#MOCAM

[bodybeyondstories]

The majority of cases are mild - 1

A mysterious virus is spreading through the city, leaving men with, among other symptoms, disproportionate bubble butts. Mayor Tan speaks in a press briefing while his team debates how long they can keep the situation--and their boss's posterior--under control; Devon, before he ever makes it to the clinic, comes to realize the treatment may not be working with his severe case; and Neil, an ardent journalist, goes to the lab determined to get some information about the crisis.

0 (initial prompt) | 2 (next)

[ ass expansion // bubble butt ]

3102 words

I decided to keep playing around with the ass expansion virus idea (see: previous rambles). I thought a 'triptych' approach might be kind of fun, with three vignettes that are part of an interconnected moment. Which leaves room for a different combination of perspectives told with each part (assuming I ever get around to continuing this). A close second for the title was (thanks to @embarrassedanon !) "Flattening the Curve."

- - - - -

I

“My team has been monitoring the situation, and they assure me, there is nothing to worry about at this time. The majority of cases are–”

“Mayor Tan!” came an insistent voice at the back of the press briefing. “Mr. Mayor, have you seen the latest data about infection rates? What’s your response to the uptick we’re seeing in…”

“Ugh, this guy again,” Ana muttered to the lanky man hovering next to her, both of them posted up just off stage.

Her attention could only last so long for this particular reporter who’d been incessantly crying wolf about this mysterious virus for months. She kept her focus on Mayor Tan, her lips moving along with his response, carefully scripted by her.

“Our rapid response team is world class and will move accordingly when specific thresholds are passed, came the mayor’s voice, as if through Ana’s soundless lips. “Until then, we encourage folks to be careful, but currently there is no need to panic.”

“That’s the guy from The Herald, right?” asked Jay, visibly unused to being even proximate to the spotlight. “He’s been maintaining this super useful data viz dashboard keeping track of the outbreak–”

“Not outbreak,” Ana corrected in a harsh whisper. “It is technically not an outbreak. We’re monitoring the situation until we can determine the appropriate designation for the spread of this…medical anomaly. We don’t need some journalist sowing panic before then.”

Jay, a full head taller than his superior, still managed to collapse in on himself under the heat of her side-eye. “I just think,” he stammered under his breath. “I mean, as the Public Health Advisor to the mayor’s office, I have some…concerns…”

“And as the Chief of Staff of the Office of the Mayor, I will let you know if, how, and when your concerns become the mayor’s concerns.” Ana graced him with a half turn of her face and a practiced, professional smile before turning back to the briefing.

“...like I’ve said repeatedly, we will let you know everything we know as we know it,” said Mayor Tan, hands held out in reassurance. “It’s still early days with this situation, and I know we’ve got plenty other things to cover in this briefing. How about one more before we move on to more pressing matters?”

“Mayor Tan,” began a reporter, “your team was still intimating that this was a hoax just last week. Why have you shifted that stance?”

He rested his palms on the podium and chuckled to himself. “I don’t think that’s the word we used, but our team believes in science, not pseudoscience, and we act on concrete data, not social media theories.” He shifted his posture, his fitted suit jacket bunching up over an eye catching posterior on the thirty-five year old politician. “As reliable data becomes available and new…developments occur, we shift our messaging and our strategies.”

Ana whispered along verbatim. She’d been guiding the mayor through his entire political career, knew him better than anyone else at this point. Working class beginnings, son of immigrants, got into a prestigious college, came back to the city to become a community organizer, got a Masters in Public Policy, won a City Council seat through a brilliant grassroots campaign–organized by her–and now sat in the Office of the Mayor. He was starting to get national attention, not just for his policies, but also his engaging demeanor, whip smart discursive abilities, and the toned, 6’0” frame on display during games of pickup soccer at his local community center. He was an eligible bachelor racking up social media views and a humble public servant who still took the bus to City Hall every morning. He was the kind of young, progressive leader that people needed to believe in right now, and both their sights were already set higher.

“I just,” Jay snapped her out of her reverie. “I just think we could be a little more proactive about this.” He showed her his phone, which displayed the latest statistics visualized by The Herald. Her eyes traced a line that had been lazily rolling up over the past several weeks, but was beginning to crook upward at a worrying angle.

“Look,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We’re taking this seriously, we’re all taking this seriously. But the last thing this city needs is panic over some…BBL virus.”

“That’s not–the official terminology is–”

“Male Gluteal Hyper–yeah yeah yeah, I know,” she said with a subtle, sharp wave of her hand. “I also got that memo. But there’s a lot at play here and a lot at stake. We’re about to get our signature public transport expansion through the council, we’re finalizing contract negotiations with the municipal workers’ union, we’ve almost got the affordable housing plan through the budgetary process. We haven’t even announced the gubernatorial campaign yet and the polls are already showing a tight race. I know you care deeply about this and you’re brilliant at what you do, but so am I. You have to trust me to play this carefully and play it right. Imagine what we could accomplish from the governor’s mansion, let’s not let this…absurd situation derail everything.”

“Yes…yes, ma’am,” said Jay. He refocused on the briefing, the mayor having taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves as he settled into his usual rapport with the press, shifting his hips back as he leaned over the podium. “But do we have a plan in place for…that?” He gestured slightly with his chin to the prodigious bubble butt straining the young mayor’s fitted slacks. 

“For what,” replied Ana with a quirk of her lips. “The Mayor’s last physical was, as you know, just last month, and, as you know, he’s in excellent condition.”

“Yes,” said Jay carefully, “but that physical was several…pant sizes ago.” The mayor was famous for staying physically active and notably in great shape, but his glutes and hamstrings looked disproportionate compared to just a few weeks ago, crammed into a pair of slacks that had already been adjusted multiple times but still looked liable to burst at any second. “Has he been diagnosed yet?”

