#autokinetic

[definegodliness]

Tarot

thinking about weird girls, and how they always want to do tarot readings, and how I would always get the tower, until I got the hierophant. 

thinking about automobiles, autokinetes, and ipsomobiles, and that, at the end of the day, we all drive cars.

thinking about a once poet whose unsolicited critic told her she shouldn’t write about anything she hadn’t actually experienced.

thinking about rules in language and poetry, and how desperately they are clung onto by people who cannot break them well enough to make them.

thinking about cute boobs (that’s your fault).

thinking about clusterfucking your mental space, because when we kiss you use your hands better than I would.

thinking about the age of disenchantment, and how everyone should, because creativity, and inventivity, as of now, are the first casualties of the lecturing streamlining an all too soon adulthood.

thinking about the sound ‘oo’, and the love-hate relationship I’ve established with my rhyming mind.

thinking about patterns, and how much I love to break them, once distinguished, as the most fun about being sentient and self-determined is orchestrating chaos.

thinking about how life started at tearing down the Berlin wall, and how it ended at Lewinski blowing Clinton.

how I want people to differentiate between ‘at’ and ‘when’.

Goethe was on team ipsomobile.

thinking about towers, and my every all imagined underground hermit den, and how towers are infinitely better, because the atmosphere isn’t as cold and damp.

thinking about that weird girl, and how she lay down the hierophant to a tower, and how she explained I had great wisdom in me.

thinking about irony.

thinking about the rules, patterns, and differentiation, applied when distinguishing reality.

thinking about a weird girl’s hug, tight, as if never letting go; tighter than I had ever been held before, at a time wherein I was pre-occupied, ogling the last train home.

thinking about places to sleep: towers, dens, homes.

thinking about the weird girl. --- 9-12-2022, M.A. Tempels ©

[field--guide]

Autokinetic

All this machinery making modern music

Can still be open-hearted

Not so coldly charted, it's really just a question of your honesty

Yeah, your honesty

- from “The Spirit of Radio” by Rush, 1980

It’s Friday, and it’s raining in Minnesota. We're here to dance Saturday night away in celebration of Intellephunk’s 25-year anniversary, but before these festivities, we get to celebrate another significant piece of Minneapolis’ music history: Autokinetic, aka Mike McClure.

Lauryn and I have spent the morning and afternoon in St. Paul, eating delicious pastries from the French bakery around the block and catching up with old friends, and now it’s time for our interview with Mike. Accommodating as ever, he’s picked us up from our landing pad at flyover HQ, and is taking the scenic route down University Ave to get to his place in Northeast Minneapolis. “We’ll avoid some traffic this way.” Mike has lived in Minnesota his whole life, and it shows. The car ride feels like a tour of the Twin Cities, as he points out areas of historic interest with near-encyclopedic knowledge while maintaining the softness and approachability that make him so comfortable to be around. We cross an intersection in St. Paul and he exclaims, “This is where Freddy lives!” Freddy Fresh is a Midwest musical hero who’s had a profound impact on Mike’s journey. As he praises Freddy’s breadth and humility, I’m enveloped in an inexplicable warmth—the way he talks about his musical forebears is striking. He describes another of his early influences, Woody McBride, as a spirit full of kindness—but Mike, too, is like this, seemingly without even realizing it.

We arrive at his home, and after offering me and Lauryn all manner of snacks and beverages, he welcomes us into his studio, where we hang out and chat for the next couple of hours.

We’re joined by Mike’s cat (read: muse) Pandora, who can be heard mewing and purring at several points during the interview. She and Mike share a special bond—she spends most of our time together sitting on his lap, and is almost always in the studio when he’s working on music. She’s pictured here next to a Roland TR-909, taking a break from sitting with Mike to lay on a pile of designated cassette tape, which acts as a sort of cat bed in the studio.

“We had a big piano in the house. That was the first thing—synthesizers were later.”

Music has been a part of Mike’s life for a long time. He grew up in a big, musical family, getting a balance of “goofy,” collaborative and improvisational family music time at home, with an intense formal music education at MacPhail. He started piano at age 7, and by high school he was a multi-instrumentalist. Despite struggling with stage fright, to the point of even vomiting on a couple occasions (“Luckily, not on anyone!”), Mike’s life revolved around music and performing, spending virtually all his time participating in concerts, jazz ensemble, marching band, parties, and rehearsals.

His love affair with electronic music began when he was 12, playing with his first synth in his bedroom and taking trips to Minneapolis with older sister Carolyn, who brought him to record stores in the city to help feed his interest in hip-hop, breaks, and electro. He recalls loving the 808 hi-hats, but not understanding how they were made. “What are those sounds?” He was young when this curiosity sparked, and it would have a tremendous impact on his life. A few years later, during breaks from cleaning band instrument rentals at his first job at Schmidt Music, he finally came into close contact with the boxes that would give way to his synth fever.

“My buddies were there in the sales room, and when there was downtime, we’d go out there and there’d be like, Alpha Junos, and drum machines and things, and it was like, 'Oh, that’s where those fucking sounds came from,' and then I look at the price tag. [laughs] … But then, the desire to have..to get that sound going, drove me to start trying to find..well, where do you get these things? How do you get ‘em used?”

This desire became fused with introductions to underground sounds through friend and band-mate David Jarosz, who worked at Let It Be records just after their time in high school.

“So during and right after high school, [I was] in a lot of cover bands, we did Poison, and Black Sabbath....one of my best friends, his name is Dave, DJ Drone is what he ended up being in town, but he worked at a record store and he kinda got us all into different...like, he introduced me to Aphex Twin, he introduced me to house music, everything. He was like: ‘This is what you should be listening to. Put the Jane’s Addiction away, listen to Selected Ambient Works, here’s some Guidance, Prescription!’ I was like, ‘Oh my god, this electronic stuff is cool.’”

After he’d spent some years immersing in these sounds, he actually got to meet a pioneer of electronic music: George Clinton. Mike’s older sister was acquainted with the Parliament-Funkadelic founder for a time. During George’s visits, she would ask Mike to be their driver around town (“Helllllll yeah I’ll meet George Clinton!”). At one point, she asked him to bring his music gear along to show George some of the music he’d been working on.

“I was nervous as hell. I got to play him some samples, and he gave me feedback. It was probably pretty scary music to him,” Mike laughs. “I was still kinda learning how to just get loops to sync up with the different machines, so it wasn’t quite in time. But he listened to the stuff and he was like, ‘Yeah! Yeah! This is pretty good, but, it doesn’t have that wiggle.’”

