#P-15c

[thelesbianthespianposts]

I want her so bad

[usafphantom2]

Generations..

@CcibChris via X

[dangerousthingobservation]

Eagle in Flight

https://flic.kr/p/oaYcrx | Eagle in Flight | McDonnell Douglas F-15C Eagle 78-0520 65th Aggressor Squadron (65 AGRS)

[cupidscrule]

OLD ENOUGH 2 DIE

Re4 Leon X Fem! Reader

Tw - drug trafficking

P in v, finger stuff

You were a spoiled bitch, had daddy's money to take care of anything.

"Daddy - pleasee com'on It's only 2k, can you transfer the money? Yay! Thank you daddy mwah"

Spoken into the brand new phone you got, you had money, had everything. Never went a day without living like a queen, never understanding poor people 'ugh why can't you just work harder? Honestly it's not that hard ' said to thousands of waiters at 5 star restaurants. Never even tipped em, throughout high school you were a dick to everyone, if they weren't hot and skinny. Classic mean girl to be honest

"Hunny, absolutely not. We can all tell that bag is a fake, it's embarrassing.. you should honestly thank me for telling you how stupid you look.."

"Oh! That's not.."

"Babes, you know I want the best for you so.. that dress really makes you look fat, maybe wear something more flattering?"

Backhanded comments were your LIFE, had every privilege, didn't even try in school. Just sucked and fucked your way to A's, but you were hot so it's fine! It doesn't matter if the pretty girl makes the slug kill herself? She's all innocent, everyone who tried to defend you was hilarious. "Oh she's just insecure!!" Bullshit, no you weren't? You just hated all those chicks. Rightfully so, they were all annoying whores.

You were just treating them how they deserved to be, not like any of them had a future besides sucking dick.. you're different though, that's what you always told yourself. Sure you dressed like a skimpy bimbo, fucked the sports team twice. But you're different, an exception to the slut rule..

"Daddy can you send me an Uber? I don't have enough money in my account. Dad I said I spent it all shopping- no dad please- it's gonna be night soon, I NEED an Uber. Daddy? UGH" stomping your feet, making your own little hissy fit in the middle of the street, clutching the little pink fur purse you bought, looking around at all the people staring at you. Pout on your face and brows furrowed, throwing your phone on the ground and walking away, you were a good half hour away from home, and these boots were NOT made for walking. They were brand new plus, wouldn't wanna ruin em. And to top it all off it was freezing cold, like -15C. All you had was a white fur coat belted around your waist, with stupid little ear muffs. Couldn't even find matching gloves, freezing cold at Six PM alone on a Friday night, with no phone .. what a perfect day!

Stomping off not really knowin' where you're going isn't that smart though, but you were never a smart kid. Never did drugs or anything like that, just not very smart in the real world. Couldn't read signs, or fight, or have basic common courtesy. Shuffling your feet through the snow for god knows how long till tik street lights flicker on. By this point you got no clue where you are, started off downtown now you were in the middle of fucktown with nothing you recognize, see this is why daddy should've moved to a smaller town after The business deal, that way cops wouldn't be on his ass and you would know where you're going. Sure DC was the place to be! Except for the fact it's the stupidest place to be if your main source of income is drug trafficking, you didn't care where daddy got his money as long as you got it in the end. But what you did care about is when daddy refused to be smart about his shit. Like what are you on if you think moving to Washington is a good idea after makin' a major deal, you're dad was important. He was wanted for a lot. But you didn't do anything wrong, you're innocent! So you never cared about what would happen if dear old dad got caught, he could buy himself out of trouble just like before.

Still aimlessly walking up and down the streets trying to find anything identifiable when you hear footsteps behind you.

Turning your head to see who's behind you, and it's a taller man with blonde hair, it's getting dark so there's not that many details. He's wearing  really weird clothes, just staring at you, his eyes narrow and look at your face in the flickering lights before opening his dumb mouth

"Listen, we can make this easy kid. Just come with me back-" he started speaking, stepping towards you. Immediate nope, fuck that, the police actually caught the hell on? AND THEY WENT AFTER YOU? Worst day ever, dropping your bag and making a run for it just like daddy said.