“Mm mm mm,” Ana playfully scolded, her attention still locked in to the mayor’s practiced responses. “We don’t use that word until we need to. Fluctuations that may or may not happen with the mayor’s weight are not public concern, his personal tailor signed a solid NDA, and besides…” she once again synced up with the mayor as he gave  his parting thoughts and began to walk off stage, carefully controlling his gait to de-emphasize the overdeveloped cheeks switching back and forth behind him.

“The majority of cases are–”

- - - - -

II

“--mild! Mild. I know, I get it, you’ve said that plenty of times.” Devon held his phone at arm’s length out of frustration as the disembodied customer service voice continued to reassure him that there was little to worry about. “Look, I’ve been taking the over the counter meds for three days, and I’m not…” his voice lowered, “I’m not seeing any improvement.”

“We suggest you take those for a week at the onset of symptoms. You started noticing the gluteal swelling three days ago?”

“Closer to three…um…weeks…ago,” he muttered, resting his face in his palm. “I just didn’t know…didn’t think that…didn’t want to…”

“Ask about the clinic!” came his roommate’s voice from the next room.

“Right, the clinic! There’s a clinic, right? Do I need to get a referral?”

“Unfortunately,” responded the voice. “That’s for our more severe cases, and capacity is very limited.”

“Well this case feels pretty severe,” Devon hissed, exasperation entering his voice as he gripped his morning coffee. “I only have so many work from home days and I…” he breathed deep, “I’m ripping through all my office slacks. If I can even get them over my…my–” 

“Yes, well that’s to be expected. There are some great online forums popping up for men with your condition. DIY sewing on the fly, retrofitting your car, fashion inspo, the best supportive accessories, office furniture tips…”

“I don’t think I need to–I just don’t think the…symptoms are weakening. Maybe there’s a stronger treatment?”

A drawn out pause on the other end, until finally a pensive breath out. “Okay. Let me see what I can do. Keep taking the medication and we’ll get back to you.”

Click.

Devon punched the air. He’d accomplished basically nothing but at least he had the illusion of some solution to the hefty buns ballooning behind him. He felt acutely the jiggle of his cheeks as he strolled into the living room, where his roommate, Leo, was reading emails while the local news played in the background.

“...we encourage folks to be careful, but currently there is no need to panic…”

“Since when are they livestreaming the mayor’s press briefings?” asked Devon.

“Since that.” Leo pointed toward the corner of the screen, which featured The Herald’s graph of new cases, ending with that worrying upward curve.

Devon sighed, rested his hands on his oversized glutes. He gave them a squeeze, sending a shiver of pleasure up his spine. “Then I guess it’s fitting I’m working from home again.” He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah dude, I assumed based on what’s not fitting,” said Leo, holding up the tattered remains of Devon’s pants, strewn angrily to the floor. “Did you get into the clinic?”

“Ugh, no. Maybe? I don’t know. Probably not.” Devon, clad only in striped bikini briefs and a button down, flopped onto the couch harder than expected. “They mostly gave me tips about…retrofitting my car?”

“Oh, I have a cousin that could help with that. He caught it last month right at the beginning of some trip with his friends, then everybody caught it, and they couldn’t find the meds at a pharmacy anywhere until they got back. They almost got in trouble for public indecency on the flight back because none of their pants…you know…anyway, he like, got a more spacious setup installed in his car. It looks pretty sweet.”

Devon groaned.

“But you won’t have to do that!” Leo rubbed his roommate’s shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “I mean, he looked like he was smuggling beach balls last I saw him. You’ll be fine, you’re nowhere near that stage.”

“Not yet,” Devon sighed. Three weeks, he scolded himself. After his pancake butt suddenly started putting on mass after years of working out, those first several days were great. He was riding the high of attention and compliments as his perky bubble butt steadily inflated into a donk. After a week, Leo was the first to suggest that maybe it wasn’t just the new leg day routine causing him to fill out his pants so well. Devon demurred, enjoying his fat ass so much that he didn’t notice the attention begin to shift, the stares taking on a different tone, comments becoming mixed with concern, mockery, lust. By the time he was staring down at a positive test, the melons stretching his briefs to the limit were evidence enough. The hemispheres of his backside were now comical, quickly approaching colossal, and nothing seemed to be slowing them down. If that wasn’t severe enough, what was?

Extricating himself from the couch was becoming an ordeal because of the constant shift of his center of gravity. His cheeks bounced wildly as he shuffled to his room, peeling off the bikini briefs with relief so he could slip into a more comfortable pair of extra spacious harem pants. Before he could open the drawer, his eyes locked on to the ten inch teal tower of floppy silicone cock on top of the dresser.

His back arched in anticipation, hole twitching with need as he fell onto the bed, the globes of his ass jiggling out of control and sending waves of pleasure. Of all his symptoms, the increased sensitivity had hit almost as hard as his skyrocketing libido, leading to a newfound enthusiasm for all manner of large and unique toys. Silver linings, I guess, he said to himself with a wry smile, reaching for the lube.

As he lost himself in a pool of morning pleasure, which, he had to admit, was becoming a more than daily thing, his phone sat abandoned on the kitchen counter. Occluded by his muffled moans face down in his pillow, he couldn’t hear it ring.

- - - - -

III

“Hello Devon, this is Randi–with an i–at Phantasy Labs. I’m following up from your call. We may have an option for cases like yours. One of our satellite clinics opening up is specializing in severe infections that aren’t responding to the over the counter meds. Give me a call when you get a chance!”

Randi tapped her left earbud, ending the call, and–with her most adept customer service face–turned her attention to the man anxiously tapping his fingers along the edge of the reception desk.

“Our favorite reporter, back again,” she beamed. “How can we help The Herald, today?”

“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “The mayor had an impromptu press briefing this morning, I had to run across town. I was supposed to meet with someone from Epidemiology about the latest numbers?”

“As you can imagine, the Epi labs are swamped, but I’ll see if I can get you in.”

“Seems to always be the case,” he sighed. “Would it be possible to talk to someone about your data transparency? Research into the virus is publicly funded, if I’m not mistaken.”