Mike is telling this story quite casually; Lauryn and I exchange looks of disbelief and the three of us laugh together for a moment. “Sorry, who said this?” we ask. “George!” says Mike, and smiles. The point for him is not the association with George’s name, rather, what he learned about swing, and the importance of feedback in the artistic process. George apparently jammed on Mike’s gear for a moment, too: “He’s playing my little PC200 controller with my Ensoniq patches, and he’s gettin’ stuff out of ‘em that I’m not, and I’m just like, wow... It needs the wiggle!” Mike jokes that he still only kind of understands ‘the wiggle,’ but to this day, he looks to other artists for inspiration, and values feedback deeply. “With George, that was important for me, just like, oh shit, I...this is fun...I kept getting feedback on my music, I want this to be better, I wanna learn! So, that’s an important point.”

Mike used this same set up when he played his first rave in 1993—which, if you can believe it, was also his first time attending a rave. Performing there was spontaneous, and unrehearsed, instructed by his friend Dave Drone to “just play sounds over the top” of his DJ set. A photo from the event ended up in the Star Tribune.

“I was just rhythmically playing things that would sorta work, and I think he would bring me in and out, but I had a headphone in, and once in a while I’d be like, ‘Oh shit! It’s playing!’ And then a hilarious thing happened. There’s this company called Menards...”

Mike sings the jingle and Lauryn cackles.

“Early ‘90s, right..phenomenal. People were bringing a lot of samplers out at the time. So I’d record a buncha shit on TV and I had a sample of it, and there’s this drop [in the track at the rave] and I...... “SAVE BIG MONEY AT MENARDS!” is blasting over the sound system and people are like, ‘what the fuck is going on?’ because it wasn’t on a record. People were like, what the fuck is actually happening! So I was happy to be a part of that.”

I immediately think of the ‘DJs Will Put Anything Before The Drop’ videos that have proliferated on social media and laugh to myself. The past inside the present... Mike went on to use this trick at a few other parties, and his skill as a techno performer strengthened over the years as he cut his teeth at some of the best illegal raves in Minneapolis and other parts of the Midwest in the ‘90s, even regularly performing in Europe. This night in 1993 was where it all started.

Mike is credited on the poster as Mindphaseone, a name he would eventually use for an experimental ambient project formed in 1994 with Drone, Matt Gerzema, and John Golden. They opened for DJ Shadow at First Ave in 1997, and one of the songs on their only album was licensed by MTV for the Tony Hawk Show. “Somewhere out there is a recording of Bill Clinton being interviewed and mindphaseone is playing in the background.”

This was the same year he met Freddy Fresh, and together with John Golden, helped start the Electric Music Foundation record label. Releases from this imprint helped to get gigs and push things along, but it was no mere stepping stone; Freddy took Mike under his wing and fueled his desire to create. Mike speaks candidly about Freddy’s impact on him: “We just, we connected... Everything, everything, everything I know how to do in the studio is from him. ... Like, how do you get this sound on this record? And he’s like, this is what they did. … Freddy answered all the questions.”

Freddy was a connector for Mike both in the Midwest and abroad (he introduced Mike to Craig Lambert, aka Midnight Music Club, with whom Mike has spent the bulk of his time creating since 2019 under the combined name AutoClub). He also got Mike performing in Germany in the '90s (“The first one was Fred calling me and saying ‘Hey do you wanna play in Germany at Liquid Sky Cologne next week?”), eventually expanding to gigs in Austria and Slovenia. The more Mike played out, the more he came to value ‘market research,’ or, in his own words: “...Going to shows, going to a lot of parties, listening to what was getting played, watching the dance floor. What makes people leave, what gets them goin’ crazy—what are those SOUNDS?! What are those secret things, trying to figure that out, and that’s going on to this day.” Freddy didn’t just teach him how to find the sounds and turn the knobs; he instilled a deep appreciation for the “beginner’s mind,” combining a steadfast work ethic with a humble, open-minded approach to creating.

Our conversation shifts to artistic process, techno preferences, and authenticity, and Mike refers back to his roots to share a nugget of wisdom. It’s difficult to describe how clear he seems responding to this prompt—a pool of calm energy, rooted in years of experience and humility.

“What did Geddy Lee from Rush say..... It’s a......question of your honesty. That’s really what it’s about. What’s this track, what are you trying to do? Are you trying to trick everyone or are you trying to be vulnerable in your music?”

For Mike, creating impactful art necessitates being comfortable making mistakes, and open to the opportunities they bring. It’s a form of acceptance, both of the present moment and of oneself, which can translate into mindfulness. When practiced, this can create an “imprint” of the artist in the track by capturing “a moment in time.” This is the soul in the machine that makes techno exciting.

“To me, there’s something in the track that’s more than just the recording. Something was imprinted in it, … there's a layer to it that’s beyond what you’re hearing. And I don’t know how to put that into words. But there’s like, ‘What! How did they? There’s another track in there!’ That’s like an emotion..it’s...I...nothing else sounds like it. And if it’s loud and it’s moving your body, now it’s getting imprinted in you and your blood and your bones. That’s why I love going to shows and standing there and just getting hit by sound, I feel like you can record it somehow. And then later when you’re in here [the studio], you’re like, ‘Awh yeah I remember, this might work, I saw people dancing to this rhythm!”

Through his discipleship in the ‘90s, as well as his own trial-and-error, Mike has realized that in order to get to that place with creation, he sometimes has to almost force himself into the studio, even if it’s just to read a manual on a new piece of gear, or record something when he’s not feeling totally inspired. This “do it anyway” attitude is aided by his musical upbringing, improvising goofy songs with family while attending the “intense” MacPhail. Mike doesn’t pretend to have it all figured out. He sometimes struggles with his own creative blocks. But drawing upon his foundation—expanded by his teachers—Mike’s found a process that works for him, and seemingly, his mission is to share that with others. He shares an insight gained from jam sessions with pals, further cementing his belief in honest creation being an ongoing process:

The track is in you by the way – it’s not in the boxes. It doesn’t matter what you’re making. I just learned that recently, with Dustin [Zahn] coming over, messing with the studio. I had some Mike stuff up; after an hour, it was Dustin’s stuff. And he had a Dustin track. I’m like, how did you????! Wait! But how! Like, it sounds so good! [laughs] It’s the same with Lonefront. I wanna be able to do that. Get your track out of whatever the stuff is. It doesn’t matter if you have million dollar gear, or a $100 sampler. These tracks are inside of you. How do you get ‘em out? How do you express that shit? I don’t know..it’s ongoing. [laughs] It’s a continuum, there’s no answer! You just gotta keep doing it.”

If there’s one thing we learned from Mike during this interview, it’s this: creator as conduit. When you come to know Mike, and his music, you can hear the inspiration of his teachers through how he executes his art. You can also see the influence of these teachers in how he interacts with his community, providing undying support and mentorship to other artists in the Twin Cities. The Auto Kinetic project has evolved through many iterations since its formation in the early ‘90s—what hasn’t changed is the deep current of humility and collaboration that gives it motion. [Published June 15th, 2023]

[d33rbutch]

The Autokinetic Effect

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.” Remus whispered.

“I think I might.” Sirius said, before pressing his lips to Remus’ again.