"Sweetie, if the cops ever find you, and are onto you. Run. And run far."

Never actually thought what that old sack of shit said mattered, I mean nothing bad ever happens to you.

Running around corners, frantically, heart racing, why, why, why, why. You had NOTHING to do with daddies private shit, if anything you're a victim to his crimes.. yeah victim! I mean dad was a creep sometimes, huggin' a bit too tight, grabbing your ass like you were his girlfriend. Even though mom was dead for a long time, he never got over her and I guess you looked closest to her?

Running into an alley way, like any smart fucken girl would, totally. There was a chain link fence, then what looked like a field leading to someone's apartment building? Pretty sure someone from school lives there, yeah Milo in Chem 100% does he's the welfare kid and this was the poor side of town. Bingo.

"Ah- not so fast"

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Don't even reply, no don't reply, you have about five fucking seconds before getting dragged away and everything taken away. Pathetically trying to pull yourself over the fence, y'know if you really tried you could do it. But you don't try. Feeling a hand grab your ankle, pull you down ripping your cute coat, if you're gonna kidnap a girl at least keep her shit nice damn. He throws you down, trying to scramble up only to get immediately knocked out and your unconscious body dragged away.

"fuck" you mutter under your breath, opening your eyes drowsy, vision kinda blurry but you can see everything, trying to move your hands and legs but then feeling the rough rope press against your sensitive skin, looked like you were an old ass storage unit, some boxes piled up in the corner, walls looked rusty. A table in the middle of the small room, and a guy just standing there. Few seconds later lights flicker on, they're dim but you can now see detail in everything. That includes your unknown kidnapper? Or agent? Or cop? He wasn't really dressed like any of them, wore a dark blue t shirt,tactical black pants, and black gloves. Not sure what profession of people wear that, plus he was too cute to just be a random kidnapper, pretty blonde hair with gorgeous blue eyes and a muscular figure.

"Oh you're awake, huh thought that would've taken longer." He says eyes darting towards you as you try to wiggle out of the rope, it's tight. "Who the fuck are you? Where's my dad! Do you even know who I am?" You say acting as if your dad was a fucken celebrity and not a filthy pig. You knew you were in a deep fucken mess, so when in doubt, lie. Lie about everything, you're innocent, no Mr. officer my father would never! You have the wrong girl I'm just a highschooler !

"Don't play dumb missy, cut the shit. Let's get to the point, I know your dear old dad is involved with a lot. And so are you, aren't you? So why don't you tell me where dad does all his importing and where he gets the shit from, hm?" He says coldly, almost as if he's talkin' to a little kid. "I don't know what you're talking about. Just let me go!" You whine staring up at him, he's just standing infront of you arms crossed over his chest, getting a better look at him, he wasn't just a random guy, he looked important. Didn't know why though, a sigh comes from his lips as he blinks slowly at you, "honey, I really don't wanna get messy. Just hand over the information and you can go back to doin' whatcha do, I don't care." He said, arms still folded over his chest, he was a good fifteenth-ish feet away from you and your chair, you grit you teeth, brows furrowed as you stare at this guy. Pissed off, "don't call me honey, I told you I don't know what you're talkin' about." You mutter to him, pout on your stupid lips.

"You're a bad actor, it's really obviously. Plus you're on file, darling. Now can you just tell me the important stuff?" He said putting on an obvious fake begging face, puppy eyes and all. You were trying to get untied, only getting rope burns on your wrists, squirming and whimpering in that tiny wood chair. "I didn't do anything, I don't know what daddy does to get money.. talk to him not me" you say batting your lashes, pushing your face out towards him, he takes another step forward. Putting his arms down, lookin' at you like you were some thing he found on the bottom of his shoe. "You have the face of a pornstar" he says out of the fucking blue, such a handsome voice but such a shocking thing. "I'm in highschool, pig." You scrowl jaw clenched, tone change from 'inccocent little girl' to 'raging bitch.' like a public appearance vs how you act in private. "Mm, well you're eighteen now correct? Nothing's wrong with that now is it? And it's just a fact, you've fucked and sucked your way up. No way someone like you is about to pass, in truth you're a pathetic attempt at human and a failure of whatever we can even call your sorry ass. But at least you make up with it for a massive rack and cute face"

Ouch. Okay.

