebaceous cyst. Deep under the skin, your anger rots and creates a stinking ooze. It seems sometimes that this boiling thick jelly will come pouring out of your mouth, eyes and nose holes like a soapy discharge at the next person who looks at you and says "At least you have a job".
At least.
At least you have.
It's the scalpel that pierces the flesh and allows this fountain of hate and filth to come erupting from the hole it tore in your existence.
As this volcano of scum and blood pours from your gut your hands instinctively yet unconsciously reach out for the neck of the person who auditorilly assaulted you with their speech bubbles of inanity...
Then come the lights. The screams of children. The sirens. The impending doom that you now have to face.
You've done it this time, son.
This is the one.
You'd better run till your lungs explode like an overinflated tire. Run till your feet turn to pâté and legs are just imaginary items you used to have.
Run.
Till it all goes Shhhhhhhhhhhhh.
See, this is what I'm talking about. People around here have incredible intelligence for words and writing, and when it comes spontaneously the major result is very nice. I love how we can very simply let loose in prose for great justice.
I finally crawled my way out of the hive, that awful place full of the tube-mouths. I spit out the pills because they were making me feel all funny on the inside, and not the ha-ha funny. The spiders took them back, of course, and apologized for what was clearly a mistake. I must have been taking the wrong kind of pills; see, everyone is different and a unique snowflake and in our modern world there's a formula to make everyone Happy™.
But I don't want any pills, I said. They're so considerate, the spiders are. Even though I'm not Happy™ and clearly broken in some subtle way, they let me into college where I learn how to find my way into the softer, cushier webs. It's okay if I don't indulge in the joys of the glowing box now, they say. Study hard and soon I'll be in a web so warm and cushy that I won't even notice when those kindly spiders put a high-definition glowing box in front of me with surround sound. They're so nice, the spiders are, giving me all these wonderful options to make my way into the softer webs and providing idle amusements for me on the way. The pills are just a doctor visit away if I ever want them, and I probably will. What's the point of the web if you haven't got the means to be Happy™ and comfortable while you're in them?
Even if I don't really want Happy™, the spiders have something else that's sure to satisfy my wants (they think of everything, the spiders do). They don't sell it in pills, but I can have Bitter™, Misanthropic™, and Angry™ for cheaper than dirt if I really want to try it. It's distilled from the screams of cranky old farts (though how exactly it's gotten out of them they won't tell me) and it's for youngsters who want to feel more mature and fit in with people who've been in the web for a while.
But I have a question for you, my wise elders. What's it like in the web, and how high should I try to climb before giving up and falling into a coarser grade of web than the spiders told me I should strive for? And between you and me... what pills do I take to deal with the fact that I hate spiders?
...and when I entered the ninety-five on-ramp, I once again re-entered the world of nine to five. Another weekend behind and another week ahead. As I merge into the stream of traffic I bear witness to others making the same routine journey. All wearing the mundane mask of Monday. Mouths, slightly agape in a wandering stupor. Heading to jobs that perhaps were not bred from youthful wonder. But they put the wonderbread on the table. And at this time this is what we all must live with. We are where we are and The Machine and The System have seemingly trapped us here. Mobility is limited thanks to the bankers and the mortgage brokers. We are boxed into our lanes. All of them slow. All of them leading to.....where?
.
.
.
. : .
: : . :
: : : :
: : : :
: : : :
: : : :
: : Stuck in sticky strands of static high-pitched bleeps
: unfeeling of forgotten freezing thoughts I'm watching the Teevee
: where way back along the web the Spider waits while watching me
kept caught curled-up against the cold and :fap:fap:fapping me to sleep.
: : :
: : :
: : :
: : .
. :
.
.
I lament for the tricksters
who have lost their spider god
I lament for the spider god
who has lost the tricksters
the spider is the original trickster, the guardian and guide, the kinky storyteller who spins the world to-be
the web is everywhere, it's everything, it connects you and I and the you-to-be.
You cannot be, you can only become
and we became poison
and the spider spun us up and drank our vitality
(as she is wont to do)
and thus the spider was poisoned
we poisoned her,
you and I
& now the web is twisted
the spider needs that poison, she's hooked on it,
on the worst parts of us
we have to keep making the poison for her, she needs it now
we're brewing it in our guts,
in our gas tanks
drip by drop
in every road rage
every 401K
each cup of black coffee to get throught the day
the spider-to-be is becoming for us
This thread has gotten really weird. Cut it out, you're making the spiders nervous.
Quote from: LMNO on September 28, 2009, 04:23:23 PM
This thread has gotten really weird. Cut it out, you're making the spiders nervous.
If by weird you mean TOTALLY WIN
As I said, I hate spiders, so this spider imagery is really striking a chord for me.
btw - :mittens: to Pariah for compiling these into a sexy PDF
the thing reads real smooth, and is much easier to digest than reading it in-thread. Nice choices on graphics, too.
some (hopefully helpful) notes on layout/design----
what are you using to lay this out?
In a lot of cases, the text is center-aligned. I think it'd look better if it was justified, but with narrower margins --- so it hangs in the middle of the page in a nice rectangle.
Page 3, the text at the bottom ("Whoops, gotta go") overlaps the treebranch a little bit. You can still read it, so it's not a big deal.
Page 4, the alignment is wonky. Would look better with a consistent left margin. You go from left-aligned to centered, back to left aligned. Paragraph breaks are in kind of weird spots.
Page 6, the left side of the hamburger doesn't sprint. And a consistent right margin would make the page look cleaner. If you can, try contouring the text box around the burger? not sure what program you're using, but this isn't hard with scribus.
Page 7, Richter's name (bottom left) gets cut off by the printer
Page 9: a few letters on the right side of the page get cut off by the printer. Bring in the margin by 1/4th inch and it'll be fine.
second to last page (begins with "There was a day...") - the printer cut off a few letters that are sitting on the left margin.
The pieces sort of flow together nicely, and it's clear that every page is its own piece - but since they don't have titles, they could use a little distinguishment. I like what you did on page 4 with the big capital T, perhaps more like that?
If I wasn't in the pit of hell known as work, I'd write one from the spider's pov.
I'd like to see that.
Me too...I just don't have to time atm. Meh, this sucks.
Yes, I want to add to this as well. As long as I don't start my own thread for it, it won't get shat on :lol:
This whole thing reads like "The King in Yellow".
My daughter and I spent some time on galleys, and she has hit the nail on the head for the imagery.
My memory is kind of fuzzy. What did I do yesterday? Or last week? I can't really remember. I think it's the pills the spider gives me, but I'm not sure. I don't really want to stop taking them, so does it matter anyway? I suppose I can live with a bad memory if it means I can be happy and warm for the moment.
But sometimes, sometimes when I miss a dose, the world snaps into sharp focus and I know what I've been doing with my life and I see all time time I've wasted in front of glowing screens. I hear the cold wind that blows through the web and the glowing box snows. I can't bear the chill and I can't bear the now loud, harsh hissing of the glowing box. I scramble for my pills, frantically popping open the lid with my thumb as I grab it.
And then, later, before the pills kick in, the spiders come to visit me. There, there, they say while I shake in the aftermath of something I'm beginning to forget. Just remember to take them on time, ok?
Quote from: Cramulus on September 28, 2009, 04:39:05 PM
btw - :mittens: to Pariah for compiling these into a sexy PDF
the thing reads real smooth, and is much easier to digest than reading it in-thread. Nice choices on graphics, too.
some (hopefully helpful) notes on layout/design----
what are you using to lay this out?
In a lot of cases, the text is center-aligned. I think it'd look better if it was justified, but with narrower margins --- so it hangs in the middle of the page in a nice rectangle.
Page 3, the text at the bottom ("Whoops, gotta go") overlaps the treebranch a little bit. You can still read it, so it's not a big deal.
Page 4, the alignment is wonky. Would look better with a consistent left margin. You go from left-aligned to centered, back to left aligned. Paragraph breaks are in kind of weird spots.
Page 6, the left side of the hamburger doesn't sprint. And a consistent right margin would make the page look cleaner. If you can, try contouring the text box around the burger? not sure what program you're using, but this isn't hard with scribus.
