#The invisible factory

[kanderwund]

https://kanderwund.itch.io/factory

Surreal point-and-click exploration game inspired by Yume Nikki. 100+ rooms, a few mostly optional puzzles, and minimal text.

I guess this game is finished now or something. Play it if you want, or don't play it if you don't want.

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

The Stench is REAL: Rotten Eggs + Reeking Weed Factory+ Bad Pipes = "It smells. Bad. VERY bad. VERY VERY bad."

The irony of bridezlla Rachel MEgain Markle kicking up a fuss over a one (1) hour "spectacle" inside the Queen’s "musty" chapel, only to acquire a 1st homebuyer loan for an odorous property.

"It smells like offal that has been rotting in the sun. It makes my stomach churn," a local from the Montecito area reportedly told The Mirror. "I’ve seen lots of homeowners closing their windows when it wafts over."

"According to the New York Post, the smell is wafting over from a nearby bird refuge (which is situated on a 42-acre stretch of saltwater marsh). Specifically, the refuge is the Andrée Clark Bird Refuge, which happens to be one of the largest wildlife refuges in the U.S. Cameron Benson, the City of Santa Barbara's clean water manager, told the Mirror that stagnant water can contribute to the smell, and that the “odor issues are sporadic and sometimes they are worse in some conditions."

"Last year, it was reported the Duke and Duchess of Sussex live just minutes from a legal weed factory base in Santa Barbara, California. 

The couple's mansion is just up the road from the 20 large greenhouses full of the plants - leaving the luxury suburb reeking. 

Neighbours made a string of complaints, sparking the company to install new “odour control systems”.

The Meghans, Dorito & Markus can get high just by standing outdoors as "...one resident complained that the stench was so bad that they had to pull over while driving along the road."

Imagine taking out a $14.65 million dollar loan on your VERY first home: a 9 bedroom, 16 bathroom mansion and you are CanNOT use your property for business purposes. No Spotify podcasts, NO staged Megflix/Netflix zoom calls, NO staged juggling acts outside the windows, NO book interviews, NO staged instant messages from Beyonce, NO Easter egg hunts, NO cooking shows, NO Variety photo shoots---- only 1 chicken coop interview with NOprah.

The 14,500sq ft, or 1,350sq m, main house sits on 7.4ac of grounds that include a pool, tennis court, tea house and children's cottage.

Money Pit : "The pair have paid a lot less for the property than a previous owner: in May 2009 it sold for more than $25 million. It was put on the market in 2015 for $34.5 million but failed to sell. It was relisted at the start of this year for $16.975 million, selling to the Sussexes for $2.325 million less than the asking price at $14.65 million."

From asks @the-cat-with-the-emerald-tiara-1 Royal Organic Weed "Harry's Choice"

Poll Error: The 4th answer "Money Pit of Montecito"

[leannareneehieber]

(Pictured: Carnations laid in honor of the dead at the sidewalk of NYU's Brown Building. Photo by Leanna Renee Hieber)

On March 25, 1911, a fire broke out on the top floors of the Asch Building. The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire took the lives of 146 people, most of them women and girls. As a NYC tour guide of over 15yrs, I speak about this site with vehemence. Never forget the importance of modern labor laws and the lives lost before we gained these rights. Andrea Janes and I wrote about this site, and its importance in the capacity of residual haunting, in our book A HAUNTED HISTORY OF INVISIBLE WOMEN. Our chapter on the fire, Industrial Monsters, is up on the Boroughs of the Dead blog: https://boroughsofthedead.com/industrial-monsters-ghosts-of-the-triangle-shirtwaist-factory/

Please support union workers and legislation aimed at shoring up worker protections. Honor the dead.

[ghost-orion]

there's something that feels so shitty about how, when youtubers sell their own products, they never, ever shout out, acknowledge or appreciate the factory workers who made it possible. youtubers with their own make up stores, nail polish stores, clothes, even something like a jigsaw puzzle. you might even get footage from the factory, yknow, how novel. but the faces of the people making your product are always obscured. in one video, the youtuber thanked the design team of the production company who worked directly with them, which is good, but then, they never even mentioned how it was produced. because it was made by a person making it.

