Topics

I'm just gonna leave this here, along with some lame excuse about being busy recently...

www.soundcloud.com/themachiavellia

themachiavellia.co.uk

xx

edd

p.s.  and before you say it, yes, I know, there are tonnes of things that I'd have done differently with the mixing if I hadn't been rushed and tired.  But maybe say them anyway, to remind for next time

p.p.s.  physical EPs look like this (my face as an optional extra):

Some of my little friends say that Santa Claus isn't real.

My papa says "If you see it on PD.com, it is so."

Please, tell me the truth, is there a Santa Clause?

xx

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V80Isj9JK1s

and you thought morris dancing was bad...

I'll be brief on this, and we can split it into it's own thread, but you don't seem to be using the idea of Occam's Razor correctly.

http://wiki.lesswrong.com/wiki/Occam%27s_Razor

However, you're absolutely right if you consider that what politicians are giving you is a false simplicity, and runs entirely counter to Occam's Razor.

Well, I did have an incorrect interpretation of Occam's Razor, but I still dislike it.  Not because it's a bad idea.

In my eyes, the idea that:

When several theories are able to explain the same observations, Occam's razor suggests the simpler one is preferable.

I completely agree with that, but I think there is one cleverly hidden implication, which is really what I was trying (and failing, as usual  ) to express.  It comes down to that last phrase really:

the simpler one is preferable

SIMPLE IS PREFERRABLE

I'd go as far to say that a lot of new scientific theories fall pray to a kind of simplicity halo effect, like when judging the personality of faces we equate beauty with positive characteristics.  Simplicity is dangerously reinforced in a lot of spheres, and it may even be the case (to stretch the meme/gene parallels a touch) that simplicity of memes is selected for in meme transference, for the obvious ease in spreading an idea and in comprehending.

Hell it might even be that our lazy brains select for simplicity, consider the beautiful = good phenomena in face perception.  What is beautiful?  In very broad strokes we're talking about things like skin clarity (textural simplicity?) and symmetry (geometric simplicity?).  Bloody simplicity is everywhere.

Now I'm gonna jump the gun a bit here, and suggest that someone will say something along the lines of "why use a paragraph when you can use a word", which is absolutely right (sort of).  But there's no point in doing that if you're using the wrong word.  So to bring it back to the original subject, Occam's Razor for me represents a subtle trend towards simplicity for the sake of simplicity.

xx
Edd

p.s. @LMNO, it may or may not clarify my point somewhat to know that I study psychology, as such the theories in my mind when talking about this sort of thing tend to be psychological theories, which are tend to be a lot messier than in other sciences.

... they grew in stages like Pokemon and only ate live prey, which they had killed themselves.

THESE ARE ME BABBIES:



Above one is slightly smaller, and less agressive, I'm thinking the fucker might be male, it's also a few days behind the other moulting-wise.  Those blurry crickets in the background are fucked.

Below is the larger, who has just moulted.  Fairly sure its female, just 'cause it's so aggressive and pissy:





They're congo green mantids, and they fucking rock.  Although keeping a writhing box of live crickets took some getting used to   Also, they are fucking adorable when you pick them up, 'cause their long range depth perception ain't so great they start waving their arms at shit that *might* be close to them.  Generally it's a good idea to give them something to climb onto though, otherwise they start jumpin'.


xx

edd

http://chickswithstevebuscemeyes.tumblr.com/

Well even if you're not, this is still awesome:

http://janice.bandcamp.com/album/the-smiths

xx

edd

In which I tackle the worlds misconceived faux-pas with my wealth of inexperience.

First up:

GARLIC BEFORE A DATE.

Frankly.  Fucking do it.  I fucking love garlic, people who don't probably aren't worth knowing, in fact non-garlic lovers should probably be avoided at all costs.. They're probably vampires.  Hell, I equate "ability to use a garlic crusher" with "culinary genius" in most cases.  In fact, don't even bother eating the garlic, just get some garlic butter and lather it onto your earlobes.  In fact why not go the whole hog and turn entirely naked except for garlic butter so I can wrap you in spaghetti.