“And we are just so grateful to have the support, trust, and financial partnership of the municipal government to tackle the spread. How about I redirect you to our IP specialists in Legal–”

“No, no, that’s fine!” he exclaimed. “Not again.” For months he’d been a fixture at that reception desk, with limited success in getting through to anyone actually working on epidemiological research or vaccine development. But the legal team was a rabbit hole he didn’t want to go back down.

Randi perked up as the earbud in her left ear pulsed with a lavender and green glow.

“It’s the Office of the Mayor,” she said, holding a finger lightly to the device nestled in her ear. “Official business, you understand.”

“Right. Well, if I could just–”

“I’m really sorry,” she cut him off with the gentlest wave of her hand. “Just give me a few moments. Go ahead and have a seat in the lounge. They just restocked.” She turned away and redirected her attention to the screen built into her side of the desk, tapping lightly as she whispered into the air.

Neil was familiar with every option of coffee, tea, and snacks that Phantasy Labs had to offer, having spent many mornings relegated to the waiting area, acutely aware that he would not be making it past the front desk. They're always changing this place around, he thought, wandering through the curvilinear architecture of the main lobby space. The undulating walls and bulbous pillars always looked strangely organic, as if the space was shifting its shape and growing new structures according to its own logic. It had never looked the same from one week to the next, but he had always managed to find the low seamless coffee table surrounded by oddly plush cushions made of a material he still could not figure out. 

This morning, however, it was nowhere to be found. In the spot where he felt it should be, he saw only a sheet of paper, placed flat on the floor, with an arrow drawn in permanent marker. The hair stood up on the back of his neck. He had never seen any sort of analog technology used in this place, let alone pen and paper. Nor had he ever had any encounter here that felt outside the realm of a fully coherent, seamless, organic efficiency. Maybe he was finally getting somewhere.

He looked up to find that the arrow pointed to a smooth, blank wall. As he walked up to investigate, a barely perceptible seam appeared at the height of an average door frame, and the wall unfurled further and further with his proximity. He stepped through, finding himself in the middle of a hallway, the door silently shutting behind him. 

“Well, shit,” he muttered, unable to reopen the portal he just stepped through, or even detect the seam itself. Instead of the glowing dots he was used to leading him along, he saw the same nondescript pieces of paper with carefully drawn arrows, leading him deeper into the maze of the massive facility. “Okay Neil. You’re a journalist, this is what journalists do,” he told himself. He followed the trail of breadcrumbs to–to his relief–an actual door with a real handle, with the word “UTILITY” printed at the top.

He entered to find row after row of closely packed floor to ceiling shelving, full of what looked like all manner of lab equipment, supplies, and meticulously labeled containers. He wandered in, looking for another arrow, eventually beginning to worry as he came to the conclusion that he had gone on this quest for nothing and simply meandered into a supply closet in the middle of a labyrinthine research complex that he may never escape from.

“Hi.” The quiet voice behind him caused Neil to jump, bumping into a drawer of measuring tape. 

Between him and the door was a mousy man holding several sheets of paper, featuring the arrows that had led him here.

“Oh, sorry!” His face a contortion of apology. “Communication is really tight here, I had to find a way to get your attention. I’m Sai,” he added with a helpful smile. He looked like he generally spent most of his waking time in a lab, but the disheveled hair, unkempt stubble, and dark circles under his eyes told Neil he hadn’t gotten much sleep recently, let alone made it home. 

From the waist up, he looked petite enough to shove out of the way in a pinch, but Neil’s gaze immediately fell to the pair of globes hovering behind him, stretching his plaid leggings to the limit, rotund enough to see from the front. His svelte waist ballooned into a pair of gargantuan ass cheeks and thick thighs, so comically hefty they effectively blocked any hope of escape. “You don’t know me. I’m just one of the R&D interns. But some of us have been following your work with the, uh, virus, and…could we, um, talk?”

“Yeah,” said Neil, unable to take his eyes off of Sai’s wildly disproportionate posterior. “Yeah, definitely.” He pulled out his voice recorder from his messenger bag. “I have so many questions.”

[ocombatente]

Estudantes de Rondônia ganham prêmio internacional do Fórum Espacial Austríaco

A equipe é composta por nove alunos e cinco professores da Rede Pública Estadual de Ensino A delegação de jovens cientistas, que integram o Instituto Movimento Científico da Amazônia – Mocam, ganhou o prêmio internacional do Fórum Espacial Austríaco, com o projeto Memória Olfativa, na quinta-feira (26), em Campo Grande (MS). A equipe é composta por nove alunos e cinco professores da Rede Pública Estadual de Ensino, com incentivo do Governo de Rondônia. Por meio da Secretaria de Estado da Educação – Seduc, o projeto educacional Memória Olfativa, orientado pela professora da rede estadual Diva Antunes Requenha, competiu com 900 jovens cientistas de todo o país e foi um dos cinco premiados pelo Fórum, tendo sido avaliado pelo astronauta analógico Gernot Groemer e pelo coordenador educacional do Fórum, Andreas Pfarl. Segundo a titular da Seduc, Ana Pacini, essa premiação evidencia o quanto os estudantes de Rondônia vêm crescendo e mostrando competência mediante várias áreas do saber. “O prêmio proporciona a esses jovens a perspectiva de que podem se tornar cientistas e que, a ciência é algo bom e está cada vez mais acessível a todos. Pensamento científico, curiosidade, métodos de análise, trabalho em equipe e muita criatividade para resolver problemas das mais diversas ordens, são algumas das aprendizagens conquistadas pelos estudantes em oportunidades como esta”, ressaltou. O PROJETO O projeto Memória Olfativa utiliza aromas amazônicos como ferramenta que, estimula a memória dos alunos com a finalidade de potencializar a aprendizagem. Para a estudante Victória Kássia, foi um momento emocionante. “Uma pessoa que me inspira aprovou o meu projeto. Senti que tenho a capacidade de ajudar a sociedade e isso me dá motivação para sempre continuar estudando”, afirmou. DELEGAÇÃO Participaram da delegação: Escola Estadual Mariana, de Porto Velho; Colégio Tiradentes da Polícia Militar – CTPM VIII, de  Rolim de Moura; Escola Santa Marcelina – Marcelo Candia; BR-364, de Porto Velho; Escola Estadual Professor João Bento da Costa, de Porto Velho; Escola Estadual Arthur da Costa e Silva, de Alto Alegre dos Parecis; e Escola Estadual Marechal Rondon, de Buritis. Fonte: Governo RO Read the full article