Page 7, Richter's name (bottom left) gets cut off by the printer
Page 9: a few letters on the right side of the page get cut off by the printer. Bring in the margin by 1/4th inch and it'll be fine.
second to last page (begins with "There was a day...") - the printer cut off a few letters that are sitting on the left margin.
The pieces sort of flow together nicely, and it's clear that every page is its own piece - but since they don't have titles, they could use a little distinguishment. I like what you did on page 4 with the big capital T, perhaps more like that?
Thanks for the tips.
I was a little caught up in how well it looked in the program I'm using (Btw It's pages. Actually pretty nice) I kind of forgot to think what a printed version would look like.
I'll fix all that stuff the next version (I'll give it maybe a few days for possible entries)
You had me from the start, oh glorious spider!
Back then, I was just sticky with life and love
when I was spat right into your web.
You fed me.
You made me.
Pill by pill, day by day.
Always given choices, but never given the choice,
I am you.
You are me.
I now have your sticky strings all around me:
Which choked my heart into a loveless husk,
leaving apathy dripping where my tears once were.
Which left me staring blankly into the abyss,
waiting for nothing to happen.
And in the pale shimmer of the glowing box, late at night, in between empty pill bottles and a million of your brothers and sisters...
I scream.
Without a voice,
for you took my breath away a long time ago -- oh glorious spider,
I scream!
Struggling in vain I tear through the web we spun.
One of us has to end!
You or me.
You are me!
And so I die.
Cause I want to live, at last.
Now I hear you calling for me all the time.
Longing for us to be one again.
But it can't be, oh glorious spider,
never again.
Cause when you don't love.
And when you don't cry.
When you don't dare to live --
Then you just die.
edit for improvement of sorts
also: :mittens: for everything else so far
wut
A ring at the door. I taped a bicycle bell to my dorm door, so I get an actual ringing sound.
I answer it.
Hello, says the man at the door. He has a simple green tee, khaki pants, and two pairs of goggles over two pairs of eyes. Eight altogether.
Hi, I'm David, I say. I have to say it. If I say anything different the conversation goes all wrong and I'm back to no friends again.
Hello David, the man in the green shirt says.
Shit. Back at the beginning of conversation. Try a different tactic.
You've reached dorm 1C, how may I help you?, I say. I worked at a call center a summer ago, so I switch to that web, hoping it will keep me stuck to the right path.
Aah, I thought we might encounter that, says the man in the green shirt. He smiles. His incisors are jointed, little grasping things.
Is there anything I can do for you?, I say. Last shot on the customer service web, then I stop talking until I know what the fuck is going on.
No, no, he says. Rather, there's something I can do for you, he says.
I stand and listen.
I had heard that your wrappings might be getting out of date, he says. I can help you, he says.
I stand and listen and look at his eyes. You can't have friends if you don't look at people's eyes while they talk.
A very advanced case. Oh dear oh my, he says. Didn't you feel them getting old and thin? Patchy, almost no adhesive left, hardly enough to keep you from falling over?, he says.
I stand and listen and look at his eyes and balance the safety of closing the door against the likelyhood that this is an important person.
Ehem, he says. He doesn't clear his throat, just says the sound. Possibly he doesn't have a throat? Curious.
Are your cognitive and sociocultural heuristics sufficiently well-formed to dictate your behaviors, enabling you to free neural resources from decision making tasks and reallocate them to processes of high utilities, such as participating in normative cultural events?, he says.
Why don't people say what the mean at the beginning?. Would have saved a lot of panicking.
Yes, I say.
Aha!, he says. I can help you with that, that's what I'm here for. Tell me, have you heard of new Silk®?, he says.
No, I say.
Let me tell you all about it! Silk® is a service superficially similar to the standard culture-web everyone uses. However, Silk® has several advantages. A full suit weighs only a fraction of an equivalent coverage of standard web. All the same benefits, but without the hassle and inconvenience.
He is smiling now, meaning that he is happy to be talking about Silk®. I am smiling too, because I want to let him know that I am happy that I know what to say.
People have tried to get me in webs before. I have developed a technique to keep me safe from the webs. I can use my system and I can finish the conversation without having to close the door on him, which might make him angry. You can't have friends if you make people angry.
I don't like wearing a web, I tell him.
Webs are to heavy, I say. I have trouble breathing while I'm wearing a web, I say. It gets in through my ears and sticks up my brain, I say.
But Silk® is light!, he says. You won't have any of those problems with Silk®. Silk® is 275% stronger than a black iron bar but has only one thousandth the weight. Silk® won't get in your way at all!, he says.
I don't like having to use the television to keep the web strong, I say. All the programming is the same and none of it is ever any good, I say.
Again, not a problem!, he says. Silk® can be maintained through any telecommunications portal at all! Why, with a complementary internet connection, you can access the collective works of nearly six billion other customers. With so much more to choose from, there's no way you'll be unsatisfied. If the group norms don't satisfy you 100%, you can simply find a subgroup with norms more to your liking!, he says.
Webs make it hard to think, I say. I have trouble thinking anything that's not already in the web, and I do a lot of writing and programming and science and engineering so I need to be able to think of new things, I say.
Completely manageable!, he says. Silk® automatically connects you to every other customer! You won't need to think of anything new; with almost six billion customers, someone will already have thought of it. No more wasted hours trying to figure out the best algorithm or the best way to phrase a sentence - someone else has already had that problem and solved it for you! No more wasted hours developing a properly controlled experiment or a failsafe device - our Silk® network already knows which assumptions are safe, and nearly six billion customers can't all be wrong, can they!, he says. He laughs because it is silly to think of nearly six billion customers all being wrong about something.
Okay, I say. This web doesn't sound very bad at all.
---
ETA: If anyone thinks this is worth including in the published collection, go for it! I can even go back and do a second draft of it if you want.
Things have been better since I stopped getting pills from the spiders. I used to get Prozac, 30mg daily, in one-and-a-half pills because my spider only had 20mg pills instead of 10mg or 30mg. But the spiders heard our crying, heard how we didn't like them in our brains. The heard our pleas and in their benevolence, they listened and granted their wish.
Now, we can give ourselves anything we want. Ethanol and THC are popular just about everywhere, but opiates and psychedelics have their fans as well, and everybody does caffeine - it even comes with sugar!
My drug of choice? Fluoxetine, 3 hundredths of a gram daily, in one-and-a-half pills because that's the only size pill my street dealers have.
Also, when you put real content into an ATTN: <username> style post, I tend not to notice it because I assume it's just AppleTalk drivel.
Hush, my darlings. We can see you are upset, and that's ok. But you know too much stress is bad for you. Our doctors said so, just the other day.
So sit down, and try to calm down. It won't help matters any if you get yourself all riled up, will it? Shhh. Relax. We'll take care of everything. Just sit right there, close your eyes, and breathe deeply. That's right. Let us help you. We know how upsetting life can be, and we're here to help. We can get you through your day with a minimum of fuss. Just leave it to us.
Can we get you a drink? Sure, you just stay there, and we'll be right back. Feel free to watch the TV if you'd like. We always keep it on, for background ambience if you will. Yes, that's one of our favorites, too. Here we are. No, don't get up. Just sit there, take your shoes off, and forget about the troubles of your day.
We know, life can be so unfair. Let us help you forget all that. We can show you fabulous things, right in your own home; brightly colored, flashy things, you take your mind off of your difficult and painful day. We don't want you to hurt anymore. Not now. Now is you time, time to loosen that tie, maybe even unbutton your pants, perhaps even-- well, we promise to look away if The Girls Next Door becomes too exciting.
See, don't you feel better already? It's as if the day never happened at all. And with our help, you can experience the best, most glamorous parts of life without ever leaving your comfortable, soft couch. Shhh. Relax, my darlings. Let the empty glass slip from your fingers. Let us tuck you in...
WAKE UP. BACK TO WORK. YOU WILL BE LATE.
See you when you get home, my darling.
The above is creepy as fuck.
Quote from: GA on September 29, 2009, 06:22:08 AM
Also, when you put real content into an ATTN: <username> style post, I tend not to notice it because I assume it's just AppleTalk drivel.
That's because this didn't start out as content, but as a letter to LMNO. It just sorta turned into content later.
Quote from: LMNO on September 29, 2009, 12:56:21 PM
Hush, my darlings. We can see you are upset, and that's ok. But you know too much stress is bad for you. Our doctors said so, just the other day.