Ermm...

In conclusion:  Demand information on garlic preference beforehand.  Your pre-date communication should break down like this (in descending order of importance):  Garlic Preference (if no feign an important commitment at the last minute), Place, Time and Name/Sex (unless indifferent).

More incoming, I'd also welcome suggestions and will answer any tough questions you might be struggling with in your love life!

x

edd

I have been reading your recent definitions thread and I believe you may be my mother.  I am unsure of the appropriate course of action.  That is all.

... I might be trying it over the weekend.  hints an' tips?  I'm thinking a crow roast might be a laugh, I'm also fairly sure it's gonna taste like arse.

I'll post pics in the aftermath

xx

edd

She was a fine vessel indeed.  I mean, she had her quirks, she didn't put up sail so well, we spent a good few months at the mercy of the currents and the storms, going where we had no choice but to go.  But once she was flying the flags, she was away.  Like a whale she swam, across the oceans, to the darkest places a heart can go, and she brought light there.  Acorss the oceans of life, me and m'lady guided the Good Ship Relation.  And a fine vessel she was, while she lasted.

But I suppose in my excitement, in my haste to explore new waters, I didn't fully prepare, I didn't even have a checklist, I assumed the crew would have checked everything beforehand.  But no.  We had an issue, a "something" I had overlooked.  There was a leak in the hull, I tiny thing.  We barely noticed it for so long, but evcentually, I knew.  I was a me shaped hole, that grew every day.  But we were blissful in out ignorance.  It was only when the wine ran out that I checked the hold, and even then I tried to keep my mouth shut.

In the end you can't ignore something like that.  Eventually you have to explain why the Good Ship's deck is only a few feet above the water, and the crew have been replaced with bloated corpses.  Those fuckers won't lift a damned finger to help out.

Here's that catch you see:  I made this ship, it was fashioned from my heart and my soul, in conjunction with another, but the point still remains, that this ship, any ship, made by me, will always have the same hole, the same unstoppable leak, the same disasterous design flaw.

Now I have new ship.  It is very different to the HMS Relation, very different indeed.  It is darker for a start, where once the Good Ship brought light it brings, at best, a neutral, dispassionate grey.  It does, however, have it's advantages, it is mine, and mine alone.  It has no fear of the bottom of the ocean.  It needs no guidance, no restorations.  It does not require my maintenance, because it is me.

It is it's own path.

...and other major poompers:

CLICK IT (I'd be very surprised if it was considered NSFW)

xx

edd

It started off as nothing, you cunts (who shouldn't be reading this, fuckers).

But then it spiralled out of control, at first it was few looks a day, just to get my fill.  Just to keep me ticking over.  But when I realised...  Oh...  The realisation...  It's dirty, do you still want to know?

When I realised that sometimes, there were real people at the other end of the keyboard, real people with real thoughts!  Amazing, I was like a butterfly flapping its wings in a pond far too big for him, sending little ripples of manipulation, of experimentation.  And you all played along, like good little guinea pigs.

But this is it.  The last six hours have been leading up to this, how to break the news of my sociological experiment has been running round my brain all this time.  I couldn't live in pretence any longer.  I just couldn't.

All this time I've been waiting.  Waiting for the right time.

Waiting for the perfect opportunity...






To start a thread with a title this good.
Suckers.

So, here at PD, we've all heard the arguments for and against copyright a million times, its a classic round here, as an internet community, this is clearly something that resides somewhere in the collective consciousness.  So I'm going to skip the bit where I argue that copyright is "immoral" or some ridiculous thing like that, and start with a few basic points, that are probably important in understanding the rest.

First up:  Labour as an extension of the self.