Words didn't even form, jaw dropped, eyes shocked. Honestly not even knowing what to say, what do you say to that? 'oh yes sorry Mr man you're right I'm a dirty slut!" Absolutely not, because you aren't. "So, you gonna answer me?" He says, he's just a few feet away from you, leaning down to your whiny ass face. A small smirk on his dumb lips,

"fuck. you."

He just looked blankly, at you, almost dumbfounded by how much of a fucking MORAN you were, tied up in small place, no one knows where you are, daddies house is probobly getting raided and he's waiting in jail or has twenty bullets through his back while you're agonizing this man five times your size whom you are at HIS mercy. But hey, it could be worse. He could've killed ya already, he obviously needs you alive. So you're safe, for now. He cups your chin making you look at him directly

"You're such a dumb whore." He whispers letting you go, can't lie he's hot, feeling a throb in your legs, lump in your throat and pushing your thighs together, dumb little slut. Just fuck my brains out already oh my god.

"Seriously? Getting horny in an integration, fuck little missy you really are a freak." He says laughing to himself looking at your pathetic bitch display, all dumb n needy, breath rasp and heavy, feeling an emptiness only filled by fat dick, staring at the man, didn't even know his name, never told ya. He gets close up again and sticks to fingers in your mouth, pushing them back. Your tounge running around them, sucking, like a good little fuck doll. Sloppy and all wet, pulling his index and middle finger out your mouth saliva dripping off of it, stupid ass smirk on his face rubbing his fingers down your chest, over your pretty white shirt and over your tits. You're still bound to the chair, wanting nothin' more then to get bent over and fucked till you can't even remember daddies in trouble, this entire moment is just pure lust. He gives you the look like, 'is this what you really want? Seriously?' and of course you reply with a

"I'll answer you if you give me what I want."

That's all it took for him to untie you from that god forsaken chair, just to tie your hands together again. Push you onto your back, pressing your thighs apart. You aren't wearing much, your coat was gone lost somewhere in the ally, only wearing black shorts and a white top. Stupid for the middle of winter but it was hot.   He takes out a small switch blade from his pocket cutting open your shirt and shorts off, pornstar tits popping out in a little pink bra also exposing the matching panties. Even all finished off with a cute little bow, unzipping his pants his dick springs out, your pussy THROBBING, aching. He cuts the shit off and pushes you firmly on the ground, your arms still bound above your head, his chest just over yours pushing into you, stretching you open. His tip resting nicely in your cervix when he starts rockin' back and forth. Hitting you all the good spots, moaning n' a mess, hes pretty much silent groaning here and there when he speeds up, lifting you up slightly, more like your at an angel on him, he grips your back and rocks you back and forth, feeling your walls tighten  around him feeling all numb and high, cumming over his fat cock, his pull out games fast. Just as you finish he pushes you back on your neck and unloads on your stupid face, 'before grabbing you lazily and pressing your body against his, you were all dumb and covered in your own mess. But he was gentle with you, soft, he was nice. Nicer then anyone else had been, softer then anyone else despite fucking your brains out. His breath was heavy as he held onto you, chest to chest. Can't tell if he's doing' this cause he feels some sort of pity for you but fuck if you care it's comforting, you felt all warm and fuzzy. Weird.

"Please don't leave me here."