So sit down, and try to calm down. It won't help matters any if you get yourself all riled up, will it? Shhh. Relax. We'll take care of everything. Just sit right there, close your eyes, and breathe deeply. That's right. Let us help you. We know how upsetting life can be, and we're here to help. We can get you through your day with a minimum of fuss. Just leave it to us.
Can we get you a drink? Sure, you just stay there, and we'll be right back. Feel free to watch the TV if you'd like. We always keep it on, for background ambience if you will. Yes, that's one of our favorites, too. Here we are. No, don't get up. Just sit there, take your shoes off, and forget about the troubles of your day.
We know, life can be so unfair. Let us help you forget all that. We can show you fabulous things, right in your own home; brightly colored, flashy things, you take your mind off of your difficult and painful day. We don't want you to hurt anymore. Not now. Now is you time, time to loosen that tie, maybe even unbutton your pants, perhaps even-- well, we promise to look away if The Girls Next Door becomes too exciting.
See, don't you feel better already? It's as if the day never happened at all. And with our help, you can experience the best, most glamorous parts of life without ever leaving your comfortable, soft couch. Shhh. Relax, my darlings. Let the empty glass slip from your fingers. Let us tuck you in...
WAKE UP. BACK TO WORK. YOU WILL BE LATE.
See you when you get home, my darling.
:mittens: Reminds me of the "Who Are We" bit.
Ok, I think we should wrap this one up, and add the remaining bits to that scribd document (which, by the way, looks awesome).
Thanks to everyone for playing along, and special thanks to TGRR for kicking the first rock off the cliff so the avalanche could happen in the first place.
Oh, and thanks to the Spiders and their Pills©.
Quote from: Jenne on September 29, 2009, 05:12:15 PM
Quote from: LMNO on September 29, 2009, 12:56:21 PM
Hush, my darlings. We can see you are upset, and that's ok. But you know too much stress is bad for you. Our doctors said so, just the other day.
So sit down, and try to calm down. It won't help matters any if you get yourself all riled up, will it? Shhh. Relax. We'll take care of everything. Just sit right there, close your eyes, and breathe deeply. That's right. Let us help you. We know how upsetting life can be, and we're here to help. We can get you through your day with a minimum of fuss. Just leave it to us.
Can we get you a drink? Sure, you just stay there, and we'll be right back. Feel free to watch the TV if you'd like. We always keep it on, for background ambience if you will. Yes, that's one of our favorites, too. Here we are. No, don't get up. Just sit there, take your shoes off, and forget about the troubles of your day.
We know, life can be so unfair. Let us help you forget all that. We can show you fabulous things, right in your own home; brightly colored, flashy things, you take your mind off of your difficult and painful day. We don't want you to hurt anymore. Not now. Now is you time, time to loosen that tie, maybe even unbutton your pants, perhaps even-- well, we promise to look away if The Girls Next Door becomes too exciting.
See, don't you feel better already? It's as if the day never happened at all. And with our help, you can experience the best, most glamorous parts of life without ever leaving your comfortable, soft couch. Shhh. Relax, my darlings. Let the empty glass slip from your fingers. Let us tuck you in...
WAKE UP. BACK TO WORK. YOU WILL BE LATE.
See you when you get home, my darling.
:mittens: Reminds me of the "Who Are We" bit.
Who are we? We're the Happy People. People touching people. People rubbing against people. People developing the first strike nuclear capability to incinerate people. Think its a flash in the pan?
I forget the rest.
Face down in the street. Wet pavement against my cheek. Something pressing me down, something heavy and cold keeping me off my feet. Where's the web? Why isn't it keeping me warm and safe? I struggle to turn my head and see nothing but gray, pinning me, slick, cold and impenetrable. The web that was supposed to hold me up is pinning me to the ground like a smothering blanket, but cold, so cold. I did what the spiders wanted, I did everything I was supposed to do, bought everything I was supposed to buy, went to work every day and never questioned what I wasn't supposed to question. I voted dutifully, I used my credit cards, I watched the glowing box after work and on weekends like a good citizen, but somehow even doing everything right was not good enough and I lost my job and I lost my house my car my wife my comfortable position on the sofa the suburbs
I try to push it off me but the web is implacable. I notice that my limbs have turned to claws, pointy crablegs digging my position into the asphalt, and I scuttle off in search of scraps.
Oooh, nice ending line.
Thanks!
My daughter is finishing the last two panels for the OP today. They'll be inked and scanned before the end of this weekend.
The rest will follow.
Nivek, incidentally, is working on the NIGEL, I'VE FALLEN thread, and initial galleys should be completed by Sunday.
I like where this is going.
I can remember a time when the Spiders didn't want me. I was too smalluglyweirdsmart for their web and, after all, even if they did ask me to fly into it I wouldn't do it. Spiders just aren't my thing, said I, as I sat on the sofa and watched the teevee with Spider-approved shows on it or containing my beloved Spider-approved video games. Smaller and seductively different spiders would suggest things for me to listen to and watch that were obviously very very different from the things the other Spiders suggested.
Even that fell through after a while. I saw Spiders everywhere, always coming for me, always making an offer that sounded so sweet. I only ate what I knew the Spiders hadn't touched and I only supported what I knew was certainly not Spider affiliated. And no, no thank you, no pills for me. I went to college and I studied psychology so I'm way too smartadjustedtalentedhaughty for that. Seeing them everywhere got to me and some days the sun was bright and glinted so perfectly on fall leaves or spring blossoms or that snow that clings to dead trees like crystals and it was still all pointless and awful and low. But at least I wasn't in that web.
Then one day I stepped out my door.
And I fell off the world.
Up doesn't become down and the ground doesn't become smaller just somehow it all goes away and you're tumbling directionless, terrified, flailing for something to hold on to, screaming for anything to stop you. And it did.
Tricky Spiders, I thought, silly big devious lovable things. I was never too smalluglyweirdsmart and they never didn't want me. They knew, tricky Spiders tricky old Spiders silly big devious lovable things, they knew. I'll take the things they give me like I said I never would. Because here it's blessedly sticky and I know I won't fall off again.
I know this leg of the project is over, but I seem to have missed this when it was happening. I just wanted in on it even if it was only for the purposes of posting.
I am not it is ever really "over". And I loved what you wrote.
If one of the goals of this project is to get people writing, then I think thats right.
Quote from: Eater of Clowns on October 09, 2009, 11:27:27 PM
I know this leg of the project is over, but I seem to have missed this when it was happening. I just wanted in on it even if it was only for the purposes of posting.
No thread is over.
Galleys for the first installment are up.
http://www.principiadiscordia.com/forum/index.php?topic=22490.0
In rough draft, of course.
:mittens:
Ok, in light of the current bru-ha-ha, I would like permission to use the content of these posts in a different medium.
Would the following people please sign off approving my possible use of their work:
TGRR
Richter
Kai
RWHN
Nigel
Jenne
Squid
Cainad
000
Cram
Corvidia
planeswalker
GA
Eater of Clowns
Rat
If content is used, attribution will be given.
Thanks,
LMNO
[Edit: Names in Bold have signed off.]
Quote from: LMNO on December 01, 2009, 05:33:35 PM
Ok, in light of the current bru-ha-ha, I would like permission to use the content of these posts in a different medium.
Would the following people please sign off approving my possible use of their work:
TGRR
Richter
Kai
RWHN
Nigel
Jenne
Squid
Cainad
000
Cram
Corvidia
planeswalker
GA
Eater of Clowns
Rat
If content is used, attribution will be given.
Thanks,
LMNO
Yes. In fact, I will have the podcasts on Friday for certain.
Quote from: LMNO on December 01, 2009, 05:33:35 PM
Ok, in light of the current bru-ha-ha, I would like permission to use the content of these posts in a different medium.
Would the following people please sign off approving my possible use of their work:
TGRR
Richter
Kai
RWHN
Nigel
Jenne
Squid
Cainad
000
Cram
Corvidia
planeswalker
GA
Eater of Clowns
Rat
If content is used, attribution will be given.
Thanks,
LMNO
Have at it with a rubber mallet.
Quote from: LMNO on December 01, 2009, 05:33:35 PM
Ok, in light of the current bru-ha-ha, I would like permission to use the content of these posts in a different medium.