The idea that the things we create should be owned by us.  I'm pretty cool with this idea, its good.  In fact I really have no quarrel with the kind of copyright law that enforces this, but this is getting awfully close to discussions we've had before no?

Ok, lets move on quickly:

The ownership of "ideas".  Well this one is a bit weird ain't it.  The ownership of ideas.

Now just what does that mean?

I'm gonna use Dok Howl's (hi there) work as an example, because from previous experience, unless my memory is particularly faulty today, he is in the "GTFO my work biatch" camp (which is fine by the way).

So one day, I'm reading some of Dok's work.  And now copyright starts to get a bit weird, because as soon as I've read it, I have, to some extent copied it.  It's right there in my head.  And furthermore, it is now (arguably) impossible for me to make and creative work which is not a derivative work.

But that's just philosophical rubbish, and in all practical cases (pretty much), see above (labour etc.)

Ok so I quite like copyright, what's my beef with music then?

Music piracy happens.  And I'd bet in a lot of caes, it doesn't happen because of disrespect for the artist, or their property or anything like that.  I'm willing to bet it happens because people want to listen to more music than they can afford to listen to.  Am I right?  (I'm probably right).

What annoys me most, is the record industry's reaction to this.  More and more legislation against piracy because it is "killing the industry".  I call bullshit.  Piracy is actually killing their monopoly, never before has it been easier to listen to a whole slew of artists who you've never heard of and probably aren't even signed.  I think things like Spotify and last.fm are a move in the right direction.

I annoys me that "the record industry" pushes legislation instead of innovation.  The industry is marketing to itself not to the customer, that is why it is failing.

Ok, that's probably just about it for music, let me know if I missed anything.


Acadmic texts.  Do you have any fucking idea how expensive that shit is?  If someone can explain exactly how education only being for those who can afford it is OK, maybe I'll back down, but probably not, because you'll probably be wrong.

Yeh, I didn't have much to say on that.


<3's and fucking xx's

edd

[your own unrealistic beliefs]

I don't know how many people will have heard of this guy, I'd expect (the rather high) number of psychology (ex)students have, if so, then I suppose this probably has more relevance for those who haven't heard of him.

George Kelly, was a psychologist, lived from 1905 to 1967, and created something known as personal construct theory.

Personal.  Construct.  Theory.

Do you see where this is goin'?

Kelly was a man interested in personality, and disinterested in Freudian methods, which rely on an observer's interpretation.  Basically, Freudian psychoanalysis tells you an awful lot about the analyst and not an awful lot about the patient.

So, how to approach this dificult subject of "personality"!?

Kelly believed that our individual differences are due to the differing constructs we use to understand, group and differentiate the different elements that make up reality.  He used some pretty clever tests to tease the most important constructs out of patients.  A test that maps out constructs and how different elements relate to them, in a (semi)standardised way.

George Kelly scientifically studied the Black Iron Prison.

Then he went a step further.

Cognitive Behavioural Therapy and Cognitive Restructuring, although they were/are aimed at treating psycholigical disorders, it reads like this (torn from wiki):

"The cognitive restructuring theory holds that your own unrealistic beliefs are directly responsible for generating dysfunctional emotions and their resultant behaviors, like stress, depression, anxiety, and social withdrawal, and that we humans can be rid of such emotions and their effects by dismantling the beliefs that give them life. Because one sets unachievable goals — "Everyone must love me; I have to be thoroughly competent; I have to be the best in everything" — a fear of failure results. Cognitive restructuring then advises to change such irrational beliefs and substitute more rational ones: "I can fail. Although it would be nice, I didn't have to be the best in everything."

-Ellis and Harper, 1975; Ellis 1998

(emphasis mine)

I fucking love George Kelly.

WHAT THE FUCK.

DO IT!

bonus points if it can be acquired for less than £1 from somewhere like amazon/ebay (uk sites).  I'll keep an eye out in local stores obviously, but this little town ain't great for places that sell vinyl, and I've already bought everything remotely interesting from oxfam.

x

edd

p.s. vinyl crackle is the most awesome sound ever

...But not as we know it.