Autistic Sirus Black, and very soft Wolfstar.

[luckyrockets]

Chapters: 1/24 Fandom: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Momota Kaito/Oma Kokichi, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added Characters: Momota Kaito, Oma Kokichi, Saihara Shuichi, Harukawa Maki Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Virtual Reality, Psychological Trauma, Hospitals, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change Summary:

Three days. It had been only three days since everything came to an end. At least, it felt like that much time had passed.

Momota stared into his bathroom’s mirror, hands gripped tightly at either side of the sink below it. The lights of the room had been off for a while now to the point that he could barely make out his own features. It didn’t really matter though, even if he could… He didn’t feel like he would recognize himself anymore.

The features didn’t feel like his. Every time he looked in the mirror, something always felt off. Eyes that stared back weren’t the right color and his nose seemed bigger than he thought. His face had speckles of freckles he didn’t recall, while his hair didn’t fall the correct way. It just felt wrong the more and more he saw himself.... He just wanted to feel normal again. Standing in the dark had its advantages. The lack of sight forced his mind to fill-in-the-blanks of the reflection that fixated back from the mirror, piecing together some resemblance of what he knew he should look like … What was that phenomenon called again? … Autokinetic Effect? … Or maybe Pareidolia? Momota wasn’t even sure if those words existed if he were being honest.

Hands moved away from the sink, opting to sit at his sides before turning into tightly balled up fists. It was another repetitive action that he found himself doing during his silent showdown with his reflection. What number was this now? If he had to guess, probably... the hundredth time since he started his solo staring match.

… How long had he been staring in the mirror, anyway? He wasn’t sure anymore. Two minutes? Two hours? Maybe even two days? He hoped it had been long.

Splish… Splash… Splosh…

It dawned on him that the tap was turned on, something he did way before getting distracted by his own reflection. Earlier, Momota had the idea that maybe the sound of faucet could help. The rushing waters that currently sprayed out the tap were meant to help his thoughts from wandering into a dark place. It didn’t work, obviously, his mind instead masking the sound allowing him to continue thinking negatively. Now, he stood, even worse off while the sink’s tub had overflowed.

Water continuously poured onto the floor, easily soaking through his house slippers. With such a sensation at his feet, his mind raced to remind him of the last time he could recall his slippers were this wet, but the water wasn’t warm enough to send him into that thought. It was ice cold... Momota could almost picture it steadily filling the room and drowning him in its freezing temperature.

He momentarily wondered if anyone had noticed how far the flood had gone out now. From the corner of his eye, he watched as the water trailed slowly , being illuminated by the light in the connecting bedroom. It had a night light permanently plugged in, an obnoxiously bright one at that. He had tried to turn it off, unplug it, hell, even break the damn thing but, he still couldn’t seem to remove it. The brightness had made the floor glisten immensely, though, if that were from the water or how clean it was he didn’t know.

Momota wasn’t sure how far the water had made it and was curious if there would be any lasting damage. Whatever the case, it was nothing he really cared about. It wouldn’t change the fact that his room was an empty place anyways. The walls were a bleak white color with a grey border running along the top edges. There was a bed with a baby blue blanket that he had bunched up into a ball at one point. In the corner, a TV was attached with a singular power button. Momota had yet to find a remote for it… that is, if it even had one in the first place. Regardless, when he had tried to turn it on, it was a channel with no noise and the occasional messages that looked as if they were drafted in a powerpoint program. The words would relay different things such as mealtimes and other information Momota cared very little about. Finally, there was a cabinet for what he assumed were for his clothes.

Rummaging through it the first time, he had found a few sets of unrecognizable clothing and a mystery bag. It was mainly junk filled but out of the search came an important discovery, a wallet. It contained exactly 3200 yen, a stamp card for some grocery store he had never heard of, and... an ID. The photo on the ID, no matter what Momota wanted to believe, was his own. The name on it had been Itō Shiro though, not Momota Kaito. His birthday was correct, April 12th, but the year he was hesitant about believing. If it was right, then it would mean he was currently 22 years old and knowing that was messing with his head … Hadn’t he only been 15 three days ago?

His eyes began to wander towards another door in the main room. He could count the amount of times it opened on his fingers.  Nurses or doctors would come in to check on him, ask how he was doing, give him some medicine, and then abruptly walk out. Never had he seen the outside of his room. The most he knew was what they told him and they said he would start therapy soon. Momota wasn’t sure what therapy they could even administer that would make his entire existence being fake go away.

… Or make the screaming stop.

At times, he heard his “classmates” screaming from outside his door, which usually led to a chain effect. The more he heard the screams, the less he recognized those voices screaming, which caused Momota to panic. He would eventually start screaming himself and desperately try to escape his room. It never worked. Someone always seemed to be holding his door shut, preventing him from seeing who was hurt or the potential cause of their screaming. He rolled his shoulders back, watching his facial features seemingly growing darker in the mirror.

Instinctively, his arm jerked back as if to throw a punch. The sensation of the glass already seemed present in his knuckles as he thought about what he was about to do. Maybe, just maybe, if he broke his fist through the mirror, those nurses would let him out of his room... Maybe then he could finally catch a glimpse of ANYONE as he was being carted away out there. Maybe… Maybe.... Maybe he could see Shuichi, or Harumaki, or--

Suddenly, a loud clang rang through his ears, stopping his fist right before the glass could meet it. It caught him off guard and he turned to the side quickly, but nothing seemed to have fallen in his room. With the night light as his only light source for the moment and being limited to the ground, it could have obscured the cause for all he knew. He moved slowly, his still heavily drenched slippers making disgusting slapping noises as he trudged along the ugly, beige floor. He did his best to ignore the noise now, making his way to the light switch in the main room and flicking it on to properly investigate. Nothing seemed to be amiss... well, besides the majority of his floor still being overrun with water. All seemed fine inside, so the only conclusion he could draw was that it was coming from outside his room. … Right?

Momota looked at the exit and wondered if it would let him out. He never once tried to open the door to just open itl, only when it was for the purpose of attempting to save anyone outside of it. Fixating down at the handle, the feeling of being helpless began to manifest, but he tried to remind himself that he wanted to be helpful. The dire necessity to save the people he cared about grew stronger, over taking all other thoughts as he reached for it. There was already that scenario playing through his head. The feeling of the handle refusing to give, frustration boiling behind his eyes at another failed attempt to rescue anybody... He placed his hand on the handle and pushed down.

Click. It opened.

The surprise completely threw Momota off, making him forget all of the frustration and anxieties from the moment before. Hesitantly stepping out, he stared intensely at the new environment that greeted him. The hallway was bright, almost burning his retinas, but seemed empty. He continued to walk further out of his room, slightly dazed, and forgetting momentarily why he even came out here. His eyes slowly moved across the area. What time was it, now that he thought about it? There were no doctors or nurses wandering the halls and all the doors all seemed shut...