Would the following people please sign off approving my possible use of their work:
TGRR
Richter
Kai
RWHN
Nigel
Jenne
Squid
Cainad
000
Cram
Corvidia
planeswalker
GA
Eater of Clowns
Rat
If content is used, attribution will be given.
Thanks,
LMNO
[Edit: Names in Bold have signed off.]
Rock on w/ your socks on.
anybody can always use anything from me.
Quote from: Cramulus on October 09, 2009, 04:03:47 PM
I hereby grant right to use my stuff however you see fit
*waves hand*
Quote from: Squid on December 01, 2009, 06:54:18 PM
anybody can always use anything from me.
:lmnuendo:
Quote from: LMNO on December 01, 2009, 05:33:35 PM
Ok, in light of the current bru-ha-ha, I would like permission to use the content of these posts in a different medium.
Would the following people please sign off approving my possible use of their work:
TGRR
Richter
Kai
RWHN
Nigel
Jenne
Squid
Cainad
000
Cram
Corvidia
planeswalker
GA
Eater of Clowns
Rat
If content is used, attribution will be given.
Thanks,
LMNO
[Edit: Names in Bold have signed off.]
I am signing off on this so hard, you don't even know. Use and abuse any content I may have created ITT.
Have at it.
Quote from: LMNO on December 01, 2009, 05:33:35 PM
Ok, in light of the current bru-ha-ha, I would like permission to use the content of these posts in a different medium.
Would the following people please sign off approving my possible use of their work:
TGRR
Richter
Kai
RWHN
Nigel
Jenne
Squid
Cainad
000
Cram
Corvidia
planeswalker
GA
Eater of Clowns
Rat
If content is used, attribution will be given.
Thanks,
LMNO
[Edit: Names in Bold have signed off.]
Oh hai. Sure, go ahead!
Is it too late to post something?
Feel free to use my stuff with attribution.
Quote from: Mistress Freeky on December 03, 2009, 12:04:35 AM
Is it too late to post something?
By the authority invested in me by.. nobody.. sure, go ahead.
There are plenty of people who enjoy reading good material, and I'd certainly like to see a second wave of this.
These webs are so cozy, so warm, they keep me asleep most of the time. I dream then. I dream of a world that is imperfect, but full of HappyTM. I dream of an easy way to live, full of nice things, and other people who also have nice things, and some other people that we never talk about because that is Not Done. And the others do, too, of similar things. But in dreaming, a person can change nothing, only watch, and go along with things sometimes. That's what the spiders say, anyway.
And when I get tired of dreaming, I groggily open my clouded eyes. I remember that it's gray and gloomy here, and these webs that span the spaces between glistening and shiny towers, they reach as high as the clouds. The space at the top, the spiders tell us, is for the special people, the people they tell us to love as much as they love us. These webs also reach all the way to the ground, and it is crowded down here. I see everyone around me, so long entangled that they no longer see the strands, and they cast aspersions on people who think "badwrong" thoughts, or them that refuse the pills, and the weirdos who don't like the glowing box. They even gnash their teeth at those on the Hamster Wheel, accomplishing everything in a short space of time what we in the web always wanted to do but never got around to in the whole of our lives.
The streets are strewn with trash and filth, while way up at the top (the spiders say) it is clean and bright and there are fewer strands of web, not that the web is a bad thing, oh no, it is nice and snug and is very comforting, and the spiders made it specially for us. But sometimes the web down here at the bottom is coarse, and heavy, and blinding, and suffocating.
Someday, say the spiders who love us, if you work hard enough, we might just let you climb to the top and see for yourself how nice it is. Won't that be nice? But you have to work harder. You're not working hard enough yet.
Until someday comes, me and everyone else down here will have to settle for the almost-kind-of-bright light (though most days it just seems gray and overcast, and dark and gloomy, even when I look up to the top of the web, between the very tops of those shining, glassy skyscrapers. And if being awake becomes too unbearable, the spiders can sing us a lullaby of two layers, one that helps you get to sleep fast and another to help you stay asleep, and we can dream and dream and dream.
^^^^^It sounded better in my head and I thought this while I was writing it but I was trying not to think about it and I don't know what I was thinking and now I'm all tense and worked up about it because IT BLOWS.
:argh!: :asplode:
FWIW I liked it. The story was good and I thought the writing was pretty good - I found it a little bit jarring at first because it's in a voice I'm not used to, but I don't think that's a fault of the writing itself.
Freeky, I'll read it later. But if you don't like it, you can edit it and polish it until you do?
And LMNO, this about that 4-line poem+ASCII-art I made? Go ahead and use it, I'm curious what you will make from it. Music? Cause it was supposed to be read out loud, rhythmically, so I'd love to hear that in your voice!
Quote from: Mistress Freeky on December 03, 2009, 01:10:18 AM
These webs are so cozy, so warm, they keep me asleep most of the time. I dream then. I dream of a world that is imperfect, but full of HappyTM. I dream of an easy way to live, full of nice things, and other people who also have nice things, and some other people that we never talk about because that is Not Done. And the others do, too, of similar things. But in dreaming, a person can change nothing, only watch, and go along with things sometimes. That's what the spiders say, anyway.
And when I get tired of dreaming, I groggily open my clouded eyes. I remember that it's gray and gloomy here, and these webs that span the spaces between glistening and shiny towers, they reach as high as the clouds. The space at the top, the spiders tell us, is for the special people, the people they tell us to love as much as they love us. These webs also reach all the way to the ground, and it is crowded down here. I see everyone around me, so long entangled that they no longer see the strands, and they cast aspersions on people who think "badwrong" thoughts, or them that refuse the pills, and the weirdos who don't like the glowing box. They even gnash their teeth at those on the Hamster Wheel, accomplishing everything in a short space of time what we in the web always wanted to do but never got around to in the whole of our lives.
The streets are strewn with trash and filth, while way up at the top (the spiders say) it is clean and bright and there are fewer strands of web, not that the web is a bad thing, oh no, it is nice and snug and is very comforting, and the spiders made it specially for us. But sometimes the web down here at the bottom is coarse, and heavy, and blinding, and suffocating.
Someday, say the spiders who love us, if you work hard enough, we might just let you climb to the top and see for yourself how nice it is. Won't that be nice? But you have to work harder. You're not working hard enough yet.
Until someday comes, me and everyone else down here will have to settle for the almost-kind-of-bright light (though most days it just seems gray and overcast, and dark and gloomy, even when I look up to the top of the web, between the very tops of those shining, glassy skyscrapers. And if being awake becomes too unbearable, the spiders can sing us a lullaby of two layers, one that helps you get to sleep fast and another to help you stay asleep, and we can dream and dream and dream.
:mittens: , particularly for a first effort.
Quote from: Mistress Freeky on December 03, 2009, 01:10:18 AM
These webs are so cozy, so warm, they keep me asleep most of the time. I dream then. I dream of a world that is imperfect, but full of HappyTM. I dream of an easy way to live, full of nice things, and other people who also have nice things, and some other people that we never talk about because that is Not Done. And the others do, too, of similar things. But in dreaming, a person can change nothing, only watch, and go along with things sometimes. That's what the spiders say, anyway.
And when I get tired of dreaming, I groggily open my clouded eyes. I remember that it's gray and gloomy here, and these webs that span the spaces between glistening and shiny towers, they reach as high as the clouds. The space at the top, the spiders tell us, is for the special people, the people they tell us to love as much as they love us. These webs also reach all the way to the ground, and it is crowded down here. I see everyone around me, so long entangled that they no longer see the strands, and they cast aspersions on people who think "badwrong" thoughts, or them that refuse the pills, and the weirdos who don't like the glowing box. They even gnash their teeth at those on the Hamster Wheel, accomplishing everything in a short space of time what we in the web always wanted to do but never got around to in the whole of our lives.
The streets are strewn with trash and filth, while way up at the top (the spiders say) it is clean and bright and there are fewer strands of web, not that the web is a bad thing, oh no, it is nice and snug and is very comforting, and the spiders made it specially for us. But sometimes the web down here at the bottom is coarse, and heavy, and blinding, and suffocating.
Someday, say the spiders who love us, if you work hard enough, we might just let you climb to the top and see for yourself how nice it is. Won't that be nice? But you have to work harder. You're not working hard enough yet.