My band just finished recording our extremely DIY, tentatively title MEGA-SINGLE.

It's a demo really but we accidentally put too much effort in so we had to call it something more impressive.

Tracks from the MEGA-SINGLE (titled TurboFolk) can be found HERE!

Yes, myspace is lame, get over it.

Also, it looks like this:

         

And yes those CD's do look like totally wicked awesome tiny vinyls.  Classy huh?  They're not though.  Definitely cd's.

You could buy one for £3 (+p&p).  Or you could just listen to it.  For free.

xx
edd


p.s.  Comments?  Flames?  Praise!?

...a man rapping geoffrey chaucer?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GTMPvpiuyRY

x

edd

I rediscovered one of my favourite albums today:

http://www.last.fm/music/Leatherface/Mush

if you haven't heard them, you should

xx

Exactly how long did you intend to keep this from me?

[The Back Story:]

The Back Story:

Goes thusly, I have a friend, a real friend, not one of those binary friends that some people have.  And we have an argument, it goes thusly:

He say, "There is objective truth and objective good, thus we should be able to devise a consistent set of moral guidelines which will always be applicable."

I say, "No.  There is no objective morality."

The argument stagnates, as arguments in this manner are want to do.



The Story:

I have been led to an idea.  An idea based upon evolution, such that, I am gonna do that thing where people draw direct parallels between genes and memes.

Many people will tell you that people are special.  Why are people special?  Because they create, and love, and maybe have free will, or are at least complicated enough to appear to have free will, and sometimes they write poetry.  And animals don't write poetry.

Therefore, humans =/= animals.

I say:  Maybe.

I would, however, suggest that the most important aspect of humanity, and the one that has allowed us to flourish in almost all regions of the planet is this (yup, you're getting there right?):

Adaptation.

While other animals are subject to slow change through natural selection, we can adapt in a behavioural manner much more quickly.

Now replace genes with memes and humans with moral codes and BOOM.  There's my idea.  The most powerful and effective memes should be the ones that promote adaptation.  I say nay to objective morality and yay to adaptable morality.  Probably.


I should also point out that this line of thinking is something that is coagulating in my brain space, so you know, show me the holes people.

uhh...  not those holes.

x

edd

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J8Bli13rO9A

And who couldn't?















MONOCLE SMILE!

My girlfriend and her sister are gonna be in Portland for the whole of August.  Thus, I demand that you abuse show them cool stuff.

Though that depends on how you feel about hangin out with young people...  they're really cool young people though...

x

edd

Do your thang:

                     



My girlfriend has been making these for a week or so, I think they are pretty awesome, some will probably be on etsy in the future, or if anyone here is interested we can probably work something out with the magic of paypal.

Also, custom ones for people are very much a possibility, if you have any cool ideas for sock monsters

x

Edd

What liquor would you most strongly associate with justice?  Preferably non-beer, it's for a cocktail-based-science-experiment in justice and testicles.

x

edd

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Spooky-Farts-For-Halloween/dp/B002H2T708

What have you done!

I thought it must be a coincidence, until I saw the record label....

because I changed my mind about the other one I was gonna do...

So I was talking to this friend of mine the other day, and he says it would be really cool to publish a magazine, but its just a rather large amount of effort doin that sorta thing on your own right?  Now I says to him, I know some peeps doin e-zines.



Now he's not exactly of the Discordian line of thinking, explicitly anywho, but it gave me this idea, cause I know an awful lot of creative peeps, what with my being situated next to an art college most of the time.  So something mighty fine could come out of such a collaboration.  I would be editing, with contributions largely from people you've never heard of.



x

edd

in case you weren't aware, also available on spotify

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BgZGq6cGj9s  (NSFW - probably)

x

edd

And Holy Guacamole.