[miyolnir]

muhtemelen daha önce hiç odaklanmadığım kadar işime kariyerime okuluma odaklanan bne at 2:50:

[tkwc]

Envisioning an Art Museum on the Moon

By Sarah Rose Sharp

Moon Deed (image courtesy Julio Orta)

“Can we make art that transcends petty terrestrial concerns? The Museum of Contemporary Art on the Moon (MOCAM) has drawn together a diverse group of contemporary artists (including myself) to create work for a speculative museum that might one day exist on the moon. MOCAM was conceived in 2016 by visual artist Julio Orta in response to what he views as “the inevitable creation of human communities on the moon in the near future.” The museum purchased a plot on the moon through a website that issues deeds for property. The territory spreads over 20 acres in area D6, Quadrant Charlie, Lot Number 1/0581-0600, located 001 squares south and 001 squares east of the extreme northwest corner of what the deed terms “the recognized Lunar Chart.”

“Although governments and private entities are working on tourism and colonization of the moon, they seem to have no concern whatsoever for the arts,” states the MOCAM mission statement. MOCAM is working to address that situation, and in conjunction with the Indianapolis Museum of Contemporary Art, has begun a process “dedicated [to] displaying the most interesting, cutting edge, relevant art from the world, moon habitants, or in the case of future encounters, any other form of intelligent life we may meet.”

The inaugural show, Mystic Hyperstitians in the Heart of Empire, is being staged as a thought experiment of MOCAM on its online digital proxy, but the same works are also physically part of a bigger show, The Museum of Real and Odd, which opened at the Indianapolis Museum of Contemporary (IndyMOCA) Art early February. Mystic Hyperstitians was curated by Joey Cannizzaro, who chose to organize the show around the following prompt: “If extolling the virtues of self-expression and individual genius actually empowers capitalist ideology, then how can artists make work that is anti-conformist without promoting the values of individualism and its attendant isolation?”

After being invited to collaborate with artist Cedric Tai on his piece for the show, I took the opportunity to interview MOCAM founder Julio Orta and inaugural curator Joey Cannizzaro over email, who unpacked the inspiration, implications, and future prospects of the museum.”

Read the full interview here. 

[tommysoderholm]

Onsdagskrönika med Brexit, terrorlagen, Jocke & Jonna samt ny spelplattformen Stadia

Onsdagskrönika med Brexit, terrorlagen, Jocke & Jonna samt ny spelplattformen Stadia

Min instagram https://www.instagram.com/tommystankar/ Vill du stötta mitt arbete som fri samhällsdebattör finns swish o paypal här under swish 0793379728 paypal https://paypal.me/tommysoderholm Eller skicka en epost. tommystankar@gmail.com

/Tommy

#kommenterandenyheter #krönikör

[asedanaraka]

Oferendas sustentáveis ! Todo povo de santo é artesão ! Confeccionamos contra egum, mocam, fios de conta , quelé , azê , ferramentas etc ... Porque não conseguimos confeccionar nossas vasilhas sustentáveis?! Bora lá ! Algumas das folhas que podem nos auxiliar : Bananeira , Coqueiro , Dendezeiro, Cuia mansa, Mamona , Coco , Taboa. Uma das oferendas mais complicadas , o amalá ! Por ser líquido , calma ! Tem jeito sim , nada que um bom trançado com folha de coqueiro forrado com folha de bananeira não resolva ! Alguns truques 👌 Ajuda muito , untar tanto os oberôs ( alguidares ) e vasilhas de louça com banha de ori ou azeite de oliva . Passar a folha da bananeira no fogo nos dá mais flexibilidade no manuseio . É preciso acabar alguns mitos , coité não é necessariamente só para caboclos e pretos velhos ! É uma alternativa para acabar o uso de copos de vidro e descartáveis , é natural . É preciso repensar a questão da vela ! Alguns orixás tem kizila ao fogo , Obaluaê, Bessem , Oxalá são alguns deles ... Então o uso desse elemento " fogo ' tem que se fazer necessário! Garrafas de cachaça , champanhe , cerveja etc ... É uma questão de lógica não acham ?! Lembrando que o tempo de decomposição do vidro é indeterminado ! Pratos de papelão ? Decomposição seis meses a um ano . A folha da mamona é quente , sendo assim se atente para qual situação usá-la ! Cuia mansa , linda folha , parece realmente uma cuia , pertence a oxum ! Taboa é a folha que se faz as zans ( esteiras ) , todos nós sabemos que duram ... Do coqueiro se aproveita quase tudo , a folha nos dá facilidade de um bom trançado , sendo fria pode ser utilizada para todos os orixás , já o dendezeiro é folha quente , então use para santos quentes . Talo do coqueiro nos dá um maravilhoso barco ! E seu fruto ... Bebemos a água , enfeitamos nossas oferendas e podemos fazer lindos coites . A natureza e a criatividade nos dá a saída ! #ilêaséibádanaràká🌈 https://www.instagram.com/p/B1oI7CrHnN5/?igshid=ies0fwhjm4p1

[fccid]

Apollo Tech USA Inc. 1080P IOT CAMERA MOCAM-1080-01 (2AML4-MOCAM-1080-01)

http://dlvr.it/RBxpw7

[bodybeyondstories]

story prompt: mysterious virus is sweeping through a city. emergency rooms are filled with men with mysteriously swollen glutes. i’m imagining hospital beds with men laying face down, cheeks so big that hospital gowns won’t close over them. maybe it’s highly contagious and some doctors and nurses rip through their scrubs