Wait, why was he out here again?

The clang, right...

Nothing seemed amiss in the hallway. Maybe he had imagined it after all? Had he been so sleep deprived these days that his mind was starting to make noises due to his lack of rest? He had to be extra sure though… Besides, what if someone was hurt and needed his help? What if they needed him ? Momota began his walk, looking at the doors as he shuffled by. There seemed to be six rooms. Three that lined up on either side of the walls.

Each door had a laminated name on it, none of which Momota recognized either. He momentarily remembered some fun fact he had read once. “ You can’t read in dreams .” He reassured himself while also reminding him that this whole scenario was really happening. An urge to open any of the doors and see who was inside was ever so tempting. He paused for a moment to grab at the handle of the one closest to him, standing in front of it for quite a while, before he let go and continued on. He needed to find out where the clang came from first.

His slippers left wet footprints with every step he made as he rounded what seemed like the third hallway. Once again, Momota started to believe he may have imagined that sound. Maybe he was going crazy. Whether from lack of sleep or from staying in his room too long, his mind was probably making it up. He was ready to start the long walk back to his room when he finally eyed a door that didn’t match the uniformity of the rest. It was slightly ajar, a small bit of light peeking out from the crack that didn’t seem bright enough. If anything, it was more than likely the same night light that plagued Momota’s nights. He wondered if this was a mistake, if a doctor had forgotten to secure the door before leaving. The night light was bright enough to almost blend in with that of the hallway, that the added light may not have even been noticeable. Maybe the person inside hadn’t noticed the door still open.

Momota looked up at the door and saw another name that he did not recognize.

“Mizushima”. It was printed, laminated, and taped on to it.

With the door already open, it couldn’t hurt to look inside, right? The curiosity got the better of him and he carefully pushed the door further open, looking into the room. He had expected it to reassemble much like his own, but his jaw nearly dropped at the sight.

The room was the beginning of a hoarder’s nest. There were so many different items pushed tightly against the walls that some were starting to obscure the path made for walking through it. He couldn’t make out exactly what everything was-- but, he could faintly see a magazine stack, a toy train... and a figure sleeping in the bed.

This person had to have been here longer than Momota, given the mess they had, he was certain. How long could they even keep you here? Could they keep him here for years if they wanted to? Keep him from seeing other people who were not doctors and nurses dressed in white for the rest of his life? Momota gritted his teeth at the prospect. No, he wouldn’t let them. He’d find his escape route and get everyone else out too, even if it killed him.

Momota made his way into the room, flicking on the actual light without even thinking. He winced as soon as he did, looking over at the lump under the covers. They didn’t stir though, they seemed completely buried beneath the blankets. Momota gave a sigh of relief, using the opportunity to look through the room, and headed to the farthest end of it. He figured, given the possibility that if this Mizushima woke up, he could act like he walked into the wrong room. It may at least confuse them long enough for him to make an immediate escape.

He began to pick up magazines strewn on the floor, looking for dates, trying to get an idea of how long this person had been staying in this room. He felt his skin go pale once he realized the dates on some of them were older than 2 years. Could they have really been keeping someone so long? The idea put dread into his stomach. Had he moved from one inescapable prison to another? He shook his head. He couldn’t let that sit with him, not right now at least. Momota continued to shift through the room. There were clothes strewn about, some pamphlets describing different types of medications, and then some crayon drawings.

The drawings seemed childish in nature, but also too elaborate to be so at the same time. Momota looked through them and a sudden feeling of guilt washed over him. He realized how personal this really seemed to be, rummaging through someone else’s belongings while they slept not even 10 feet from you. For all he knew, this was their child’s drawings. He set the paper down, groaning slightly as he began to push himself up off the ground. He could come back when it was presumably morning, or when this person was awake at the least to ask questions.

Momota turned heel, making his way back to the door. His heavy footsteps squelching underneath while his eyes kept steady on the person in bed. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have almost believed they weren’t breathing. He was too distracted and let his focus stray on them for too long. So much so, that his slippers landed on a discarded magazine that had fallen from another pile. His footing lost completely and he desperately tried to regain his stance, instead falling forward, straight flat onto the ground.

Not only that, but while in this midst of falling, he tried to grab at a pile to stop himself, but only succeeded in pulling it down with him. He yelped in pain as his face hit the floor while piles of items quickly fell onto his back. Momota groaned, pain filling his whole body. He struggled to lift himself back up, items falling from him as he did and coughed out violent, suppressed air. Covering his mouth quickly, to try and dull the sound, he looked up to check the person on the bed but they didn’t move. Not once...

Momota began to wonder if the person was either deaf or just a really heavy sleeper. Maybe they weren’t breathing after all, a voice sounded in his mind, maybe they were dead. They hadn’t even shifted at all and he supposed that was lucky, but now he couldn’t even shake the idea of them possibly being a corpse. He took an unsteady breath, calming his coughing down slowly and removing his hand from his mouth. It was time to head back to his room, this night becoming too much for him now.

Then, the sirens were suddenly filling his ears as he looked toward his hand.

Blood.

There was blood seeping between his fingers, sticky and red. It filled his nose with the sickening scent. He wanted to vomit, feeling all the warmth escape his body instantly. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They told him he was basically better and that his body would just cough once in a while, right? The doctors told him it was just an after effect, that he shouldn’t have any blood come up. Panic set in, only triggering more coughs to escape from his mouth. He got up and quickly rushed out of the room. The ringing in his ears sounded like the trial room, inside of the cockpit, the squelch of a bod--

He ran straight, hitting a wall in front of him. The world shouldn’t be spinning. It was supposed to be safer now, there shouldn't be any blood. Momota fell to the ground, coughing onto the floor violently. He couldn’t hear anything other than the ringing in his ears. Not even the noise that sounded near the end of the hall did he hear anymore. Wheels squeaked their way towards him and a pair of eyes fell onto him.

Momota breathed in heavily, trying to calm down. Just calm down and the blood will stop. Just calm down and you won’t cough. He couldn’t die here, he hasn’t done anything with his life yet. He can’t die here, he can’t die here, he can’t--

Momota opened his eyes, looking down at the blood droplets that had made their way to the floor. He tried to breathe easy, to relax, but the lingering scent and taste of blood was going to send him into another panic at any moment. There were also eyes that he could feel on his back and he wondered if a doctor had probably heard all of his fussing around, coming to finally check on him. He didn’t have the heart to look up at them, whoever they were. If anything, they would just put him back in his room, or another entirely just to find out why he was coughing up blood again. His eyes closed, gulping down saliva mixed with the metallic taste best he could. Maybe he could play this off somehow and recompose himself.

He breathed in and out, trying to relax, but it was futile as a coughing fit erupted from his lungs violently. It burned as he doubled over in pain. A hand made its way to his back. It seemed hesitant at first, like it wasn’t sure if it should be there, before the base of it began to rub circles into the fabric above his skin. Slowly, it brought him comfort, his cough receded, and he slumped slightly against the wall.