"I know you're eighteen, years old, but you're still old enough to die. Right here. Right now. So talk"

[postsofbabel]

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[hellfiremodels]

Hasegawa's 1/72 f-15c. I'm pretty happy with how it turned out even though there were an embarrassing number of mishaps throughout the entire process :P

Build Video

[recipeclips]

For 183 [1.83][[4]] -230g pizza dough balls to make 30cm/12" pizzas Ingredients 25kg [250g] [[500g]] Caputo Saccorosso (cuoco/chef's flour) flour 15.5kg [155cc] [[310cc]]water 780g [7.8g] [[15.6g]] coarse sea salt 8.7 to 31g [0.87 to 0.31g] [[1.74to0.62g]]Antimo Caputo Lievito Active Dry Yeast 1 kg criscito di casa *criscito … 天然酵母の粉、発酵時間を伸ばすことができる

Semolina flour for dusting

Tomato sauce Add 1% salt to a whole tomato (use within 1 hour after opening the can) (28oz/800g can makes 10 servings)

Mozzarella (mozzarella filone) Cut into 1cm x 4cm x 2mm pieces

Dissolve salt in water

Add 60% flour and mix slowly until almost throughly

Add yeast and mix

When yeast is mixed, add criscito and the rest of flour leaving 10%

When mixed, check the dough consistency and add flour as needed

When the dough is not sticky ・捏ね上げ温度25C (26c 以上だと発酵が進んでしまう） ・ただし水の温度が15c 以下だとSAF赤を弱める ・機械でこねて20分程度

Cover the dough with a dump clothe and rest the dough for 1 hour

Devide the dough into balls

Cover the dough balls and prove 24 hours

For Top one pizza: 80g tomato sauce 100g cheese 3g parmesan cheese a few fresh basil leaves 5g olive oil

Bake 1.5 minutes at 450C to 480C (842F to 896F)

For 4-200g dough

500g flour 320cc water 6g salt 6g yeast

発酵時間不明２４H？ 焼成温度不明 :::FLOUR:::

FLOUR TYPE Type 00 PROTEIN 13% SHELF LIFE 12 months STRENGTH W 300/320 ELASTICITY P/L 0,50/0,60

Flour "pizzeria" is for 700F baking, saccorosso (chef) is for long fermentation

カプート サンフェリーチェ san felice gold チンクエスタジオーニ le 5 stagioni

[chronically-kris]

Autumn is great! I'm at my best when the weather's under 15C, warm winds be damned I can just wear layers :P

But, personally, after all the Canadian winters, I can't help but prefer spring. Nothing quite like the first day you can go outside without bulking up and watch the misery of winter slowly melt away.

Oh, absolutely. I’m in BC and it snowed like hell here, just not when we were expecting it to.

[planesawesome]

A McDonnell Douglas F-15C Eagle leads the North American P-51D Mustangs "Shangri-La" and "Double Trouble two" in the Air Force Heritage Flight at the 2007 Gathering of Mustangs and Legends, held at Rickenbacker Field, Columbus, OH, September 28-30, 2007.

[thelesbianthespianposts]

Slade and Dick’s relationship is actually fucking hilarious. I just got ntt 86 and they’re so goofy

dick(correctly) accuses slade of killing Joey and slade is so strange about it. Instead of saying “I didn’t want to” or “I was forced to” he says “maybe then you’ll realize you weren’t the only one who lost someone. I lost a son” yeah dude but you killed him. Not a good look for you.

Peak comic panel 10/10

Someone already said this but why??? Is slade taking off dick’s jacket? Like jeez dude calm down

he then throws dick into a truck, and then asks if he’s ok???? “You may have hurt your back” yeah no shit you threw him into a bulldozer

Dicks outfit has been torn to shreds I swear it’s made of straight spandex, there is no protection there.

[usafphantom2]

2019 was the 75th Anniversary of D-Day so the 3 squadrons of the 48th FW “Statue of Liberty Wing” stationed at RAF Lakenheath each painted one F-15 depicting the markings of their earlier P-47s.

F-15C Eagle 84-0010/LN.

F-15E Strike Eagle 91-0603/LN.

F-15E Strike Eagle 97-0219/LN.