Someone out there has to be working on some scholarly or critical writing about the viral/contagious tf trope and it's development over the past five years, I would love to read it. But I also love this prompt! You had me at the hospital gowns (which reminded me of Medical Mishap). Lately I've been thinking of a very similar spontaneous growth scenario, I had fun with this one

Series: 1 | 2 | 3 (previous) | 4 (next)

1361 words

-----

"The majority of cases are mild," came a prerecorded message over the sound system, repeating a litany of facts, updates, known symptoms, unknown symptoms, processes, procedures, and support groups for the eleventh time since Devon had entered the clinic. That's what the pamphlet repeated on every page, he noticed, gripping the cover in his hands, his thumb millimeters away from a stock photo model with obvious butt pads listening attentively to a stock photo nurse.

The majority of cases are mild, he repeated to himself, like a mantra. He'd seen the more extreme ones on social media. Men laying face down, pinned to hospital beds by planetoid ass cheeks, or trying to return to their normal lives with buns that looked like overindulgent morphs. But he didn't think it would happen to him.

He looked around at the scattering of men in the lobby, some with partners, some with friends, some, like him, simply alone. All carefully avoiding making eye contact with anyone else. All sitting awkwardly on the pleather cushions and shifting slightly every few seconds. All having assumed--hoped--that they would be in the majority of cases.

I should've caught it sooner, Devon thought, rubbing his fingertips against his temples. I thought it wouldn't be a big deal, I--

"Devon?" called a nurse leaning through the doorway.

"Uh, yeah!" He jumped up, feeling an odd weight around his hips that he realized too late was the chair rising with him, its arms stuck around an ass that looked comical against his otherwise lanky frame. If the entire lobby didn't already have their eyes on him, he definitely caught their attention--and a few gasps of awe and pity--as the chair clattered back to the floor, leaving his basketball sized butt cheeks hovering behind him. "S-sorry," he stammered, shrinking into himself as he walked toward the nurse.

"Happens all the time," he said with a practiced, reassuring smile, leading Devon through the main floor.

He let his eyes dance across the curvature of the nurse's wide shoulders, the v-taper of his back still noticeable in loose scrubs, and the pert bubble butt that brought a pang of envy. When he finally accepted that he might have caught whatever syndrome was causing "uncontrolled gluteal development" across the city, his ass had already jumped from frisbee to volleyball. He'd always wanted a cute butt, spent countless hours on the squat rack with little success, but suddenly he had two globes ballooning from his lower back, getting bigger and rounder by the day, until his roommate finally convinced him that maybe the over the counter treatment didn't work.

So now he was at the ad hoc clinic set up in recent weeks for this outbreak, trying--and failing--to tie his hospital gown behind him.

"You can leave it open," the nurse waved his hand dismissively. "We had to special order some more of the, uh, larger sizes because we keep running out."

"No, it's cool," said Devon, growing increasingly frustrated. "I almost got it."

"No, really, a lot of the patients don't even bother at this point."

Devon sighed. He had convinced himself that his own "mild" case just needed whatever the advanced level treatment was and then he'd be on his way. He had convinced himself that he wouldn't end up like the patients he'd seen on the way to his bed who had no hope of closing their hospital gowns or fitting into normal clothes again, flashing back to the brief, nervous eye contact with the guy laying awkwardly on his side with beachball sized butt cheeks. But he was already there, wasn't he?

"Between you and me," said the nurse with a twinge of anxiety. "We're running low on supplies. Whatever this thing is, it's moving fast. You're getting the last of the experimental drug," he said, handing him a pair of translucent patches. "One on each cheek," he added with a smile.

"And this will make the swelling go down?" Devon asked, eagerly slapping each patch onto his bare ass and plopping onto the bed with sudden drowsiness.

"We're still getting some mixed results with this batch," he answered carefully. "How does it feel?"

"Hot," Devon mumbled, as a burning sensation rolled across his oversized glutes, followed by a low, steady throb around his hole. "Really hot." He twisted around to caress one cheek, uncaring in his delirium about the hungry attention of the nurse but laser focused on the sizable bulge growing in his scrubs. "Feels like…I'm..." his eyes widened in shock as he felt his ass expand against in his hand.

"That's okay," said the nurse quickly. "Maybe it's something with the dosage. I think you're just a really good test subject."

"Test subject?" Devon repeated. "What do you mean 'test subject?'" He was interrupted by that rolling burn and bloom of pleasure, both more intense this time as his ass swelled further. "What was in that? What did you do?" his anxious questions dropped to a whisper as he sunk further into drowsiness, falling back onto the bed, his gargantuan ass jiggling with the sudden movement.

"I, um, I mean the majority of cases are mild, right? But you were ideal."

"Ideal for...what?" Devon closed his eyes as another wave of growth crashed over him, his cakes twitching even larger.

"This might be a...special case," the nurse said, eyeing Devon's monster booty. "Let me go find one of the guys from the lab--"

He backed into the counter sooner than he expected to, knocking a jar of tongue depressors to the floor and freezing in terror.

"No...no," he whispered, his eyes widening as his hand grabbed behind him. "It's accelerating, it wasn't supposed to move like this."

"What do you mean wasn't supposed to?" Devon asked, slowly turning his head to see the nurse shuffling through supply cabinets, his ass jiggling with his hurried movements, no longer the pert bubble Devon envied but now disproportionately large with an all too perfect, all too familiar roundness filling his scrubs to the limit. "Whoa, when did you get diagnosed?"

"I didn't. I was fine this morning, I thought I had more time, I should've had more time." His face contorted in discomfort as tears formed along the sides of his scrubs, his ass slowly inflating behind him.

"Yeah but most cases are mild, right?"

"Ugh, we just...made that up for the experiment."