The stranger didn’t speak. Once the coughing had finished, their hand was recovered. Momota slowly drew his gaze up, turning his head towards the figure. His eyes widened and stared back in utter disbelief. The figure before him carefully slumped  back into his wheelchair.

The young man shifted his torso, his hands going to the wheels of the chair to back up slightly and give Momota more space. Dark hair framed the small, pale skinned face that Momota could compare to being almost as white as the walls in his room. Bags lay under his eyes, he looked as tired as Momota had felt.

He looked Momota over, dark eyes obviously scrutinizing him. The young man could see the blood drying on the other’s face. The stain caked mostly against his nose, which had turned a red color and was obviously going to be bruised the next day. It also held tight into the excuse for facial hair that Momota had. The young man huffed, closing his eyes before turning his head towards the doorway behind him. He could see the imprints of waterlogged footsteps leading into the room, scowling at the sight. His face turned back to the other man on the ground. “Momota-chan, what were--”

The sentence was stopped with a shocked noise as Momota lurched forward, grabbing his hand from one of the wheels. He held it in a vice like grip, pulling it closer to himself. The young man wailed, trying to pull away from him. The sleeve of his hospital outfit had pulled up in the action, revealing his wrist covered in yellowish marks.

Momota held his hand for a while and the young man relented to let him, breathing deep breaths. One… Two... Three... Then he could finally speak. “... You… You aren’t dead… Ouma…” It was all he could muster out. He looked up at Ouma, who in response had rolled his eyes before pulling his hand away. Momota let him, allowing his own flop to the ground instead.

“Oh no, I’m SUPER dead, Momota-chan! Didn’t you know? This is Hell! We’re in Hell. I guess you’re just too dumb to notice that, huh?” The sarcasm practically leaked from his entire being. He leaned back into his chair, grumbling something under his breath that Momota couldn’t quite make out.

“I’m not dumb!” Momota growled out, new life sparking into him. “This is a hospital, not Hell! Stop fucking around!”

Ouma sighed, looking back towards Momota and eyed him over. Momota wasn’t very much to look at, if Ouma were honest. Compared to how he remembered him, he was different. His cheeks were sunken in, probably due to the fact he had been on a feeding tube for what was over a month. Despite his skin being slightly pale at the moment, it still held a tinge of someone of a darker complexion. Ouma assumed a few days out in the sun would bring that color right back though. Momota’s hair was flopped sadly over to the right side while his facial hair had begun to sprout unevenly around what used to be a clean shave along his goatee. They were a dark black color, it seemed too. The blood was the same from last time he saw him, though Ouma knew better. He could obviously tell Momota had been having a nose bleed just now and not dying of some unknown illness.

This was Momota Kaito alright, but it was obvious the simulation had clearly gone about prettying him up. He wasn’t half bad looking, to say the least, but not as picture-perfect as one would have remembered. Though, maybe he could have probably gotten away to being as very close of a look alike if he wanted. Ouma had seen this difference in himself too. He could remember his face in the simulation at least and they contrasted the very slight differences in himself now. His body was much thinner for sure, much more unhealthy looking in reality.

“Why were you in my room?” Ouma tried to ask again, his tone much more demanding than before. “Don’t lie and say you didn’t. I saw your footprints on the ground. It’s pretty creepy to go snooping around people’s rooms, you know?”

Momota huffed at that statement. “Like you’re one to talk!” At least, Momota seemed back to his usual self. “I heard something and wanted to see if anyone was hurt! Also, that’s not your room unless you’re sharing it!”

“What-- Oh, right, you’re that dumb. God, even Gokuhara-chan wouldn’t have fallen for that trick after he turned on the lights. That’s just so sad, Momota-chan..” Ouma shook his head with a tsk, giving a pitying look. “You probably mistake department store mannequins for employees, don’t you?” He moved the wheelchair to turn it, yawning in an exaggerated tone before Momota could retort. “Well, this conversation is putting me to sleep! I’m gonna--”

Ouma groaned as Momota had, again, grabbed at his hand to keep him in place. He let himself sit still but gave him a look regardless. Momota wasn’t looking at him though, instead his gaze was transfixed at the other’s arm. Ouma tried to remove his hand now, but Momota stubbornly kept it before observing the arm back and forth, looking up at him puzzled.

“Why are you in a wheelchair?” Momota asked, the concern in his voice almost poisonous, feeling undeserved if anything. “Did someone hurt you?” There was an anger that began to show through his eyes, but it wasn’t at Ouma. That resentment sounded through his voice, boiling deep in his chest. It made Ouma’s heart flutter a bit, but he quickly suppressed that feeling away. This was enough, and he pulled his arm away again to signal that to him. There was a slight hesitation but Momota relented and let him go.

Ouma smiled a sardonic, tight lipped smile. “Why yes,” he said, familiar venom coating his own words. “Actually, someone dropped a hydraulic press on me.”

He regretted his statement almost immediately. The hallway grew dead silent, the buzzing of lights the only noise breaking it. Somehow, it made it worse. Momota looked as if Ouma had stabbed him right then and there. All the confidence and anger that had been inside him had disappeared at once. If this had happened before, Ouma would have maybe revelled in seemingly bringing this stupid bastard down a peg.

Maybe… Just maybe.

But, now... he just felt… awful?

Momota stood up slowly, turning his sight away from Ouma and glared down at his own feet. Nausea was rising up again and he felt like he needed to vomit. He could visualize the press, inhale that familiar smell of blood, and could hear the sickening squelch... then nothing. Only silence. The feeling of bile rose to his throat immediately. It was all too intense and he needed to escape before he puked. Before he couldn’t hold back angry, frustrated tears any longer.

He covered his mouth and turned his back on Ouma, wanting to move away from him entirely…. But, he couldn’t. He didn’t want to return to his own room at all. He stood there dumbly, trying to figure out exactly where he could go from here. There was probably somewhere he could escape to, a rec room of sorts. He began to let his feet move him away. Ouma eyed him before letting a groan erupt from his throat.

“No,” Ouma huffed, trailing after him. He attempted to grab at his shirt with one hand, the other attempting to keep the wheelchair going straight, but ultimately it began to sway to the side. “Wait. Stop, I can’t keep this shitty thing--” He apprehended the fabric into his hand, gripping it tightly. Ouma grinned triumphantly at his capture and looked up at Momota's back. “Where are you going? We were talking, I thought you didn’t like when I ran away from your conversations, why do you get to leave mine?”

Momota paused as he felt his shirt pull tight against his stomach. He didn’t retort, he knew if he tried he would end up losing the battle with his nausea. He closed his eyes and swallowed down the bile threatening to escape his throat, a sick noise bursting from his chest out of his throat as he took in a breath of air. Concern bloomed in Ouma’s eyes at the sound.