@09runway via X

[dangerousthingobservation]

USAF F-15C Eagle 86-0178

Explore NJ-P's 1954 photos on Flickr!

[hizokucycles]

Reposted from @p_chauch Road shoes on ice, -5C feeling like -15C with those frigid Canadian winds, warm summer days feeling like a distant dream…but we still out here! It’s amazing what the body can endure when you’re rolling with a good crew who are as equally ready to suffer. ���� @matt_hammerhead #cycling #cyclinglife #bike #tarck #bikelife #cyclingphotos #bianchisuperpista #cyclist #ciclismo #bicycle #bianchibicycles #fixieporn #instacycling #fixiebike #cyclingshots #cycle #fitness #cyclingpics #strava #fixie #sport #outsideisfree #bikes #trackbike #ride #bikeporn #bicicleta #fixedgear #hizokucycles Hizokucycles.com https://www.instagram.com/p/CY3Jp9krWHy/?utm_medium=tumblr

[postsofbabel]

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[grargll]

7, 18, 26, 52, 58, 69 ☺️☺️☺️

Thank you!!!!! 7: What did you last eat? A bagel with herb and garlic cream cheese! 18: Are you scared of spiders? I don't know if I'd say scared? But they do gross me the hell out. 26: What are you craving right now? Basic, short term answer: I would die for some Chinese food rn Alternate answer: We've been under a stay at home order for nearly 2 months solid, and I want nothing more than to go walk around in the woods for a bit or something. Be outside somewhere other than my own backyard :P 52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason? Honestly this is a hard question for me to answer. In the past I think I might have said yes, and that at some degree fate is predetermined. But now I kind of feel that whatever forces of higher power may exist, might just be throwing spaghetti at the wall every second of every day and having a laugh.

58: Favourite weather? Whatever that weather is that we get for like.... a week mid march, where it goes up to like 15C (which feels warm coming out of winter) and the sun is warm, there's a light breeze, and the bugs are still dead. Ideal. Alternatively I love big thunder/snow storms, but those are typically only enjoyable from inside so... 69: Do you believe in soulmates? This kind of loops back into what I think about fate/things happening for a reason? And my answer to this one might be contradictory to my answer to that but?? I'm a pretty inconsistent and indecisive person anyways, so that tracks. I think there are probably people out there that you are meant to meet? Who you'll run into, mesh incredibly well with, and that they'll have a significant role in your life. To a degree I feel like that could be described as soulmates, but at the same time, I don't think it's like "you have 1 soulmate who is meant to be your romantic partner forever". I think they can be platonic, I think you can have multiple, and I don't think they're necessarily permanent in your life.

[riusugoi]

The Possible Bodies Inventory: dis-orientation and its aftermath - Jara Rocha, Femke Snelting

https://www.raco.cat/index.php/Inmaterial/article/view/343359/434439 -   Following Sara Ahmed’s invitation “to think how queer politics might involve disorientation, without legislating disorientation as a politics”

“We remain physically upright not through the mechanism of the skeletonor even through the nervous regulation of muscular tone, but because we are caught up in a world” (Merleau-Ponty quoted in Ahmed, 2006).

With the help of the multi-scalar and collective practice of inventorying, we make an attempt to think along the agency of these items, hopefully widening their possibilities rather than pre-designing ways of doing that could  easily crystallize into ways of being.

Ra-ther than rarefying the items, as would happen through the practice of collecting, or pinning them down, as in the practice of cartography, or rigidly stabilizing them, as might be a risk through the practice of archiving, inventorying is about continuous updates, and keeping items available.

Among all of the apparatuses of the Modern Project that persistently operate on present world orderings, naming and account-giving, we chose the inventory with a critical awa-reness of its etymological origin. It is remar-kably colonial and persistently productivist: inventory is linked to invention, and thereby to discovery and acquisition. [1] The culture of inventorying remits us to the material origins of commercial and industrial capitalism, and connects it with the contemporary databa-se-based cosmology of techno-colonialist turbo-capitalism. But we learned about the potentials embedded in modern apparatuses of designation and occupation, and how they can be put to use once carefully unfolded to allow for active problematisation and situated understanding (Haraway, 1992). In the case of Possible Bodies, it means to keep questioning how artifacts co-habit and co-compose with techno-scientific practices, historically sustai-ned through diverse axes of inequality. We ur-gently need research practices that go through axes of diversity.