Have you seen this place?  It's so white.  I mean, of course I tried painting it, but the stuff just runs off onto the floor.  Then they heat so its all sticky, and I can't even move my feet off the ground.  I think there's something in the air too, sometimes I don't want to move my feet off the ground.  It's just so much effort getting out of my seat.  I could be watching nothing happening, happily.

But I want to see colours again.  I want to lie down in the green grass and look at the blue sky.  But even outside everything is white.  Even the people are white.  Even the black people are white.  All the beautiful colours were siphoned right out of their skin... and clothes... and eyes.  I miss their eyes.  I want Hugh and Sa'Tu-racion.  Where did they go?  Nothing clashes in a White World.  I miss the contrasts, my eyes are getting bored...  and so tired... so tired...

But what really gets me?  It's that...  god...  they painted over their feelings.  They don't feel anything.  You can stab one right in their white chest, with a white knife, and watch the white blood pour all over your hands.  Their white faces just look up at you, their white lips tremble and they smile a white smile.  The whitest smile you'll ever see.

I don't think I have much time.  Too much time spent dwawdling, ignoring what has been happening all along.  But I can see, of course its obvious, when you wake up naked, with white paint on your hands, in white sheets, in a white room.  I want to roll in the mud like a petulant child, weak I know, but I can't just sit and watch.

I don't want to wake up and look in the mirror to see nothing looking back.

I know what I'm supposed to do, they tell me every day, what one should do, what is best, what is good for your well-being.  Brush your teeth, eat your whites, and remember, the most important thing in life is to always put on your best smile.

Okay, here we go.
                       

                Got a glass of water, always important when undertaking a creative exercise.
                            You know the brain is 98% water...  no that ain't right...  that's like... the sea or some shit.

Okay OKAY

                                        FOCUS...

                                                                              Focus....
Focus....


Oh Why the fuck did I write procrastination up there.  Like a fucking leading question.

                                                                This was bound to happen.  

                       Like that's going to help get me in the mood...

I meant creatively.

But hey, now you mention it...

Probably not right now anyway...  I was a little slow, but I did finally work out what the gently fapping and groaning from next door was most likely to be...  Not that is matter.

                                          I am Totally above masturbating loudly outside his door at 3am...

Totally.  With a capital T.  Plus an America accent.  An irritating whiny-girl American accent.


JESUS CHRIST ON A POGO STICK.
                                                          This is literally the worst revision ever.  Apart from giving myself brain damage.

      So yeh.

Fuck it.  I give up.
            I'll just write some bullshit for those weirdos on the internet.

They'll at least read anthing.  Then probably moan about my contrived and irritating breaking up of the text.  But some of them are bound to read too much into it right?  Then they'll probably praise my depth and insight for using wacky paragraph constructions and writing self-referentially.  And that's all there is to it.  I guess you could say that depth really doesn't matter.  No one actually wants content.  They just want the appearance of content.

                                                       

Give 'em a puddle to describe the ocean.

But jokes on them right?  I mean did I say before?

                                      FUCK IT

I'm too fucking tired to work.
                                               
                                         I'm too fucking shy for a revenge wank.




                                                                             I need some kind of fucking gratification yeh?

I forgot when you said you were free.

I am now your shared god:

Any chance I could get a look at your false memory thesis?  I have to do an assessment bases on eye-witness testimonies, but we're given pretty free reign with it

x

edd

I mean to say that, in all actuality, things are pretty good.  The government pays for me to do whatever the fuck I want most of the time and learn cool shit about how fucked up people are, I mean, did you know that you can condition sexual fetishes?  Turns out we have more in common with Pavlov's dogs than we'd like to admit.  Hell, maybe that's your way of getting the weird back.  If people don't want to be weird you can always force 'em right?

But that's kinda a tangent Dok, see I get this horrible feeling that these are the best days of my whole fucking life, that this is it.  Holy fuck I hop I'm wrong though, 'cause it'd kill me to realise I peaked too fucking soon.  Please for fucks sake tell me I'm wrong.