“I- Are you okay??” He released Momota’s shirt, wheeling himself so he could try and face him. Momota took this chance and made a break for it, going towards the trash can at the end of the hall. His slippers squished and squashed against the clean floors. Their wetness, again, being Momota’s literal downfall. He fell to the ground, throwing his hands to catch himself this time. His eyes were screwed shut as he began to spew out stomach acid.

Momota’s whole body began to ache, but he did not let himself fall to the ground. He let his eyes open for a moment, only to find himself back in the hanger. The walls were cold and unwelcoming, the sound of silence filling the room. He could still see the small, pale figure shivering on his coat. Momota could tell he was putting on a brave face, his lips tightly closed and his eyes shut as he waited to die. He waited for his executioner to hit the button and trade out a slow death for a far quicker one. Momota wondered if he would feel as calm when it was his turn to die.

He wondered how he could ever feel calm again knowing this was his fault.

It was true that Harukawa was the one to seal their fates, but Momota hadn’t the heart to blame her. He blamed himself. If he had been braver, maybe just a bit stronger, maybe he would have tried to confront Ouma earlier. If he could have worked out what Ouma was doing before Harukawa had a chance to even think of resorting to killing. If he had tried to understand Ouma better, or if he had tried to get others to understand Ouma better.

If, if, if.

Ouma withdrew at the sight, feeling his own body begin to retch. He held the feeling down though. He noted the fact there didn’t seem to be any food in the vomit, just acid. When was the last time Momota had eaten? He heard hospital food tasted rather nasty, but he didn’t think that would deter Momota’s ravenous appetite. Ouma gulped down and approached again, placing a hand against Momota’s back once more.

Momota breathed slowly as he looked up at Ouma. Ouma could see the lack of focus in Momota’s eyes, like he wasn’t quite where the other was. He wondered if Momota could see the fear he felt, looking at him like this. If he could see the uncertainty of what to do now, how his brain wasn’t finding a solution. Momota took in another breath as the fog lifted from his eyes, attempting to speak.

“... Your death… I didn’t want--” Momota heaved again, looking back to the ground. Ouma frowned, assuming what Momota wanted to say. He presumed Momota was saying he didn’t want to use the press, that he didn’t want to be part of his plan. A part of him wanted to be snarky and said he could have chosen to not do it if he very well wanted, nobody forced his hand.

“H-Hey… You’re fine. I… I don’t blame you, you know?” Ouma wasn’t sure where this nervous feeling was coming from, maybe guilt. It swelled in his chest, ready to burst, and he wanted it to go away. He looked around the hallway, paranoid. Momota was making more noise than Ouma ever did in the nights he’s spent here. Orderlies would probably come poking about, and Ouma wasn’t up dealing with them. He pulled at Momota’s clothing again. “Come on, let’s get out of the hall.”

“... To…” Momota gave a dry heave, trying his best to sit up. “To… Where?” His body shook, this vulnerability wasn’t something Ouma was used to seeing in him. He looked around, as if he had forgotten where he was. He wheeled himself back, releasing Momota from his grip. “My room, come on.” He headed towards it, looking back momentarily towards Momota.

Momota sat in front of his own bile for a moment, nothing running through his head. His whole body felt weak, he couldn’t find the energy to even lift his head. He heard Ouma cough, as if trying to grab his attention. He probably thought Momota was ignoring him, or out of it. He heard Ouma huff in exasperation.

“Earth to Momota-chan~” Ouma gave a sing-songy tone to his irritation. “You shouldn’t rest in the hall~” He continued his teasing, maybe hoping to rile Momota up so that he would follow him. Even resorting to saying ‘here boy, come on, who wants a treat~?’ Momota just didn’t have the energy to get up. He heard Ouma huff again.

Wheels squeaked away, presumably into the room. Momota heard nothing after, and could only assume Ouma had given up. So, he continued to sit, no thoughts. He was so tired, he wanted to sleep so badly, but he was trying to stop the exhaustion, trying to keep himself from falling into his own sickness. He heard the wheelchair again, it approached him. Momota wondered what Ouma was up to now, but didn’t have it in him to look at him.He heard a thump against the floor, and then tugged at his clothes.

“ Move. ” Ouma demanded, pulling harder. “You don’t have to stand, but you have to move. Drag yourself.” Momota could feel Ouma trying to drag him, trying to get him away from the puddle. He let him, trying to be as helpful as he can to follow his lead. Ouma drew them both to the wall closest to his door, groaning at the exertition. He reached over for a blanket he had, presumably, thrown on the ground, pulling it over both of them. “Dumbbass just sleeps in a hallway, unbelievable…”  Ouma grumbled, fixing it carefully.

Momota was unsure what to do or say as Ouma relaxed, almost against him but not quite. Momota could feel his eyes droop close, feeling an ease overtake him. The blanket was warm, warm enough to distract him from the cool ground around him. He didn’t know why Ouma had decided to take to the floor as well, why didn't he just leave Momota out in the hall by himself. He wondered if in the morning he’d get an earful for it. Ouma yawned quietly, moaning about the lights before pulling himself more under the blanket. Momota listened as Ouma grew quiet, falling asleep from what he could tell.

Momota relaxed, finally being able to find it in himself to rest.

[ttechnoboxx]

undefined

Autokinetic - Illuminati Confirmed

[thegalacticindex]

Iir, a primer

As cunning as they are ferocious, as insidious as they are powerful, as inscrutable as they are imposing. Without doubt the most feared species in the known galaxy, the Iir have recently entered into an alliance with another, equally alarming species: Humans.

[Iir is both the singular and plural.]

Origin: Iir evolved on a shallow-oceanic world called Naurl or Naulr [the iirian language defies easy transcription into Latin letters]. As is true of approximately 40% of homeworld names, 'Naurl' loosely translates as 'home'. Naurl is a Class Four Death World. Its steep axial tilt causes significant difference between its summer and winter seasons, which cause dangerous weather (RF: monsoon, typhoon, hurricane, crashwave, tsunami). Naurlan life is largely aquatic, as all major land masses are quite low in elevation and thus subject to regular flooding and severe storms. Naurl has a bizarrely strong Coriolis effect (thus far without satisfactory scientific explanation) which causes very strong, very steady equatorial tradewinds and currents. These, combined with the annual storms sweeping across the landmasses, have rendered most Naurlan terrestrial or amphibious life nearly global in distribution.

Naurlan life has an extreme tendency for psionic ability. Many species use telekinesis to assist in hunting or movement, and telepathic perceptions and obscuration are as ubiquitous as visual camouflage. This has the interesting side effect that almost 20% of Naurl's species are permanently or semipermanently airborne, kept aloft by autokinetic levitation (usually in conjunction with winged or lighter-than-air flight). The iir themselves are one notable example, being permanently airborne exclusively by levitation, and being the third-largest airborne species. Curiously, airborne life is a distinct advantage on Naurl, as such creatures can surf the edges of storm fronts to ride around the storm, thus avoiding being caught in it, or in some cases simply rising above the storm entirely.