Until someday comes, me and everyone else down here will have to settle for the almost-kind-of-bright light (though most days it just seems gray and overcast, and dark and gloomy, even when I look up to the top of the web, between the very tops of those shining, glassy skyscrapers. And if being awake becomes too unbearable, the spiders can sing us a lullaby of two layers, one that helps you get to sleep fast and another to help you stay asleep, and we can dream and dream and dream.
Nicely done! The 'above th clouds part' reminded me a lot of how "Sugarcandymountain" was mentioned in "Animal Farm"
Thanks FP, Rog, Richter. :D
Quote from: Mistress Freeky on December 03, 2009, 01:10:18 AMAnd if being awake becomes too unbearable, the spiders can sing us a lullaby of two layers, one that helps you get to sleep fast and another to help you stay asleep, and we can dream and dream and dream.
:mittens:
woooooooooow Mistress Freeky, you have a great writing style, really, imagery and general flow .. nice! my only criticism could be that it doesn't bring much new to the subject that hasn't already been said one way or another, but that's not really important, or even a bad thing.
Quote from: Triple Zero on December 03, 2009, 07:48:59 PM
woooooooooow Mistress Freeky, you have a great writing style, really, imagery and general flow .. nice! my only criticism could be that it doesn't bring much new to the subject that hasn't already been said one way or another, but that's not really important, or even a bad thing.
That's why I hated it last night. Its frustrating being late to the party.
Thanks though, for the compliments!
Quote from: The Right Reverend Nigel on December 03, 2009, 04:34:15 PM
Quote from: Mistress Freeky on December 03, 2009, 01:10:18 AMAnd if being awake becomes too unbearable, the spiders can sing us a lullaby of two layers, one that helps you get to sleep fast and another to help you stay asleep, and we can dream and dream and dream.
:mittens:
Thankees. :mrgreen:
Bump so I can find this for parts 3 & 4.
Bump again, because I'm a lazy bastard and I need to find time for this.
Don't we have a wiki somewhere? Stuff like this should get loaded into it for future reference.
Psycho letters, "What is Chi", "What is chaos", or other epic threads of original discourse and content.
yes, however this requires someone to step up and archive it.
until then, we have this, which was last updated in November 09:
http://blackironprison.com/index.php?title=Apple_Talk_Dialogues
It seems as though most translations (well one) of this to other media use "Jack" instead of "LMNO" for the first piece
Should the PDF follow suit?
Quote from: Pariarrhea on February 04, 2010, 12:39:51 AM
It seems as though most translations (well one) of this to other media use "Jack" instead of "LMNO" for the first piece
Should the PDF follow suit?
I thought we had decided on "Jim", but Jack will work.
Oops meant Jim.
This third version is set to be out by tonight.
It will have all of the entries in it.
http://www.scribd.com/doc/26344746/Hey-LMNO-v3
Got it down early
Goddamn, that looks awesome. Thanks, man.
:golfclap:
Quote from: Pariarrhea on February 04, 2010, 01:44:52 AM
http://www.scribd.com/doc/26344746/Hey-LMNO-v3
Got it down early
Holy fuck, that's great.
My jaw dropped. That is one glorious pdf.
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on February 04, 2010, 12:40:54 AM
Quote from: Pariarrhea on February 04, 2010, 12:39:51 AM
It seems as though most translations (well one) of this to other media use "Jack" instead of "LMNO" for the first piece
Should the PDF follow suit?
I thought we had decided on "Jim", but Jack will work.
Been meaning to ask; Who's Jim?
Quote from: Sigmatic on February 04, 2010, 04:25:46 AM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on February 04, 2010, 12:40:54 AM
Quote from: Pariarrhea on February 04, 2010, 12:39:51 AM
It seems as though most translations (well one) of this to other media use "Jack" instead of "LMNO" for the first piece
Should the PDF follow suit?
I thought we had decided on "Jim", but Jack will work.
Been meaning to ask; Who's Jim?
1. My boss.
2. A random name LMNO chose, and
3. Captain of the USS Enterprise.
Jim should become part of the mythos of psycho letters.
/$0.02
Quote from: Sigmatic on February 04, 2010, 05:36:18 AM
Jim should become part of the mythos of psycho letters.
/$0.02
He has. The last 6 psycho letters have been addressed to him.
But like, who is he? What is his role in relation to the stories?
I just think it's an interesting question.
Saved, and printing off in 3... 2...
Quote from: Sigmatic on February 04, 2010, 05:50:27 AM
But like, who is he? What is his role in relation to the stories?
I just think it's an interesting question.
Maybe he created the spiders? Maybe he is a spider? Maybe he's just a guy? Maybe he'll never know..
Something about the squirrel on p.11 is causing GSView for Windows to crash. I think. Can't seem to get past page 11, and when I printed it the printer got to the text on p.11 and refused to print the squirrel, then made these horrible grinding noises.
And I just stripped Adobe off my computer for security reasons...
ETA: didn't work with v2 either; tried printing the file to pdf from KPDF (which views them just fine); WinGSView wouldn't take either.
So I'll print them some other time. Which is probably a good thing, as if I printed them tonight I probably wouldn't have enough ink left over to print the essay test I'm turning in tomorrow.
I don't have windows, but you can import PDF's into google docs (http://docs.google.com/), and then presumably that'll reformat it a bit and output it as postscript when you print, or you can save it locally in different formats.
Quote from: Sigmatic on February 04, 2010, 04:25:46 AM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on February 04, 2010, 12:40:54 AM
Quote from: Pariarrhea on February 04, 2010, 12:39:51 AM
It seems as though most translations (well one) of this to other media use "Jack" instead of "LMNO" for the first piece
Should the PDF follow suit?
I thought we had decided on "Jim", but Jack will work.
Been meaning to ask; Who's Jim?
It's the phonetic pronounciation of "LMNO", as it appears in the original letters.
Well, how would
you pronounce it?
Quote from: Pariarrhea on February 04, 2010, 01:44:52 AM
http://www.scribd.com/doc/26344746/Hey-LMNO-v3
Got it down early
WOW.
(http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g213/05136/megamittens.png)
Quote from: GA on February 04, 2010, 06:58:34 AM
Something about the squirrel on p.11 is causing GSView for Windows to crash. I think. Can't seem to get past page 11, and when I printed it the printer got to the text on p.11 and refused to print the squirrel, then made these horrible grinding noises.
And I just stripped Adobe off my computer for security reasons...
ETA: didn't work with v2 either; tried printing the file to pdf from KPDF (which views them just fine); WinGSView wouldn't take either.
So I'll print them some other time. Which is probably a good thing, as if I printed them tonight I probably wouldn't have enough ink left over to print the essay test I'm turning in tomorrow.
If you want I can take that out and just leave blank space and upload a new version
Quote from: LMNO on February 04, 2010, 12:58:53 PM
Quote from: Sigmatic on February 04, 2010, 04:25:46 AM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on February 04, 2010, 12:40:54 AM
Quote from: Pariarrhea on February 04, 2010, 12:39:51 AM
It seems as though most translations (well one) of this to other media use "Jack" instead of "LMNO" for the first piece
Should the PDF follow suit?
I thought we had decided on "Jim", but Jack will work.
Been meaning to ask; Who's Jim?
It's the phonetic pronounciation of "LMNO", as it appears in the original letters.
Well, how would you pronounce it?
ALPHAPANCE MAGILLACUDDY.
Hey, that has a nice ring to it.
Quote from: LMNO on February 04, 2010, 12:58:53 PM
Quote from: Sigmatic on February 04, 2010, 04:25:46 AM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on February 04, 2010, 12:40:54 AM
Quote from: Pariarrhea on February 04, 2010, 12:39:51 AM
It seems as though most translations (well one) of this to other media use "Jack" instead of "LMNO" for the first piece
Should the PDF follow suit?
I thought we had decided on "Jim", but Jack will work.
Been meaning to ask; Who's Jim?
It's the phonetic pronounciation of "LMNO", as it appears in the original letters.
Well, how would you pronounce it?
Lemonjello.
Thuthan.
Well, just don't call me late for dinner!
:rimshot:
Quote from: LMNO on February 04, 2010, 06:05:19 PM
Well, just don't call me late for dinner!
:rimshot:
(http://listicles.thelmagazine.com/wp-content/upload/ironhide_facepalm.jpg)
Sometimes I read it in my head as "Lemon-o".