The sometimes I think, "So, why bother anymore?".  How long before I start getting old Dok?  'Cause already the days seem to fly by.  And I don't wanna grow up.  I don't wanna have jobs and responsibilities, I sure as fuck don't want to live like Them^TM, there's gotta be a better way right?  Gotta be a way to play the system to your advantage, RIGHT?

I'm fucking obsessed with my own mortality Dok.  It paralyses me sometimes.  Sometimes it's fine though, 'cause I think, "It'll be OK, I could probably do with a rest" but then, well...  What if there really is nothing?  I fucking like being alive.  I like that things happen, everday something happens.  I don't want things to stop fucking happening.  So kinda mixed in with this there is a desire to be famous.  Which is dumb right 'cause it seems that being famous actually sucks the big one.  But I guess its a jaded kinda narcissism, that tells me I want more than fifty people to give a shit when I finally kick the bucket.  I think that's kinda messed up, so I tell myself to stop, but I know that every other monkey thinks the same thing secretly, its just another way of wanting your life to have meaning, to make a fucking difference to the world.

But that fucking desperate, pathetic narcissism goes deeper, I don't mean fame, like it is today, where anyone can do it, no, I mean real fame.  Fame that people deserve.  Fame like the Pixies and the Stones and the Beatles.  That kinda fame could keep you in the collective memory forever.  I know that's kinda dumb, I wouldn't exactly be around to know about it would I?  But I guess that goes back to the old "searching for meaning" thing don't it?

So here's the punchline Dok, I need you to tell me something, put my mind at rest, if you will.

Please, tell me it's OK, even when the days start to run out, even when you really, really, want to be a perpetual motion machine.

Tell me it's still fun when you have to work a shit job that you hate just to stay alive.

Tell me it's still a fucking RIOT even when your body starts giving up on you.

Tell me Death likes to party.

http://www.myspace.com/theimposterandtheshadow

quick round of apologies for:  spagspace, rubbishy sound quality, my inability to create interesting and varied percussion with a violin case.

x

edd

[Intermittens: The look how fucking talented we are edition.]

Watch, as the ceiling drapes itself over the sky,
a beige blanket of mediocrity,
Am I dead,
I lack inspiration,
or am am I sleeping,
My body is a brain puppet,
that its master has forgotten.
Nought does hold my attention.
To be nothing could be bliss,
or maybe thats what this is.

Apathy is Death.

In other words, I need a project.

Thusly I propose the following:

Intermittens:  The look how fucking talented we are edition.
In which we focus on the art and storytelling that happens on this board/elsewhere across the discordian/undiscordian interwebs.

x

edd

EDIT:  There's at least one Cramulan piece that springs to mind.

Some time in the future, in a world similar, but also wildly different, to our own...

A ragtag group of guerilla musicians will change the fate of humanity.  Fighting to save a world torn apart by stream-lined productivity and down-sizing and other such preposterous business lingo.  A planet obsessed with efficiency through mediocrity, where music is simply a tool to increase production, a state of affairs so mediocre only a madman could find it interesting.

The ruling faction has realised that Earth's resources are fast running out and has decided to address this problem by using an excessive proportion of the remaining resources to build a massive spaceship, capable of transporting the human race to far flung paces in search of a new home.  Join six plucky men and women, and a dog, as they do their very best to convince the world that actually, dull things are dull, and that while spaceships are really cool, Earth is pretty cool too, and maybe if everyone just chilled out on the giant spaceship front we wouldn't be running out of resources quite so quickly.

In other words, I'm writing a motherfucking musical.

x

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xyPrJb1_IdI

enjoy

Subject #1  College bar will not serve quintuple whisky...  FUCK THIS SHIT!  Must remember to pressure less experienced barstaff into it...