Naurl's oceans are mostly quite shallow, being less than 300 meters deep. Coral reefs and kelp forests dominate most regions, as corals can project psychic bulwarks to resist storm damage, which tends to create safe "lagoons" in which other life thrives. Biodiversity is extreme, with hundreds of species unique to each of hundreds of coral archipelagos. Competition is equally extreme, and most Naurlan species can pose a credible threat to most sophonts. Poisons and venoms of dizzying variety are commonplace, as are ambush predators, pack hunters, and brute-force attackers. Like most temperate oceanic worlds, Naurl is considered fantastically beautiful by most sophonts who see light in the 300-900 nanometer spectra. However, it is still decidedly a Death World, and visits by any but highly protected science crews, or other Death Worlders, are suicidally ill-advised.

Biology: Iir are bilaterally symmetrical, with six, eight, or ten limbs depending on life stage. Their bodies are a rounded droplet shape, flattened on the ventral side, which tapers into a flattened, tail-like section. Their limbs are tentacles, whose ends branch into several finger-like digits. The foremost pair of limbs have four fingers, the second pair have three fingers, and all other pairs have two. The fingers are kept together almost always when not in use, giving the illusion that their tentacles simply taper to a blunt point.

Iir average between 2.5 to 3 meters from their underside to the crown of their back, and their body's main volume is generally the same length, and approximately 60% as wide. The tail section is usually about 70% the length of the body [IE, a 3 meter tall iir would have a 3 meter body with a 2.1 meter tail]. Their tentacles, at rest, are roughly 2/3 body height, but can stretch to around 1.5 times body height.

Iir biology is a unique blend of carbonic and silicate life. Their basic digestion and metabolism are fairly standard for a carbon-based, deathworlder omnivore, but their endoskeleton and nervous system are hybrid crystal. Their bones are remarkably strong; their forward thorax lattice has been recorded to endure weights of more than 2,000 kg for brief periods. The brain of an iir is a complex biosilicate synapse lattice capable of remarkable feats of parallel processing, which is what enables their feats of complex, multi-target telekinesis.

Iir skin and carapace are translucent, revealing the psionic resonance organ that dominates the upper portion of the body. This organ plays a large part in iirian communication, breaking incoming light in various prismatic displays that provide accentuation and tone to their otherwise telepathic language. The visual displays are incidentally quite beautiful to numerous sophonts, humans in particular, which the iir have recently begun to use to their advantage.

Iir sensory organs are scattered across the body. They have numerous simple eyes around the edge of their flat underside, and two complex eyes at the front, slightly above the mouth. All eyes are equipped with opaque lids and lacrymal systems, while the complex eyes have translucent nictitating membranes. Large sections of their upper dome are specialized for hearing.

Iir have a carapace just beneath the skin, making their form fairly rigid. Their skin is densely covered in very short guard hairs, giving them a velvety texture. The hairs are hydrophobic, keeping them dry in most situations. Iir are good swimmers, which they often do for recreation. Iir can walk without aid of telekinesis, but this is reportedly uncomfortable.

Iir are omnivores of wide taste. Their semi-silicate biology requires a number of minerals usually acquired from corals, and a host of trace nutrients that are widely considered toxic. Naurlan life employs countless toxins, and iir are resistant or immune to many of them. Many are used by the iir as spices or recreational drugs, including capsaicin, isothyocyanate, and various alcohols and aldehydes.

Although the iir body is scantily muscled (their rounded shape and telekinesis largely obviating body musculature) their tentacles are tremendously strong. Records exist of an iir warrior gripping a 10 cm synthetic diamond rod, with one tentacle, hard enough to snap it, and not along any cleavage lines. Precisely what evolutionary pressure caused early iir to develop such superfluous strength is a much-speculated upon topic among biologists.

Iir are hermaphrodites whose role in reproduction is based on age. Their mating habits, like much of their culture, are largely unknown due to their combative history. It is known that young develop in a pouch on the ventral portion of the tail for 3.5 cycles, and are born live. Young are capable of independent flight, but rely heavily on the parent for ~100 cycles. Immature iir have six tentacles. At roughly 370 cycles, iir young briefly metamorphose, sprouting their fourth pair of limbs and becoming capable of impregnating a partner. At some unknown age, adult iir metamorphose again, gaining their fifth pair of limbs and becoming able to bear young. This secondary adult stage is also when iir develop their notorious strength. The maximum natural iir lifespan is unknown, and considering their hostility to most researchers, likely to stay that way for some time.

Behavior: Iir are extremely predatory in mindset, which has deeply colored their culture. They learn a wide variety of skills under the justification of proving their mental fitness to prospective mates. This justification, fortunately, is actually a thin veil for their actual desire to learn and innate curiosity. Iir are generally aware of this cognitive dissonance, and promptly acknowledge its accuracy and then dismiss it,

Iir have humor often described as “caustic” or “acerbic”, finding delight in the embarrassment or misfortune of others, and what humans call “slapstick” comedy. Counterwise, iir also find enjoyment in the concepts of serendipity, good luck, and beneficial happenstance, so long as they can empathize with the recipient of the fortune. Iir find whimsical, yet deep amusement in chaotic, irreverent, frantic, or nonsensical behavior, which greatly endears humans to them. Most iir are content to simply follow an energetic human, occasionally encouraging or helping the human’s harebrained silliness. This observational amusement can occupy an iir for days at a time.

Iir have decently good intelligence, and a remarkable ability to process numerous unrelated topics at a time. This has led to odd developments in their technology, with iirian computers and artificial intelligence being significantly behind their progress in material science, nanotechnology, and quantum state manipulation. Quantum computing was a concept that had not even occurred to the iir until mentioned in passing by a human. Iir routinely conduct computational and data processing roles that most other sophonts foist off onto machines.

Iir social structure is fairly nebulous, The fundamental social unit is a harem of several adults that share romantic relations, though they often do not reproduce with their own harem. Most iir in a harem have one long-term romantic and/or sexual relationship with an iir of a different harem. Each harem rears the young borne by the members of that harem with more-or-less even distribution of duties. The other parent (if of another harem) is usually expected to take responsibility of the young for intermittent, arbitrary times during maturation. This serves to broaden the young’s field of experience.

Beyond the harem, iir usually maintain strong relations with parents, grandparents, siblings, cousins, and the children of the parents’ harems, which they refer to as “ripples”. Linguistic research into this seemingly nonsensical name has been frustrated by both the uncoöperative nature of the iir, and their own seeming ignorance of the term’s origins.

Iir young adults roam through their society attempting to form friendships with others, and separately trying to join or form a harem. Non harem/relation friendships often take the form of “hunting packs” which share one or more interests; despite the traditional name, the interests might be almost anything. Still, the name is usually appropriate, as the teams in recreational wargames are often formed of “hunting packs’ of friends, rather than relation/haremite teams.