[dynamokota]

Noticing the weird parallels to the Willy Wonka Experience fiasco and the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory Broadway musical, down to the laughably cheap sets and scaring children.

Also how the "prize" at the end is literally just a single piece of candy in both versions, lmao

[tesco-finest-aromantics]

they're taking our handsome men where?

[monstermoviedean]

maybe it's just main character syndrome that i'm bothered by. the assumption that you are not only the main character of your own life, but of others' lives too. the way social media encourages self-obsession. the reassurance that if you don't relate to something, it's not your fault, it's theirs. the suggestion that if something isn't about you, it's not worth the time or energy. the whispers that you are, in fact, more special than everyone else, better-looking, funnier, smarter, more deserving of attention. that everything is, in fact, about you.

[theliverpudlianuk]

🎵 Popular Bristol Jazz band, Run Logan Run, are set to Headline the Amorphic Jazz Club night at The Invisible Wind Factory's Substation this coming Thursday the 9th of March.

🎵 Support for this show comes from folk jazz songstress Annie Gardiner, saxophonist & composer Nick Branton’s new trio venture KIPPERS, and Anti Social Jazz Club on the decks keeping the vibes high till late.

🎵 Read the rest of our article on the website for the full story and information: https://www.TheLiverpudlian.com/post/run-logan-run-set-to-headline-amorphic-jazz-night-at-the-invisible-wind-factory-s-substation

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[lime1991]

embarrassingly, reading moon knight fanfic gave me an oc idea

[octo-crafts]

Will anyone else be in costume tonight when I go out? Probably not, but I don't have any other excuse to dress up this week.

The vest, skirt, and shirt are all the same ones from this post. For the shirt decor, I bought a cheap steampunk choker and dismantled it for parts (one piece was already falling off from where it had been hot glued to the lace) and sewed snaps to one side of each little metal piece. Then, I sewed the other sides to my shirt, and attached the other side of the snaps. This way, I can still button and unbutton my shirt, and if I want to just have a black shirt again/get a better steampunk shirt (i did also buy a brown sheet i'll eventually turn into a shirt, but there wasn't time for that this year) I'll be able to pick out the stitching with relatively little damage to the shirt.

[holdoncallfailed]

Throughout all this women everywhere tended their children, milked their cattle, tilled their fields, washed, baked, cleaned and sewed, healed the sick, sat by the dying and laid out the dead—just as some women, somewhere are doing at this moment. The extraordinary continuity of women's work, from country to country and age to age, is one of the reasons for its invisibility; the sight of a woman nursing a baby, stirring a cook-pot or cleaning a floor is as natural as the air we breathe, and like the air it attracted no scientific analysis before the modern period. While there was work to be done, women did it, and behind the vivid foreground activities of popes and kings, wars and discoveries, tyranny and defeat, working women wove the real fabric of the kind of history that has yet to receive its due. For the unremarked, taken-for-granted status of women's work applied equally to their lives, and both combined to ensure that what women did went largely absent from the historical record. Official documents might carefully note the annual output of a farmer, for example, his total of milk, meat, eggs or grain, without ever questioning how much of that was produced by his wife's labor. The question itself would not apply—since the wife belonged to her husband by every law of the land and by her own consent too, then her labor and the fruits of it were also his. Consequently the idea of a separate reckoning would have been laughable. By definition, then, the only women whose activities were so recorded were not typical of the working majority—widows, for instance, seeking legal permission to carry on the trade of their late husbands, or deserted or runaway wives forced to fend for themselves. [...] For even the most cursory survey of women's reveals that its range, quantity and significance has been massively underestimated, not least by women themselves. In every era, they have simply got on with the job, whatever it was. Women have never questioned, for instance, the fact that, already burdened with an unequal share of the work of re-creating the race, they have had to work in fields and factories as well—nor that their role as wives, mothers and homemakers entails a disproportionate amount and variety of other kinds of work—domestic, social, medical, education, emotional, and sexual.

— Rosalind Miles, Who Cooked the Last Supper?: The Women's History of the World (emphasis in original)

[kanderwund]

[emblazons]

Just because I’ve seen several theories about it: in his most recent IG post, Noah is standing in a 3D scanning room (photogrammetry)—designed to capture a subject for manip in post production!