"What? What experiment..."

But he couldn't answer, he was doubled over in pain, the swelling progressing so strongly he lost his balance, crashing against the counter and sending ripples through his cheeks. The tears along the side seams accelerated until his ass suddenly tore through the back, ripping his scrubs to shreds.

"Need to find...the extra doses," he muttered, knocking over medical equipment as he turned to head to the door. He opened it to see his path blocked by a pair of gargantuan ass cheeks being wheeled through the hall, a patient lying face down under them, surrounded by a crew of panicked nurses. "They're locking down the city!" One of them exclaimed. "It's spreading faster than the containment plan could've predicted, we need to--" their eyes locked on to the tell tale scraps of clothing hanging off his waistband, the bubble butt that was big enough to see clearly from the front.

"It's fine, I'm fine. It's just a mild case." His gravity defying globes looked comical as they continued to expand behind him, filling the space of the doorway.

"You know there's no such thing," they said, eyes softening.

No such thing? Devon squeezed his ass, at least as much of it as he could reach. His hole twitched with waves of pleasure and longing.

"I just need them to synthesize more doses and I can slow the growth down. I can...I can..." the nurse was grunting with effort as he struggled to get through the doorway, cheeks steadily inflating behind him, the muscles in his arms popping with exertion. "I can't. I'm stuck. It's not stopping."

"The majority of cases are mild," came the saccharine voice over the sound system. "But you should seek treatment as soon as possible."

[hana-creates]

What is MOCAM? from MOCAM on Vimeo.

[anastas1ja]

KE TE MOCAM MAMU DA TI JEBU

SAKASLI FER BE? CE TE UNISTU

[zoneemploi-blog]

ONG MOCAM CÔTE D'IVOIRE  recrute  SPÉCIALISTE EN SECURITE ROUTIÈRE

ONG MOCAM CÔTE D’IVOIRE  recrute  SPÉCIALISTE EN SECURITE ROUTIÈRE

Description du poste

L’ONG MOCAM Côte d’ivoire recrute :

Un spécialiste en sécurité routière • Description du poste Vous êtes chargés de sensibiliser les bénéficiaires sur la sécurité routière. A ce titre, vos responsabilités et missions sont les suivantes : – Informer les bénéficiaires sur la nécessité des équipements de protection individuelle. – Informer à l’Aménagement d’un point de traversée…

[ahblock]

Cinematics Reel | Assassin’s Creed Origins | 2017 Selection of some shots that I’m most proud of

Mocap cleanup + enhancement + handkey elements Facials/Lipsync are generally handkey, mocam was used as a base for eye/brows Responsible for the camera work for most of the action shots shown here 

Breakdown coming soon!

[asedanaraka]

Contra-egum, Umbigueira. Mocam e Senzala Todo Iaô usa contra-egum, umbigueira, mocam e senzala. O contra-egum é uma defesa do Iaô. O próprio nome já diz, é contra as forças maléficas espirituais, contra fluxo energético que possam influenciar a cabeça do Iaô. A umbigueira, na realidade é uma ligação de Oxum. Ligação ao útero e também uma ligação de Bessém para com o Iaô, ou seja, é a cobra mordendo o próprio rabo. A umbigueira não é para cortar apetite sexual como muitos dizem por aí. O instinto sexual ele é pessoal, ele é controlado por obediência, por fé e por força de vontade também. Na realidade, a umbigueira nada mais é do que uma representação da nossa mãe Oxum e uma homenagem ao cordão umbilical. Quando estamos com a umbigueira, o nosso cordão umbilical ainda está preso no Orixá, preso a Oxum. A senzala e o mocam são divisas, são patentes dadas por Ogum. Isso mostra, por exemplo, que o Iaô foi condecorado com uma divisa militar. Devem ser usados como jóias, como divisas de um soldado, de um cabo. Isso é precioso e enaltece a nossa cultura. #ilêaséibádanaràká🌈 https://www.instagram.com/p/Bz3AXoqniDV/?igshid=18kf15hand6q0

[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: Envisioning an Art Museum on the Moon

Moon Deed (image courtesy Julio Orta)

Can we make art that transcends petty terrestrial concerns? The Museum of Contemporary Art on the Moon (MOCAM) has drawn together a diverse group of contemporary artists (including myself) to create work for a speculative museum that might one day exist on the moon. MOCAM was conceived in 2016 by visual artist Julio Orta in response to what he views as “the inevitable creation of human communities on the moon in the near future.” The museum purchased a plot on the moon through a website that issues deeds for property. The territory spreads over 20 acres in area D6, Quadrant Charlie, Lot Number 1/0581-0600, located 001 squares south and 001 squares east of the extreme northwest corner of what the deed terms “the recognized Lunar Chart.”

“Although governments and private entities are working on tourism and colonization of the moon, they seem to have no concern whatsoever for the arts,” states the MOCAM mission statement. MOCAM is working to address that situation, and in conjunction with the Indianapolis Museum of Contemporary Art, has begun a process “dedicated [to] displaying the most interesting, cutting edge, relevant art from the world, moon habitants, or in the case of future encounters, any other form of intelligent life we may meet.”

The inaugural show, Mystic Hyperstitians in the Heart of Empire, is being staged as a thought experiment of MOCAM on its online digital proxy, but the same works are also physically part of a bigger show, The Museum of Real and Odd, which opened at the Indianapolis Museum of Contemporary (IndyMOCA) Art early February. Mystic Hyperstitians was curated by Joey Cannizzaro, who chose to organize the show around the following prompt: “If extolling the virtues of self-expression and individual genius actually empowers capitalist ideology, then how can artists make work that is anti-conformist without promoting the values of individualism and its attendant isolation?”

After being invited to collaborate with artist Cedric Tai on his piece for the show, I took the opportunity to interview MOCAM founder Julio Orta and inaugural curator Joey Cannizzaro over email, who unpacked the inspiration, implications, and future prospects of the museum.