Subject #2  The whole academic system is bullshit, I handed in the dullest essay ever two days ago, I'm betting it gets a better mark than the actually interesting essay I wrote 2 months ago.  I mean, its like I get shat on for actually thinking about the subject the write-up is relevant to.  Who the fuck marks you down for that?  This system is bullshit.  Currently, I am thoroughly unimpressed with this.  Maybe I expected too much from this uni lark...  I guess I was expecting "them" to actually reward something approaching more original thinking, but it seems like just the same bullshit that I put up with at school.

I mean, I'm not above playing the system, I'll jump through the hoops for the benefit later on, but its still shit.  To me, it seems like the whole system teaches you to blindly follow a completely abitrary set of rules for some imaginary pay off.  Is that really what education is?

Subject #3  Lady Biscuit is far away, this is very saddening.

On the Bright Side:  There was a sale on tiger bread and hummous and hippy tea (read as herbal) today, so I went fucking mental, now my face is full of tasty.

x

An irritated but hopeful,
Roaring Biscuit

EDIT:

Also:

Amsterdam in Feb for cheapish or Portland in Summer?  hmmm...  Or neither and being able to eat next year... decisions, decisions...

what?

everyone else seems to gety one!

Enjoy:

http://www.scribd.com/doc/23475187

So yeh, there's a lot of talk about attribution of work etc. going round.  I hope all the BIP authors borrowed from feel that the I've represented their wishes fairly.

I was also considering selling these as hand-printed-DIY-art-booklet things, to avoid money arguments, that particular iteration won't contain any of the BIP writings, but will contain some sort of foreword explaining what/why/awesome.

anyway this is the IMPORTANT BIT:

TGRR
Cain
Cramulus
LMNO
Nigel

As far as writing/creative influence etc. I'd say you lot have been the biggest, so by way of thankyou I'd like to send you a free handmade one.  Probably free, depending on how much they actually work out at materials-wise at it may be postage price (approx $4-6 for the US atm?), obv cheaper for Cain.

I'll let you know when I start making them, and if you want one PM/email me a postage address.

The rest of you can have them at *hopefully* $10-16 incl p&p.  When I set aside time to make them, and decide what awesome materials I'm gonna use.  And decide how to make them significantly more awesome than just reading it on the interwebs.

I hope you like

x

edd

p.s.  LMNO, i know that bit about quantum isn't correct as such, call it artistic license

EDIT:  Title, to be easier to find

probs the wrong place to ask this, but I'm a need a quick answer,

does anyone know who wrote "A Touch of the Con" from the BIP?


x

edd

could go either way in my opinion, enjoy?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V2pk7wjLqsM




I'm not massively pleased with the opening, come of the voice over is bit rubbishy, but when the music kicks in (about 00:20) I think it really starts to work.

Also, please excuse the chocolate voice, it was late, I was mildly alcoholised and I was trying to whisper 'cause the walls here are paper thin.

Comments?  Flames?  Praise?

x

edit: sorry, gonna re-upload, its for some reason exported in awful quality

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NMkmKbv9B1c

the best bit is right at the end...

and its only good with sound.  lots of sound!

x

It can be quite surprising, when someone you thought you had a real strong connection to turns around and says, "I feel like I hardly know you."

"Why?"

"I never know how you feel, its practically impossible to get any personal information out of you because you're so good at dodging questions, it's like I'm talking to wall... made of steel."

"Sorry."

"It's not really bad,  its just...  I know there's something going on underneath..."

"Okay."

Inside its not so different.

There's a little man talking to a giant machine, a giant machine all encased in steel.  Who knows what's going on inside the machine, who knows what it keeps in there, who knows hows it works?  All I know is what it makes.

The little man talks a lot, but he talks in straight lines, follows thoughts around like a child following a paper trail, but he pretends to have all the answers, long before he's got to the end.