Here’s an example of the same sort of technology being used to capture a full render of an actor—this one is from Avatar Factory (based in Australia)

Basically: they need a scan of Will for something involving heavy VFX, whether its a digital double, “invisible” effects, or something of the like. Unsurprising given we know it’s going #down for him this season, but still useful to know!

[marxistcomedy]

The term commodity fetishism objectively should bring to mind the way economic actors, both rich and poor, declare themselves powerless before the pressures exerted by the world of commodities (“I’m sorry I have to fire you, but the market told us your services aren’t needed”). It’s conceptually quite similar to Adam Smith’s much-celebrated liberal notion of “the invisible hand of the market,” but rather than benevolent and wise Marx invites us to see this system as a sinister cult. The term commodity fetishism was never meant to scold people for liking material things; it’s not meant to generate guilt after the realization that one craves certain consumer goods (“I’m so bad, but those new shoes sure look pretty”).

Commodity fetishism describes the objective fact that in capitalism we don’t generally relate to each other as humans asking each other to do things, but rather indirectly command each other through commodities. If I go to a restaurant, I don’t beg the cook to make me a meal and the waiter to deliver it, nor do I imperiously threaten them with violence, nor do I cajole them into it. I just buy the meal. The meal itself then appears to command them to move, like a little god! And I in turn must similarly follow the commands of commodities in order to acquire the money to purchase such meals. This is how the factory comes to want to be used, and how the tropical fruit comes to want to find its way to Stockholm. As Marx puts it:

“To [producers], their own social action takes the form of the action of objects, which rule the producers instead of being ruled by them.”

From this perspective, one of the central tasks of communists is to liberate workers not from work or desire itself, but from a generalized lack of decision-making agency in the face of crude economic fetishism. People should decide what people do, not commodities! Looking for alternatives to enslavement by commodities, some look back to feudal, religious, and romantic patriarchal forms of despotism, but socialists look ahead, towards socialism’s multidimensional interaction and negotiation, demotic and democratic.

[frostbitebakery]

Loud.

part one two three four five

“Why are you buttering me up, Master?” Obi-Wan signs, taking another careful sip of the cookie shake.

Master Tholme unfolds his hands on the table, cane resting against his leg. “Because I understand that you might not want to participate in this mission,” he signs back. It must be one of those days where he doesn’t want to talk. Obi-Wan understands and lets the silence engulf them. “But the Council and I feel that this is where you need to be.”

.

“Master,” Obi-Wan signs and bows.

“Hello, Obi-Wan.”

It’s not the first time he’s seen Qui-Gon again after Melidaan’s parting gift almost killed him. Of course they’ve seen each other. Qui-Gon had been there for him while he recovered, had hovered over Master Tholme’s shoulder like a shadow.

“A particularly annoying shadow,” Master Tholme had commented drily back then. “Which is funny, considering.“

Obi-Wan opens his arms and Qui-Gon’s tall frame closes around him. Maybe a queezing too tight but… but that doesn’t matter. “How are you,” he taps on a broad shoulder.

He’s abruptly let go. Not pushed back, thankfully.

“I am well, thank you.” Qui-Gon falls silent.

Obi-Wan has forced himself to stop trying to make the awkwardness between them less uncomfortable by the time he turned sixteen and Master Tholme sat him down to explain why he should let Qui-Gon come to grips with everything that has happened between them on his own until Qui-Gon reaches out to him.

“How are you?” And the caring and heartbreak lingering in Qui-Gon’s eyes is too much.

“I feel prepared to accompany you on this mission.”

It had been Qui-Gon who had taught him sign language in different iterations useful across the galaxy, before and later. Tholme has taught him tap code, after.

“Then let’s not waste any time,” Qui-Gon says, eyes on his long padawan braid.

.

Meeting Anakin feels… weird in the Force.

“So you don’t talk? Ever?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head, amusement crinkling his eyes.

“You don’t want to or you can’t?” the boy asks before his eyes widen. “Both are fine!”

“Cannot,” he signs carefully, settling on an Outer Rim dialect.

“Oh, ok!”

It’s the beginning of a never ending nightmare. Tatooine. Naboo. The desperate attempts to stop a war from happening.

He keeps to the background, inconspicuous and invisible.

Which is the only reason he ends up in the plasma refinery complex.

.