*   *   *

The speculative future (image courtesy Julio Orta)

Sarah Rose Sharp: What inspired you to invest in property on the moon?

Julio Orta: I’m interested in the mechanics of land ownership, especially of undeveloped territory, because ultimately the deed is just a piece of paper that makes you the official owner. The title is essentially meaningless unless you continually check market value in hopes of selling it. There are companies that sell virgin islands as well as those that sell lunar deeds, and I find that owning land on any of those tend to be similar — since you’ll probably end up just with the idea of the ownership of the island because of the difficulty of accessing it.

The lay of the land, according to lunarland.com (image courtesy Julio Orta)

SRS: How much does it cost to buy property on the moon?

JO: In reality, the costs of a lunar deed aren’t exclusive; they are in an accessible price range.

SRS: Who are some other investors in the moon?

JO: There are various anecdotes regarding moon ownership: Chilean lawyer and poet Jenaro Gajardo Vera, who became famous in 1953 after he claimed ownership of the moon, because he wanted a world without jealousy, hate, vices, and violence. Martin Juergens from Germany claims that the moon has been in his family since 1756 when the Prussian King Frederick the Great conferred the moon to one of his ancestors as a symbolic gesture of gratitude for services carried out to him. James T. Mangan, a self-help author publicly claimed ownership of outer space in 1948. The following year he founded what he called the Nation of Celestial Space and registered it on Illinois. Who owns the moon is a complicated subject.

Earl Gravy, screenshot of Fancy Feast, digital pamphlet (2017), included in the MOCAM’s inaugural show (image courtesy the artist and Joey Cannizzaro)

SRS: The moon is a fairly potent symbol — one that has been with man throughout the ages. Do you think accessing places like the moon compromises their symbolic potential? Or is this art show just another way of leveraging humanity’s ongoing symbolic relationship with the moon?

Joey Cannizzaro: The shiftiness of the moon as a symbol is definitely part of what drew me to the project and why I think a speculative “Museum of Contemporary Art on the Moon” has a lot of potential. I’m personally more interested in the moon’s blankness than in its specificity; that is, it seems like the lack of life or activity of any sort, combined with its bare geography allows us to project onto it in a way that a more specific location or symbol would resist.

JO: I think all symbols like these start losing their mysticism once we start knowing more about them — their mysticism comes from not understanding them. But with the advance of technology and science this starts to fade. Though there are always people who keep this mysticism alive; we can see this in a lot of New Age movements.

Maura Brewer and Abigail Glaum-Lathbury, excerpt from “The Rational Dress Society presents: A Brief History of Spacesuits” (2016), digital pamphlet, included in the MOCAM’s inaugural show (image courtesy the artists and Joey Cannizzaro)

SRS: But we happen to live in the tiny sliver of human history when the moon is physically accessible and therefore concrete, rather than mythical, remote, and therefore mysterious.

JC: The moon seems to invite this sort of speculation precisely because of the spatial relationship you bring up: it’s far away but inextricably tied to the Earth; it has been accessed but it is not actually accessible to any of us. That relationship will inevitably change once the moon is actually an accessible location for the hyper-wealthy, galactic elite, but for the present moment it still provides an exciting scaffolding for our futurist imaginary — something that is desperately needed unless we want to cede the future entirely to corporate free marketeers.

JO: By now, human colonization of the moon is inevitable. Space experts are discussing a “moon village” within the next seven years, all for the cost of 10 billion dollars — that’s cheaper than one US aircraft carrier.

Designs for MOCAM (image courtesy Julio Orta)

SRS: A show of moon art can’t help but be a little playful, but there are still serious curatorial considerations, of course. How did you select participants? What constraints, if any, did you offer? Is this a show about the moon, or is it, in fact, still a show about Earth? 

JC: I don’t mean to fall into a play/seriousness binary here. Play is political to me, and I gravitate towards other artists, curators, and critics who tend to share this view. There’s definitely some tension in this show between the playful and the political. I think a lot of us involved in art, and every other field really, are going through a moment of crisis because of the current political climate, and I do honestly feel that artists have done more to affirm the status quo as these missionaries for the cult of self-expression than to create radical change in society.

Now, a lot of the reason for this reality is structural in that artists are some of the most precarious laborers; only the administrators get paid a salary in the field of art, so there is an underlying conservatism that is honestly pretty pathetic and limiting. That’s why my goal in curating this show was to use MOCAM, an imaginary museum, as a jumping-off platform to discuss with artists what kind of anti-capitalist futures they can actually imagine — whether that is about the future of art alone or society at large. It’s funny because my own curatorial essay for the show is relatively serious, but there’s a ton of humor in the works.

Subterranean layout of MOCAM (image courtesy Julio Orta)

SRS: Are you working from a tradition of moon art? Are there shows that set the precedent for this one?  

JO: We can say with certainty that the moon has always been a center of reverence for human beings. The first depiction of the moon was discovered to be a 5,000-year-old stone carving in Knowth, Ireland. The Museum of Contemporary Art on the Moon was designed to think about the real possibilities of constructing physical space on the moon, as designed by the architect Mauricio Mastropiero. He dedicated a lot of time on the project and we both discussed after extensive research what would be the most realistic options of said space. This is not the first architectonic proposal for the moon, but it may be the first one creating a venue in regards to the display of art.

MOCAM design by architect Mauricio Mastropiero (image courtesy Julio Orta)

Mock-up of MOCAM design (image courtesy Julio Orta)

MOCAM’s architectural style has been conceived of as an extension of human life and pays homage to our natural instinct for exploration. This complex proposes a lunar architecture that honors its Earthly origins and at the same time, adapts to the physical forces of our moon. Even though this museum is an art piece in itself, you can visit the exhibitions online anytime you want, with the added potential of becoming a reality in the future. Having a museum of contemporary art on the moon is not only about the future of the arts; it’s about the future of humanity.