He talks all the time that he's searching, and the machine listens, silently, sometimes it whirrs, then it goes back to sleep.  Sometimes the man says mumbles, and the machine sparks into like, there are crashes and bangs from within, there is the grinding of metal on metal.  A conveyor belt brings out something new for the man to consider.

The man bitches about the world.  The machine makes puppies.

The machine does not think in straight lines.

Sometimes the machine makes a Bad Thing^tm.  Sometimes the man mumbles and the machine reminds him of things from a long time ago.  Things forgotten.  Things that had been Dealt With.

And the man screams at the machine.  He shouts at the top of his lungs, demanding to know why the machine has made this memento, searching desperately for any reason at all, longing to know what is in the machine.

But I don't want to know what's in the machine, not really, it makes Bad Things^tm, and a machine must have an input and an output.  So if the output is a Bad Thing^tm...  well...  I could crack it open, but it could be a maze of nightmares in there.  I don't want to smash open the Brain Tumor Fund just yet...  I don't think I'm ready.

x

edd,
totally not ever depressed about anything.

They dreamed my dream into real.



It all started before I was dead though.  Once upon a time,
I looked inside my head.  It was bright in there, and there was energy,
and heat.  But the world was barren, a nuclear wasteland.  All the buildings,
crumbled.  All the life mutated.  All the roads went to the wrong places,
or they went nowhere at all.


Maybe this is why my Thinks are Stranged.



But there was beauty in this destruction.  In the sky, my dreams swam
like beautiful fish, made of delicate strands of silver light.
You can tell that dreams are happy, when you see them in their
natural state.



I thought the world needed more dreams.  I knew the world needed more dreams.
So I plucked those beings of light, from that desolate land and I wrapped them
up, all together.  A little parcel of fantasy.  A seed of hope.



I planted my dreams, deep in the heart of this cold, dark earth.  There they lay,
a delicate silver cloud, with the darkest lining.  There my dreams stayed, for a long time.
I dreamed new dreams, but I kept them with me.  Life went on. 
Then I died, as we all do, sometimes.



Time passed, the world kept on spinning,
there was conquest and defeat,
there was war. 
There were bombs dropped.



The world was barren, a nuclear wasteland.




But people still dreamed.  The dreamed my dream and my dream stirred, in the dark depths,
my dream took root.  My dream grew into a giant silver tree,
that climbed forever upwards, above the rotting stumps of ruined buildings. 



The tree bore fruit, that grew large and filled the sky with beautiful silver clouds,
that swam carefree through the air.  The world was filled with light. 


They had dreamed my dream into real.




_______________________________________________________


Comments?  Flames?  Praise?

x

edd

I bought a pack of Starmix today.  I remember how I used to get them as a treat when I was a kid, I remember how I thought of them like little plastic packets full of delicious goodness.  Maybe that's just another way they get you, by praying on nostalgia, but that's a story for another time.

Here, the word of the day is full.

Full of delicious goodness.  See today I paid the same amount (or at least, it seemed like the same amount), and the packet was definitely not full.  So I went back, and I looked at the other packets.  They were definitely not full either.

And then 'cause I'm a grumpy bastard I thought about death.  I thought about growing up (something I never intend to do), and growing old (something I don't have a choice in).  I wondered whether it was always the case that as time goes by, you always give more and more and get less and less back.  I guess until you die, which is probably when you give everything, and get nothing back.

Maybe it's that society does its very best to make us grow up, maybe the Machine ^TM is just eating away at all our childish energy from the moment of our birth.  "Those not busy being born are busy dying" afterall, but maybe not just in body, in spirit too.

Now, I don't know about you, but that just don't seem fair to me, and I know life isn't fair, but it could sure as hell be fairer.

So I guess I'll make a pact, or an Old Year's resolution, to make life a little fairer, so that when the time comes for me to give my last, I'll take something back too.

With force, if necessary.

x

edit: slightly suspect grammar

quick drunken query:

on a scale of 1:10

how much of an insufferable twat am i.

x