-

inventory (n.)

early 15c., from Old French inventoire "detailed list of goods, a catalogue" (15c., Modern French inventaire), from Medieval Latin inventorium, alteration of Late Latin inventarium "list of what is found," from Latin inventus, past participle of invenire "to find, discover, ascertain" (see invention).

The form was altered in Medieval Latin by influence of words in -orium, which became very common in post-classical and Christian use. It properly belongs with words in -ary, and French has corrected the spelling. Related: Inventorial; inventorially.

inventory (v.)

"make a list or catalogue of," c. 1600, from inventory (n.). Related: Inventoried; inventorying.

-

The temporalities of inventorying are discon-tinuous, and its modes of existence are prag-matic: it is about finding ways to collectively specify and take stock, to prepare for eventual replacement, repair or replenishment. Inven-torying is a hands-on practice of readying for further use, not one of account-giving for the sake of legitimation. As an “onto-epistemologi-cal” practice (Barad, 2012), it is as much about recognizing what is there (ontological) as it is about trying to understand (epistemological). Additionally, with its roots in the culture of manufacture, inventorying counts on cultural reflection as well as on action. This is how as a method it links to what we call “disobedient action-research”, it invokes and invites further remediations that can go from the academic paper to the bug report, from the narrative to the diagrammatic and from tool mis-use to in-terface re-design to the dance-floor. It provides us with inscriptions, de-scriptions and re-in-terpretations of a vocabulary that is developing all along.

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Item 007: Worldsettings for beginners

“If the point of origin changes, the world moves, but the body doesn’t.” (François Zajega, interview, 2017) In Blender, virtual space is referred to in many ways: the mesh, coordinate system, geometry and finally, the world. In each case, it denotes a constellation of x, y, z vectors that start from a mathematical point of origin, arbitrarily loca-ted in relation to a 3D object and automatica-lly starting from X = 0, Y = 0, Z = 0. Wherever this point is placed, all other planes, vertices and faces become relative to it and organize around it; the point performs as an “origin” for subsequent trans-formations. In the coordinate system of linear perspective, the vanishing point produces an illusion of ho-rizon and horizontality, meant to be perceived by a monocular spectator that marks the centre of perception and reproduction. Points of ori-gin do not make such claims of visual stability.

Naturalized means of orientation such as verticality and gravity are effects applied at the moment of rendering.

The point of origin is where control is literally located. The two-handedness of the represen-tational system indicates a possibility to shift from “navigation” (vanishing point) into “crea-tion” (point of origin), using the same coordi-nate system. The double agency produced by this ability to alternate  is only tempered by the fact that it is not possible to take both posi-tions at the same time. The second form of control placed at the origin is the 3D manipulator that handles the rota-tion, translation, and scaling of the object. In this way, the points of origin function as pivots that the worlds are moved around. 

The tab contains settings for adding effects such as mist, stars, and shadows but also “am-bient occlusion”. The Blender manual explains this as a “trick that is not physically accu-rate”, suggesting that the other settings are. The “world tab” leaves behind all potential of multiplicity that became available through the computational understanding of “world”. The world of worlds becomes, therefore, impossible. 

Blender operates with two modes of “world”: one that is accepting the otherness of the computational object, somehow awkwardly interfacing with it, and another that is about restoring order back to “real”. The first mode opens up to a widening of the possible, while the second prefers to stick to the plausible.

Item 012: No Ground

“No ground” is an attempt to think through issues with situatedness that appear when encountering computed and computational bodies. Does location work at all, if there is no ground? Is displacement a movement, if there is no place? How do surfaces behave around this no-land’s man, and what forces affect them?