Ellemmenno
Avgolemono.
Dear Doktor Howl, I have a few logistical questions:
Who is the author of the original pieces attributed to TGRR?
Do you prefer to keep the TGRR moniker on the scribd hardcopy?
Your previous two rants were written and recorded by TGRR; any future recordings will be written by TGRR and recited by Doktor Howl -- how would you like this to be credited on the album/website?
Quote from: LMNO on February 08, 2010, 03:29:28 PM
Dear Doktor Howl, I have a few logistical questions:
Who is the author of the original pieces attributed to TGRR?
Do you prefer to keep the TGRR moniker on the scribd hardcopy?
Your previous two rants were written and recorded by TGRR; any future recordings will be written by TGRR and recited by Doktor Howl -- how would you like this to be credited on the album/website?
Leave any extant pieces with the original attribution, written or spoken. No need to complicate things.
Quote from: LMNO on December 01, 2009, 05:33:35 PM
Ok, in light of the current bru-ha-ha, I would like permission to use the content of these posts in a different medium.
Would the following people please sign off approving my possible use of their work:
TGRR
Richter
Kai
RWHN
Nigel
Jenne
Squid
Cainad
000
Cram
Corvidia
planeswalker
GA
Eater of Clowns
Rat
If content is used, attribution will be given.
Thanks,
LMNO
[Edit: Names in Bold have signed off.]
late due to absence, but do as you seem fit.
Quote from: Pariarrhea on February 04, 2010, 01:44:52 AM
http://www.scribd.com/doc/26344746/Hey-LMNO-v3
Got it down early
yes, yes, yes!
Did I not yet give my permission? I'm sure I did.
I was previously Corvidia and feel free to use it.
I'm so snug in my cocoon. It's MY cocoon, and the spiders made it Just For Me. It's got everything I need, really. They really thought this through, I can't give them enough credit. It's nice and warm and dry, and it even keeps out the nasty voices. The outside voices. The voices I used to hear when I lost focus. Those voices really used to bother me. They whispered in my ears, and the things they whispered were scary things. They told me to think for myself. They told me to ask questions, uncomfortable questions that no one seemed to like asking. But then the spiders came with needles, and they fixed all that. They injected me with their venom, but you know what, I don't like calling it that. I prefer to call it medicine. Venom is a dangerous word for dangerous people, and we don't like dangerous people. So let's call it medicine, shall we? I was injected with the medicine, and at first I felt a little mushy inside, but don't worry, you get used to it after a while. After a while, you realize that there's no point in twitching any longer, and you just sit there. And then you're happy. Everything is taken care of.
Sometimes, I'll feel the pedipalps poking into my back and licking away, but I know that's got to be my imagination. It's got to be. It's just a hole in my cocoon. A little more medicine will patch it all up. Right?
Quote from: . on February 04, 2010, 01:44:52 AM
http://www.scribd.com/doc/26344746/Hey-LMNO-v3
Got it down early
Hey, uh... "periodman"...
Is there any way you can add Mistress Freeky's rant to the scribd doc? Now that RB has recorded it, it would probably be a good idea to include it.
Quote from: Mistress FreekyThese webs are so cozy, so warm, they keep me asleep most of the time. I dream then. I dream of a world that is imperfect, but full of HappyTM. I dream of an easy way to live, full of nice things, and other people who also have nice things, and some other people that we never talk about because that is Not Done. And the others do, too, of similar things. But in dreaming, a person can change nothing, only watch, and go along with things sometimes. That's what the spiders say, anyway.
And when I get tired of dreaming, I groggily open my clouded eyes. I remember that it's gray and gloomy here, and these webs that span the spaces between glistening and shiny towers, they reach as high as the clouds. The space at the top, the spiders tell us, is for the special people, the people they tell us to love as much as they love us. These webs also reach all the way to the ground, and it is crowded down here. I see everyone around me, so long entangled that they no longer see the strands, and they cast aspersions on people who think "badwrong" thoughts, or them that refuse the pills, and the weirdos who don't like the glowing box. They even gnash their teeth at those on the Hamster Wheel, accomplishing everything in a short space of time what we in the web always wanted to do but never got around to in the whole of our lives.
The streets are strewn with trash and filth, while way up at the top (the spiders say) it is clean and bright and there are fewer strands of web, not that the web is a bad thing, oh no, it is nice and snug and is very comforting, and the spiders made it specially for us. But sometimes the web down here at the bottom is coarse, and heavy, and blinding, and suffocating.
Someday, say the spiders who love us, if you work hard enough, we might just let you climb to the top and see for yourself how nice it is. Won't that be nice? But you have to work harder. You're not working hard enough yet.
Until someday comes, me and everyone else down here will have to settle for the almost-kind-of-bright light (though most days it just seems gray and overcast, and dark and gloomy, even when I look up to the top of the web, between the very tops of those shining, glassy skyscrapers. And if being awake becomes too unbearable, the spiders can sing us a lullaby of two layers, one that helps you get to sleep fast and another to help you stay asleep, and we can dream and dream and dream.
I will have a quiet place to record tomorrow. I will finish mine then.
Oooh, goody.
Not sarcastic.
I have several tracks in mind for you...
Mua-Ha-Ha!
Quote from: LMNO on March 02, 2010, 04:19:39 PM
Not sarcastic.
I have several tracks in mind for you...
Mua-Ha-Ha!
Oh, okay. Horrible evil shit, I can live with. I will be recording tomorrow, so you should have the remaining mp3s tomorrow or the next day, depending on how much time I have (and how long I can stay awake).
I never was very quick to make up my mind. Even before. And half the time, I'd just change it again, to agree with whoever needed agreeing with. And even though all I hear these days is "Spider this" and "Spiders that", I'm not going to judge a creature Evil, just because it's alien, octopodal, Shit, as if any opinion of mine is going to weigh in as relevant.
I do know I used to hate them when they were little. Spider sized. I couldn't kill them either. Not because of fear, because I can pick them up, and throw them out thr window, no problem. But to kill them, and have all those legs, frantically thrashing around? Broken pulpy bodies, oozing ichor out of the torn bits? No.
I know those legs keep going. For ages. Long after the Arachnid is dead. Weeks later sometimes. But in my mind! In the middle of the night. I would wake up in a cold sweat, because of a Spider I killed when I was seven.
So I am in no position, to say yay, or nay. I can hardly see these days, the vision in both my eyes seems to be viewing from behind a cataract.
Monochromatic, and without depth, it brings me no real clues. And I'm thinking a lot clearer now.
Hanging upside down from the ceiling can do that, I'm told. A small mercy, but a mercy, nonetheless.
And I always did like the soft, almost living caress of pure silk against my skin.
Hopefully I got the right spirit for this.
The dry mouth woke me up. It was still night. I wanted water desperately but my body felt stuck and my head was pounding. I reached for the pills instead. The pills would make the headache go away. Then I grabbed the bottle of E&J I had beside me when I fell asleep to wash it down. The box was still glowing. The box kept me company. It spoke to me, and told me bedtime stories. It kept the darkness away. It kept the silence away. The box is my friend. I sat up, and lit a cigarette and listened to the stories the box was telling me. Funny, I think it's told me this story before, earlier today even. I couldn't be sure, because my mind felt full of spider webs.
It slowly dawned on me that the box had indeed told me this same story, just earlier today. But I didn't mind. I liked the comfort of familiarity, of predictability. I remember how this story ended. I wouldn't have asked it to tell me another story even if I wanted it to. I had no desire to move at all from where I was sitting. When was the last time I moved anyway? I seem to recall vaguely, the last time I moved it was a bit of a struggle as if I were stuck to something. I wonder how I got stuck. I wonder how I got free. I must have gotten free. I don't remember the glowing box, the pills or the brandy being there when I struggled to get free. I wonder when it was when I got free?
I feel like putting a bullet through my head after reading the first page.
So, what's stopping you?
Quote from: LMNO, PhD on December 11, 2010, 03:39:38 PM
So, what's stopping you?
I'd rather put bullets through other people's heads.
Quote from: Cervantes on December 11, 2010, 09:14:33 PM
Quote from: LMNO, PhD on December 11, 2010, 03:39:38 PM
So, what's stopping you?