From the MOCAM opening night (image by Big Car Collective, courtesy of Julio Orta)

Jennifer Moon and laub, still from “3CE: A Relational Love Oddysey” (2016), video, included in the MOCAM’s inaugural show (image courtesy the artists and Joey Cannizzaro)

SRS: To me, buying speculative property on the moon speaks to a kind of crossover, where things that once were science fiction are becoming “speculative” fiction — or sometimes becoming reality. By speculating with ideas that are attached to ownership and financial investment, we create multiple meanings for speculation. Is this conceptually “speculative” art, or financially speculative art? Or is all art speculative in both manners? Is there a chance — as we are very much seeing now, in terms of dystopian sci-fi and political satire — that one day this “speculative” act will manifest in reality? 

JC: I think the speculative turn you’re talking about is really important to point out, and I’m glad you draw the relationship to speculative capital. The difference to me between sci-fi and speculative fiction — and I’m poorly paraphrasing Margret Atwood here — is that speculative fiction is much closer to our reality, it involves imagining plausible near futures and elaborating them, for better or for worse. I don’t think this is new at all, though it may currently be a fashionable genre. I immediately think of Dahlgren by Samuel R. Delany, which plays out the ramifications of a localized apocalypse wherein all of a particular city’s organized institutions and underlying structure have collapsed. Or if we’re looking for this kind of speculation in the visual arts, maybe Constant Nieuwenhuys’s series New Babylon is worth considering as a work of speculative fiction, mapping and building out some of the theories of the situationists.

Salome Asega and Ayodamola Tanimowo Okunseinde, “Manuscript from Iyapo Repository Manuscripts Division” (2016), aluminum, acrylic, wood, included in the MOCAM’s inaugural show (image courtesy the artists and Joey Cannizzaro)

In this show, I think of works by Salome Asega and Ayodamola Okunseinde, who are the creators of the Iyapo Repository, an ongoing archive of collectively conceived Afrofuturist technology. They asked that MOCAM donate an acre of land to the group to become a permanent location in space for their repository. This way of using institutional frames in order to insert something fictitious into the real public narrative is to me a really potent strategy; it does something more than representation. They use a participatory game model to come up with these technologies, so the process and the aesthetic are really playful. But they also don’t shy away from real political trauma and injustice. For example, one of the technological innovations is a futuristic visor for law enforcement that would use VR to make everyone they encounter look the same. Now, I don’t know if this would really solve the issue of racial profiling, but putting out an idea like that, with all of its problematics, helps us come to new ways of thinking by actually imagining and playing out the results of the technology in our minds.

To touch on the connection to speculative capital, I feel strongly that there’s been such an explosion of interest in these kinds of speculative art works or imaginary framings because there’s a greater understanding of how fictitious and constructed the real world, and the rules that govern it, are. It’s also no coincidence that post-modern and post-structural theory arose in tandem with the power of finance capital, since both highlight (and/or) exploit the contingent nature of meaning. You see why this would appeal to those in the field of art whose basic activity is meaning-making. However, we’ll need to be cautious not to fall into the neoliberal grooves left by the financial class. That is to say, if we just use our ability to manipulate narrative and construct meaning as a way to gain power for ourselves and to grow our personal brands, then we’ll never be more than unwitting missionaries, doing magic tricks to dazzle the crowd.

Mystic Hyperstitians in the Heart of Empire will continue on the Museum of Contemporary Art on the Moon (MOCAM) website indefinitely. The Museum of Real and Odd continues at the Indianapolis Museum of Contemporary Art (220 E South St, Indianapolis) through April 15. The ongoing work of MOCAM can be found here. At some future point, works may be staged in archived order in the moon facility.

The post Envisioning an Art Museum on the Moon appeared first on Hyperallergic.

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[theskyisglue]

Art Show on the Moon!

Hey there! I’m honored and psyched to tell you that, over the last several months, I’ve been curating the very first show at MOCAM: The Museum of Contemporary Art on the Moon (!!) and you’re invited to check it out. Of course, not all of you will be able to make it to the moon for the opening. Thankfully all of the work will be accessible remotely on MOCAM’s website! There’s also a concurrent exhibition at the Indianapolis Museum of Contemporary Art, where MOCAM founder Julio Orta has installed a remote-viewing station with information about the museum and digital access to this inaugural exhibition.

The show is called Mystic Hyperstitians in the Heart of Empire and it features work from 13 artists or collaborative teams working in all manner of media.

I’m really excited about this collection of images, words, and ideas and I hope so much you’ll take the time to experience them all.

Some small steps towards elsewhere in backwards times,

Joey joeycannizzaro.com

*** *** ***

Mystic Hyperstitians in the Heart of Empire

Curated by Joey Cannizzaro

At the dawn of the Trump presidency, a new pinnacle of power for late-capitalist oligarchy, the show Mystic Hyperstitians in the Heart of Empire questions the role artists have played in the present apocalypse as missionaries for the cult of self-expression. For this show, artists and collaborative teams contributed work that responds to this question: if extolling the virtues of self-expression and individual genius actually empowers capitalist ideology, than how can artists make work that is anti-conformist without promoting the values of individualism and its attendant isolation? The title of the show is a call for artists to make astronomical proposals that threaten those in power and to envision radical future worlds that could really be worked towards, rather than ceding the future to Silicone Valley techno-utopians and cynical corporate politicians. If we’re willing to attempt it, we can imagine a society that does not collapse with capitalism, and art that doesn’t act as a lifeline for the leviathan.

Participating Artists:

Salome Asega & Ayodamola Okunseinde (of the Iyapo Repository)

Maura Brewer and Abigail Glaum-Lathbury (of the Rational Dress Society)

Dan Bustillo

Vidisha Fadescha

Johanna Hedva (and John Conch)

Earl Gravy

Ian James

Alicia King

Jennifer Moon and laub

Plausible Artworlds

Tamara Rosenblum

Cedric Tai

Lucas Wrench

Rachel Yezbick

To access the show click here: http://www.mocam.space/hyperstitians/