What body composi-tions share a horizontal base, what entities have the gift of behaving vertically? How do other trajectorialities affect our semiotic-material conditions of possibility, and hence the very po-litics that bodies happen to co-compose?

  We suspect a twist in the hierarchy between gravitational forces. It does not lead to collapse, but results in a hallucinatory construction of reality, filled with floating bodies. If we want to continue using the notions of “context” and “si-tuation” for cultural analysis of the bodies that populate the pharmacopornographic, military and gamer industries and their imaginations, to attend to their immediate political implications, we need to reshape our understanding of them. It might be necessary to let go of the need for “ground” as a defining element for the body’s very existence, though this makes us wonder about the agencies at work in this un-grounded embodiments. If the land is for those who work it, then who is working the ground?

“Disorientation involves failed orientations: bodies inhabit spaces that do not extend their shape, or use objects that do not extend their reach” (Ahmed, 2006, p.160)

When standing just does not happen due to a lack of context or a lack of ground, even a virtual one, the notion of standpoint does not work. Situation, though, deserves a second thought. Floating is the endurance of falling. It seems that in a computed environment falling is always in some way a floating. There is no ground to fall towards that limits the time of falling, nor is the trajectory of the fall directed by gravity. The trajectory of a floating or persis-tently falling body is always already unknown.

In the dynamic imagination of the animation, the ground does not exist before the movement is generated; it only appears as an afterthought. Everything seems upside down: the foundation of the figure is deduced from, not pre-existing its movement. Does this mean that there is actually no foundation, or just that it appears in every other loop of movement? Without the ground, the represented body could be understood as becoming smaller, and that would open the question of dimensionality and scaleability. But being surface-dependent, it is received as moving backwards and forwards: the modern eye reads one shape that changes places on a territory.

In most cases of virtual embodiment, the abso-lute tyranny of the conditions of gravity does not operate. In a physical situation (a situation organized around atoms), falling on verticality is a key trajectory of displacement; falling cannot happen horizontally upon or over stable surfa-ces. For the fleshy experienced, falling counts on gravity as a force. Falling seems to relate to liquidity or weightlessness, and grounding to solidity and settlement of matters. Heaviness, having weight, is a characteristic of being-in-the-world, or, more precisely, of being-on-earth, magnetically enforced. Falling depends on gra-vity, but it is also - as Steyerl explains - a state of being un-fixed, ungrounded, not as a result of groundbreakingness, but as an ontological lack of soil, of base. Un-fixed from the ground, or from its representation  

Does falling change when the conditions of verticality, movement and gravity change? Does it depend on a specific axis? Is it a mo-tion-based phenomenon, or rather a static one? Is it a rebellion against the force of gravity, sin-ce falling here functions under a mathematical rather than under a magnetic paradigm? And if so, “who” is the agent of that rebellion?  

In the example, the “feet” of the figure do not touch the “ground”. It reminds us that the position of this figure is the result of computa-tion. It hints at how rebellious computational semiotic-material conditions of possibility are at work. We call them semiotic because they are written, codified, inscribed and formula-ted (alphanumerically, to begin with). We call them material, since they imply an ordering, a composition of the world, a structuring of its shapes and behaviors. Both conditions affect the formulation of a “body” by considering weight, height and distance. They also affect the physicality of computing: processes that generate their pulses in electromagnetic cir-cuits, power network use, server load, etc.  

Accu-racy is a relational practice: body and ground are computed separately, each within their own regime of precision. When the rendering of the movement makes them dependent on the placement of the ground, their related accuracy will appear as strong or weak, and this intensity will define the kind of presence emerging. 