I'd rather put bullets through other people's heads.
A surprising amount of people actually survive shooting themselves in the head. The skull is quite hard in most places. and even with the most serious intent, very often the bullet glances off the bone leaving only a superficial wound. Even with the gun barrell placed in the mouth, the curvature of the palette can deflect the bullet into exiting through the back of the neck. If it misses the spinal cord on it's way out, chances of survival are substantial. Experts say the best place to put the barrell is under the chin, and pointing upwards, and an angle of about 15 degrees, ensures the bullet smashes through the brainstem.
Of course, if the would-be deceased were to choose a shotgun, the result would be much more predictable, but it seems the aesthetics of blowing most of your head clean off, don't fit the average suicide's idea of a quick, clean death.
Quote from: BadBeast on December 11, 2010, 10:08:16 PM
Quote from: Cervantes on December 11, 2010, 09:14:33 PM
Quote from: LMNO, PhD on December 11, 2010, 03:39:38 PM
So, what's stopping you?
I'd rather put bullets through other people's heads.
A surprising amount of people actually survive shooting themselves in the head. The skull is quite hard in most places. and even with the most serious intent, very often the bullet glances off the bone leaving only a superficial wound. Even with the gun barrell placed in the mouth, the curvature of the palette can deflect the bullet into exiting through the back of the neck. If it misses the spinal cord on it's way out, chances of survival are substantial. Experts say the best place to put the barrell is under the chin, and pointing upwards, and an angle of about 15 degrees, ensures the bullet smashes through the brainstem.
Of course, if the would-be deceased were to choose a shotgun, the result would be much more predictable, but it seems the aesthetics of blowing most of your head clean off, don't fit the average suicide's idea of a quick, clean death.
If I were to do it with a firearm, that is how I would do it. Shotgun or large caliber bullet, under the chin.
Quote from: Sir Reginald on December 11, 2010, 10:10:15 PM
Quote from: BadBeast on December 11, 2010, 10:08:16 PM
Quote from: Cervantes on December 11, 2010, 09:14:33 PM
Quote from: LMNO, PhD on December 11, 2010, 03:39:38 PM
So, what's stopping you?
I'd rather put bullets through other people's heads.
A surprising amount of people actually survive shooting themselves in the head. The skull is quite hard in most places. and even with the most serious intent, very often the bullet glances off the bone leaving only a superficial wound. Even with the gun barrell placed in the mouth, the curvature of the palette can deflect the bullet into exiting through the back of the neck. If it misses the spinal cord on it's way out, chances of survival are substantial. Experts say the best place to put the barrell is under the chin, and pointing upwards, and an angle of about 15 degrees, ensures the bullet smashes through the brainstem.
Of course, if the would-be deceased were to choose a shotgun, the result would be much more predictable, but it seems the aesthetics of blowing most of your head clean off, don't fit the average suicide's idea of a quick, clean death.
If I were to do it with a firearm, that is how I would do it. Shotgun or large caliber bullet, under the chin.
Yup. When the chips are down, it's always best to go with the best option available to you. For dramatic effect, a sign hung around the neck, with "Now look what you made me do" or just plain "Happy now"? is a nice touch, and rules out anyone trying to say afterwards (And there's always one) that you were cleaning the gun, and it was just a horrific accident. (Because you wouldn't want anyone to remember you for being that stupid)
Oh for fuck's sake just mix a bunch of opiates and wash em down with a bottle of scotch like a normal person.
Shit.
Or get a syringe and just give your veins some fresh air bubbles.
Or inhale some carbon monoxide, that is as painless a death as you can get.
"Be still now, just relax, don't struggle," a spider whispered into my ear, as it began to wrap its silk around me. How did I get caught in its web? And why was it talking to me? "To help you relax," it said, one of its legs popping a pill into my mouth. And I started to relax. I stopped struggling. The spider continued to spin. "We're doing this for your own good, really. There's a lot of badness out there, and you will be safe here." I wondered what it was talking about. "Look, see there?" And I saw a glowing box, and the glowing box showed me all the badness that the spider was talking about. "You don't want those people to hurt you do you? They can if you leave the web. Even worse, you can become one of those people. We're saving you from yourself. Oh, I've upset you now. Here, let me change that for you." And then the box showed me good things. Good things that I could have vicariously through my vision. The spider stroked my cheek. "Hush now, don't struggle."
There's that sound again. That low thrumming sound. Something is spinning. As it draws near, those who hear it cover their ears in pain, and hide themselves in the darkness it brings. The sweet, dreamless darkness. Then, when they are fully wrapped in the bliss of the dark web, the Spider moves on to the next one.
I don't know when I first became aware of the sound. I don't remember what it was like to go through life without the fear that the Spider would be coming or me next. And it has come for me. I never intended to try to fight it. I just didn't want to get lost in that darkness, no matter how inviting it seemed. But running and fighting are the same. You can't run away forever, but there's nothing wrong with getting a good head start. You can't fight alone, but it will find you more quickly if you gather together.
Sometimes, you have to go towards the sound. That awful, awful sound. You don't want to, but if you don't, it will know you hear it. And then you will have to start running again. I'm so tired of running. The little strands of web that are still stuck in my hair are so warm, so inviting. But I remember the promises the darkness made, and I remember my friends who listened and are now nothing more than lifeless cocoons, dancing to the will of the Spider.
But maybe it's not so bad. Maybe everything is easier in the web. No worries, no cares. Just all the latest celebrity gossip, beamed directly to your brain. Isn't that what I want?
The Spider isn't a bad guy, he's just doing what WE paid him to do. The public demanded shitty sitcoms, lethal fast food, crappy booze, porn, and those Goddamn Pills™, and The Spider merely delivered on the contract.
That's the part Curly never understood, you see...If people didn't want these things, they wouldn't PAY for them.
And just what IS The Spider, anyway? The corporate wizkids that analyze what we buy (My guess is they're doped up even worse than we are.)? The factory stooge that actually makes the products? The truck driver who delivers them? YOU, THAT FUCKING PAYS FOR THEM?
When you want to know why things are so fucked up, why everyone spends all their time drooling into their laps while they watch "America's Got Talent" while they shovel McNuggets™ into their feeding tubes, don't bother The Spider, he's just holding up his end. Instead, go into the bathroom and talk to the guy in the fucking mirror....He's just as responsible as anyone else.
And forget Curly. He had all the wrong values, and he got what was coming to him. The cunt.
Or Kill Me.
I can't laugh from the nestled little spots in the web, can't mock and scream at their failure. I loved that chittering rage they'd have when they saw they'd captured my body but hadn't broken my resistance, that time wears even their diamond strong strands. Unthinking animals, being of malice but beings of instinct and no plans. Instinct can be tricked.
That was until the day at the bar. The table was littered with empty cups and the music played and the crowd roared in challenge and appreciation of it and this was my world. Everyone always huddles at one end of the bar it seems, packing in shoulder to shoulder for their own medicines, their precious golden liquid pills. I go to the far end, the one in the corner where there's that bartender who doesn't look at me funny when I order a bourbon neat and she's real damn sorry they're all out of glasses because she knows plastic is for the scum drinks. Well, the other scum drinks.
It's darker there and somehow quieter, the far end. I'm half way there and I see a fuzzy shape with its arms on the bar top and its other arms on the bar top and its eyes looking every direction of the compass and then two more. Or I think I see it, knock back the bourbon, order another. Then it's not staring everywhere it's looking over at me, casually leaning as though to engage me but waiting for my move. Instinct, again, let the fly struggle its way deeper in as it fearfully throws about vainly stupidly desperately panicking. I stare to its eyes to laugh, then, like I've been laughing since I knew it had me but it still wouldn't ever have me have me.
There's this pretty nurse I see walking into work a few days a week. She's tall and she's blonde and, well, I don't know anything else about her. Place like this beauty stands out though, goes a long way when all the walls are drab and all the people are prison people. Prison people on both sides in different uniforms and me in my uniform just outside its walls and her in her scrub uniform. A fresh face stands out and yeah, I'd notice her walking by as we both rushed in on our daily late schedules. That's what I see in the Spider's eyes at the bar, at first, I see that nurse. I'm still laughing and I'm still drinking to prove to the big bastard that I'm in control, not the booze and not the crowd that's stopped and keeps glancing at our little stare down.