“It’ll be alright, little one,” Qui-Gon murmurs, gentle fingers wiping tears away before they reach the mask. “Just squeeze my hand.”

“Master,” he taps, hiccups threatening to disrupt something in his throat.

“Take care of the boy.”

.

So he does.

He brings Anakin back to the Temple, watches over his nightmares in silence.

He kneels as Master Tholme cuts his braid.

He explains to the Council what he thinks.

Anakin is bright. Smart and a beacon in the Force. He’s older than usual, granted. But his connection to the Force is palpably vast and potentially dangerous if he isn’t trained to handle that connection. He’s safer in the Temple where they can watch over him and teach him.

The Council agrees.

.

He introduces Anakin to Depa.

Her dry wit has the boy relaxing. Her no-nonsense attitude is a guiding light, a steady framework he can lean on and count on.

Depa delights in showing him the Temple, the opportunities to learn and try out new experiences.

.

Shadow work piles up and suddenly Obi-Wan is running around the galaxy trying to put out fires.

When he’s slumped in the back door of an abandoned factory in the shady part of an Outer Rim planet, struggling to breathe and feeling like he’s dying, lightsaber in a death grip, he makes the decision to return to the Temple. The mask has to change or he will die because he is out of breath. Unacceptable.

The technicians look at him chagrined and apologetic, explain that this is all they can do at the moment, maybe he can take it a bit easier?

“No, you need to adjust the valves on—“ a small voice peeps up from behind his shoulder.

Obi-Wan has been aware Anakin is clinging to his back like a monkey bear. He’s ignored the looks he’s gotten on the way to the tech complex.

“Have at it, then,” he signs.

Anakin looks at him like he’s personally chosen every star in the galaxy as he hands over the mask.

.

“An order.”

“A strong suggestion,” Mace corrects.

“Call it what it is,” Obi-Wan signs, cutting through the air with his hands he’s so furious. “Chancellor Palpatine has no business wanting to spend time with Anakin.”

Mace sighs, leans back in the chair. “I’m aware, Obi-Wan.” He taps his fingers against the armrest but he’s releasing energy, focusing his thoughts, not code. “How are you feeling?”

The renewed esophagus has him out of the mission count for a bit yet, he’s slowly weaned off the artificial nutrition. Overall, he’s starting to feel a bit restless.

“Perhaps you want to enjoy Coruscant’s scenery while you’re here?” Mace asks, a twinkle in his eye. “Though I beg you to not get into trouble,” he adds with a frown. “Too much trouble, I mean. I forgot for a second who I was talking to.”

Spying on the Chancellor is not on Bant’s list of approved activities but what she doesn’t know…

Obi-Wan touches his chin and brings his hand forward.

.

“So you can either sign in the dark or write tap code with these gloves. You can adjust the brightness and still sneak around.”

“Thank you, Ani.” It’s one of the best gifts he’s ever had the honor of receiving. It solves a lot of problems on missions. He hugs the boy close and feels swept up in the thoughtfulness. “I don’t sneak.”

“You totally do and it’s so wizard!”

.

“You were supposed to be my Master!”

[jellogram]

People are so fucking weird about hunting, or any means of gathering meat that isn't invisible to them. I was writing about the Faroe Islands for work today and all the comments on every article I consulted was about how no one should go to the Faroe Islands because they kill whales.

And yes, I can see how the practice is horrifying to witness. They kill so many pilot whales at a time that the shore turns red. But it's also a thousand year old tradition and pilot whales are not considered endangered, or even under threat of becoming endangered. The meat harvested during this practice feeds locals for months.

And everybody writes about it like it's this barbaric thing and the people on the islands must be evil and no one should ever visit the Faroes because doing so supports these horrible barbaric people.

And I'm just like.... do you eat meat? Do you eat meat from the grocery store? Do you believe in boycotting every country that participates in factory farming? If you do, then props for being consistent, but most people don't. The people commenting on how horrible the Faroese people are for doing this are going home and eating hamburgers and hotdogs and would never in a million years suggest boycotting any country that does such things.

I'm not saying the whale hunting isn't frightening to look at, or is 100% morally pure, I just think way too many Europeans and North Americans are very, very quick to judge less common cultures for how they get their meat. And it's incredibly hypocritical.