Thinking present presences can not rely on the lie of laying. A thought on agency can neither rely on the ground to fall towards nor on the roots of grass to emerge from. How can we then invoke a politics of floating not on the surface but within, not cornered but around and not over but beyond, in a collective but not a grass-roots movement? Constitutive con-ditioning of objects and subjects is absolutely relational, and hence we must think of and operate with their consistencies in a radically relational way as well: not as autonomous enti-ties but as interdependent worldlings. Ground and feet, land and movement, verticality and time, situatedness and axes: the more of them we take into consideration when giving account of the spheres we share, the more degrees of freedom we are going to endow our deterritorialized and reterritorialized lives with.

The body is a political fiction, one that is alive (Preciado, 2008); but a fiction is not a lie. And so are up, down, outside, base, East and South (Rocha, 2016), and presence. Nevertheless, we must unfold the insights from knowing how those fictions are built to better understand their radical affection on the composition of what we understand as “living”, whether that daily experience is mediated fleshly or virtually. -

Item 022: Loops

Just before he died in 2009, Cunningham released the choreography for “Loops” under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncom-mercial-Share Alike 3.0 license. No dance-no-tations were published, nor has The Merce Cunningham Trust included the piece in the 68 Dance Capsules providing “an array of as-sets essential to the study and reconstruction of this iconic artist’s choreographic work.”

From the late nineties, the digital art collective OpenEnded group worked closely with Merce Cunningham. In 2001, they recorded four takes of Cunningham performing “Loops”, translating the movement of his hands and fingers into a set of datapoints. The idea was to “Open up Cunningham’s choreography of Loops completely” as a way to test the idea that the preservation of a performance could count as a form of distribution.

The release of the recorded data consists of four compressed folders. Each folder contains a .fbx (Filmbox) file, a proprietary file format for motion recording owned by the softwa-re company Autodesk, and two Hierarchical Translation-Rotation files, a less common mo-tion capture storage format. The export file in the first take is called Loops1_export.fbx and the two motion capture files are loops1_all_ri-ght.htr and loops1_all_left.htr. Each take is documented on video: one with a hand-held camera and one on a tripod. There is no license included in the archives.

In 2008, the OpenEnded group wrote custom software to create a screen-based work called “Loops”. “Loops” runs in real time, continually drawing from the recorded data. “Unique? — No and yes: no, the underlying code may be duplicated exactly at any time (and not just in theory but in practice, since we’ve released it as open source); yes, in that no playback of the code is ever the same, so that what you glimpse on the screen now you will never see again.” [11] The digital artwork is released under a GPL v.3 license.

After seeing interpretations of “Loops” by other digital artists, such as Golan Levin, the Ope-nEnded group declared that they did not have any further interest in anyone else interpreting the recordings: “I found the whole thing insul-ting, if not to us, certainly to Merce”. [12]

Cunningham developed “Loops” as a performan-ce to be exclusively executed by himself. He con-tinued to dance the piece throughout his life in various forms, until arthritis forced him to limit its execution to just his hands and fingers. [13]

In earlier iterations, Cunningham moved throu-gh different body parts and their variations one at a time and in any order: feet, head, trunk, legs, shoulders, fingers. The idea was to explore the maximum number of movement possibilities within the anatomical restrictions of each joint rotation. Stamatia Portanova writes: “Despite the attempt at performing as many simulta-neous movements as possible (for example, of hands and feet together), the performance is conceived as a step-by-step actualization of the  concept of a binary choice” (Portanova, 2013).A recording of “Loops” performed in 1975 is included in the New York Public Library Digital Collections, but can only be viewed on site. [14]

Cunningham danced “Loops” for the first time in the Museum of Modern Art in 1971. He situated the performance in front of “Map (Based on Buckminster Fuller’s Dymaxion Airocean World)”, a painting by Jasper Johns. Roger Copeland describes “Loops” as follows: “In much the same way that Fuller and Johns flatten out the earth with scrupulous objectivi-ty, Cunningham danced in a rootless way that demonstrated no special preference for any one spot”. And later on, in the same book: “Consis-tent with his determination to decentralize the space of performance, Cunningham’s twitching fingers never seemed to point in any one direc-tion or favor any particular part of the world represented by Johns’s map painting immedia-tely behind him” (Copeland, 2004).