Then another eye has me. Me in one eye and that nurse in the other. I'm sitting in our nice executive office chairs with the horrible lumbar support they provide and I'm me. I'm me, there with two eyes on the screen and a two hands on the keyboard and always moving about to the other screen or the mouse or the pen. And I'm moving faster and faster I must be busy, hustling around it must be a Monday when we get all the weekend paperwork because I'm a blur. My eyes are on paperwork screen then they're on the radio screen and my hands are on the keyboard then they're on the mouse and the nurse is still walking in the other eye but she's walking in shorter strides now even though she's going faster, faster and gracefully and confidently. My eyes are on the screen and they're on the other screen and they're on the keyboard and there's one on each mouse and there's another two working on papers all at once and does my skin look grey? I know I'm hairy but not that hairy, and my eyes aren't that dark they aren't black and reflective. Then there's that nurse in the Spider's other eye but she's straight skittering as she hits the doors, as she gets ready to hand out cups and cups and doses and doses of medications to the inmates, the stuff they crave and sometimes can't live without and sometimes can barely even live with and it's a con because a lot of them have the very same effects as the other stuff, that they're in for, in the syringes or the bottles or the pipes.
It's got four more eyes, the beast at the bar. I'm not laughing anymore. I've got this grin, this good trick you bastard but I've got some fight left kind of grin. It's got four more eyes and I look at one. There's my executive management track friend and he's putting down a sandwich at his desk to get more done and he's pushing it past big fucking dripping fangs. I don't stay there long enough to see what's in the sandwich. There's another eye and it's my claims adjuster friend, one hand on the phone and up by her face and the other five just dead bored by her side. Two more eyes but it's enough because those images keep switching. Friends parents strangers the bartendes the dj the guy in the bathroom the group of girls celebrating a friend's 21st and every driver passing by all at once. Six eyes I can see all at once in my own six eyes. Some of the images have fucking spider limbs like I saw on myself and on that nurse, but some don't. I like the ones that don't, not because they're resisting and not because they're innocent and winning but because they look tempting. They look like meat waiting for my attack, but better than the attack the trap I lay, the game I play in wait. The feast will come later, and it won't ever end and it'll be just one of a thousand others by the time I die in body even if I can't in truth. The feast will come later but now it's the chase, the game that I love to play because it's my own damn game and I can't lose it. And I laughed.
That's when I heard the chittering.
The same chittering I used to hear as I laughed at them in my sticky little corner of the big web; the one that kept me from falling off the world again.
I stopped my chittering. The Spider at the bar started its. Turns out it isn't quite rage.
I don't remember when I became aware of them. I mean, I always knew they were there, in a kind of "Oh, there's a Spider" way, but aware of them? Of what they are? What they do? The pills must have had something to do with it. But they keep me so 'happy' I find it difficult to focus on things like 'when' and 'why'. I know they watch everyting we do. Not just watch, like we would watch, but watch with eight eyes. They see so much more than we do.
They are watching out for me.
And the way they wrap us up in threads, to keep us safe from falling, comforts me. But in an uncomfortable way. I feel the web vibrate, and I know the thing at the centre feels my unease. So I take another pill. Soothing vibrations reach me, and it says in that dry, yet somehow sibilant voice, that I've done the right thing. That things will soon be all better again. But I'm not sure I believe it. "Yet" it says. I feel muted by the depth of love it has for me. The pills are just an expression of this love.
I feel safe, yet I sense danger, loved, yet unfulfilled. Why are there so many contradictions here, in this silky soft embrace? Why is nothing (except the pills, and the silkyness) permanent? Definite?
The things that used to hunt me, have all gone away. The fear, the disgust, all gone. Kept at bay by my protectors. They are jealous protectors, and will not tolerate interlopers. Predators. That's why I feel so safe. It feels good not to be hunted. Warm, and safe. Like a dream. But like a dream, I know there must be an awakening. ("The Pills", it says, more urgently) The awakening will tell me why I no longer feel hunted. Why I feel so safe. The awakening is what hunts me now. The pills are for my defence, for my safety. So I take another pill. But why do I still feel like Prey?
(MUST WAKE UP!) The feeding tubes suck the thought away, almost before it registers. Almost. Wave after wave of silky soft love assauge me from every directions. My resolve to awaken fades to nothing as the pills start to kick in. Reminding me not to worry. Worry is for the Protectors. That's why they spin their threads, so we don't have to worry. That's why the pills reassure and relax me. That's why the threads cradle me. All safe. All safe again. Lulled back into the dream again, I sleep.
I worry sometimes. OK, maybe I worry MORE than sometimes, but it keeps me sharp.
I watch where the freedomtm we had has been going, and why, and it makes me worry more. Like BadBeast said, it's all pissed away into those threads. They tie up folks, and all of a sudden they stop moving or communicating as much.
"It's OK, I'm Safetm now." is the refrain I hear, they they have to get home to watch CSI or Dexter. Weird, I never heard people include a "tm" when tehy used to speak, but I've started hearing it. They're not safe in the classical meaning either, they're just coddled by legislation and limitation away from some horrible one - in a million shots that might hurt them. The Mcnuggets, the Coke, and the cigarettes are doing worse to them, but they don't like hearing that.
They try to tell me I can be safe too, jsut shut up and be happy with the threads. It's not freedom though, and that worries me.
" 'Sup.", says the Spider, "You don't HAVE to worry you know. Just ask. We can help."
But that isn't help, and real freedom doesn't come with shackles, no matter how soft and stretchy it is. Freedom has one cost, eternal vigilance. Most people don't seem to want that though. They want the security, the surrendering of their worries to someone who knows better. Great. Fucking GREAT, a whole future full of people bitchign for wellfare, (their personal wellfare, not the program), and expecting someone else to jsut hand it to them, a one size fits all spandex American Dream, made in China, and Sold out of Wal Marts.
I have to skirt and duct now, weaving around threads like it's a fucking jungle, trimming things out with a machete when I don't fit. Ah crap, even HAVING a machete is a no-no now. Pretty soon there won't even be room to duck and weave. Before that happens though I'm certain someone will come around. They'll decide I'm the wrong type, a malcontent who never wanted help, never wanted to play along. One who wouldn't plug into the web and be Safe like all the other Good Citizens. Danger to myself and others.
They won't want to hear that I'm OK accepting that I might endanger myself, that I'm OK beign repsonsible for my own life. If I come withing 100 yards of one of the Safe ones the wrong way, thet's their excuse to put me down for the greater good. I cannot be made safe becuase I was not made to be safe, and that Safe life is no life worth having. Guess I'll be skirting the edges and running the hollows for awhile. Nothing short of taking down the web is going to change that.
Quote from: Richter on December 14, 2010, 04:54:27 PM
Nothing short of taking down the web is going to change that.
Do that, and you can start counting the megadeaths.
Bump for re-reading tonight, prior to sitting down and listening to the latest updates.
OoooOOOOOOooooooh . . . :horrormirth:
It takes a bit of a jump in the late teens. Just letting you know.
Hard to believe this was posted 2 years ago.
Hard to belive I haven't finished the audio side of this, given two years.
Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on September 13, 2011, 08:50:19 PM
Hard to belive I haven't finished the audio side of this, given two years.
How much more is left?
Well, I've done 18, so... I think I'm slightly more than halfway done. I need to get cracking.
Quote from: Doktor Howl on September 13, 2011, 08:48:41 PM
Hard to believe this was posted 2 years ago.
Oh wow.
Good bump, though. I think I'm going to make a point of re-reading this, the BIP, and maybe some other stuff that's on the Reading List (http://www.principiadiscordia.com/list.html). See if it kindles anything new worth talking about in my head.
Bump for hunter.
Fuuuuuck I never held up my end on this.
Let's face it, you've been pretty busy.
Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on September 26, 2012, 12:44:05 PM
Let's face it, you've been pretty busy.
OK, yes, this is true.
However, this is a thing I really really want to actually DO.
I'm still working on the beast, so if you find your way to a microphone, I'd still be happy to have it.
Quote from: LMNO, PhD (life continues) on September 27, 2012, 01:50:53 PM
I'm still working on the beast, so if you find your way to a microphone, I'd still be happy to have it.
Cool. I have not yet experimented with recording on my Nexus, I'll have to see how that works.