Iir military structure is either dizzyingly complex or mostly arbitrary, as it has resisted all attempts at comprehension by other sophonts.

Iir are generally unfriendly, bordering on hostile, to most non-iir they meet. After much tense and strained diplomacy, a saying has emerged (provided by an iir diplomat): “It seems to be an inherent part of iirian psychology that other creatures are potentially-hostile food, until proven otherwise.” Iir can restrain themselves from overt hostile action, but it usually takes more than a cycle of regular interaction for an iir to become friendly with an individual of another sapient species. The exceptions to this are humans, jawuti, shakashuks and dakurks, all of which iir are instantly friendly towards and amused by. It is worth noting that all of those races are deathworlders with strongly unpredictable tendencies.

Supernal ability: Iir are strongly psychic, possessing innate and highly-developed telekinetic and telepathic powers. Iirian telekinesis can routinely manipulate masses of 70-150 kg, and there are records of iir throwing masses of more than 700 kg during adrenaline rushes (RF: adrenaline). Iirian telekinesis can be used to throw with remarkable accuracy, and they are adept at controlling numerous objects simultaneously. However, iir have difficulty controlling individual objects smaller than a few centimeters, or making subtle adjustments, and their power is difficult to focus within about a half meter of their main body; for fine work and close object manipulation, they use their limbs.

Iirian telepathy is mostly geared towards passive reception and psionic camoflage. They can transmit data and emotions to other iir or psychic sophonts, but most species require translation devices that observe the color changes of the psionic resonance organ, or are tuned to the sonic musical language of the iir (which not all iir “speak”, or speak fuently or well). Some sophonts, including humans and jawuti, can clearly recieve iirian telepathy at short range, despite their own lack of psychic ability. Use of such individuals as translators is becoming a profitable occupation.

Iir do not possess any ability for psychometry. Some talented iir can, with training, employ clairsentience, but this ability is rare.

Iir do not possess any measurable mystic ability, to the great relief of the rest of the universe.

[hme-mesmerizing]

week 9

My work for the week: for week 9s the section of my project's timeline will construct the visual movement and cinematography elements, as well as timing the audio elements. The movement must fit the hypnotic and mesmerizing aesthetic and experience. I will attempt to create a sort of autokinetic effect where the viewer will look at one point in my tower. The camera will rotate around the environment generating movement and colour effects to generate eye fatigue and generate further visual movement. I got the idea from Hypnotic Susceptibility, Suggestion, and Reports of Autokinetic Movement by Benjamin Wallace, James B. Garrett, and Scott P. Anstadt. https://www.jstor.org/stable/1422005  

Another paper I've looked at to give direction to is ‘’Effect of sedentary activities on resting metabolic rate’’ by W H Dietz, L G Bandini, J A Morelli, K F Peers, P L H Ching, https://academic.oup.com/ajcn/article-abstract/59/3/556/4732249  

The paper looks at the rmr of kids when watching tv and concludes that their rmr were lower (so less fidgety) when watching TV for 15 minutes. I will make my HME try to mimic this conclusion in that viewers will watch my HME and feel less restless and be enthralled in the HME. The key takes away in terms of what needs to be done is detail to movement making it slow and repetitive, for the project it will be the rotation of the cam around the towers.

My thoughts on this and how this will play into my project is simple. I'll try to make the movement of the linier loop in my towers to make an endless track. And then to hopefully make it resemble the HMe.

[researchpaperessay]

Autokinetic Effect Research Paper

Autokinetic Effect Research Paper

This sample Autokinetic Effect Research Paper is published for educational and informational purposes only. If you need help writing your assignment, please use our research paper writing service and buy a paper on any topic at affordable price.

See more on https://research-paper.essayempire.com/examples/autokinetic-effect-research-paper/

[soundeagle]

SoundEagle would like to invite all and sundry to contemplate the following queries:

👁‍ Is seeing always believing? ❇️ 👁‍🗨 Is viewing invariably perceiving? ✳️ 👀 How robust is the human vision? ❇️ 😵 How tricky is optical illusion? ✳️

Of all the illusions that accompany or plaque the human senses, optical illusions, also known as visual illusions, are the most common and best understood, given that any human possessing complete and healthful senses are visually oriented by nature. Illusionists have all along tricked audience into believing that their performances are the results of magical rendering rather than the adept manipulations of human perceptual habits and cognitive limits via the deployment of adroit staging, clever lightings, sleight of hands, masterful setups, ingenious contraptions and psychological controls. Yet, even in the complete absence of magic tricks, the human eye and perceptual device can colour, distort and deceive what we see anywhere and anytime, sometimes in astonishing degrees and unexpected fashions.

According to Wikipedia:

An optical illusion (also called a visual illusion) is an illusion caused by the visual system and characterized by visually perceived images that differ from objective reality. The information gathered by the eye is processed in the brain to give a percept that does not tally with a physical measurement of the stimulus source. There are three main types: literal optical illusions that create images that are different from the objects that make them, physiological illusions that are the effects of excessive stimulation of a specific type (brightness, color, size, position, tilt, movement), and cognitive illusions, the result of unconscious inferences. Pathological visual illusions arise from a pathological exaggeration in physiological visual perception mechanisms causing the aforementioned types of illusions.

The following educational videos and exemplary images demonstrate not only the idiosyncrasies of sight but also the wonders of optical illusion, which are inherent aspects of the visual apparatus and cognitive dimension of human beings throughout their lives. These examples convincingly reveal that the very fabric of seeing the world through the perceptions of colour, shape, edge, constancy, brightness, contrast, depth and motion can be readily altered, distorted or even compromised by certain interactions with assumptions about the world. They uncover numerous innate biases of the visual system, which are surprisingly robust and culture-invariant but predictably dependent on biological sensory structures within the human body, and on external conditions in the physical environment.

Click any image below to see gallery images displayed in a full-size carousel view and to comment on each photo.

The edges between the diamond-shaped areas are straight lines, but may appear otherwise. bit.ly/2y15OTk https://t.co/ZfnsJXDiKo

— Cliff Pickover (@pickover) September 24, 2017

One person sees 4 bars, but the other sees 3. https://t.co/vqHKC0AfNk

— Cliff Pickover (@pickover) September 24, 2017

Graph: Rabitness vs Duckness. https://t.co/q6Buxp0YH8

— Cliff Pickover (@pickover) September 23, 2017

Imagine the joy of walking on this carpet, which is actually flat. Source: bit.ly/2jQB4hP https://t.co/qSIEIbyicf

— Cliff Pickover (@pickover) September 22, 2017

One may begin to appreciate the diversity of optical illusions by studying the following table extracted from Wikipedia.

Name Example Notes Afterimage illusion An afterimage or ghost image is an optical illusion that refers to an image continuing to appear in one’s vision after the exposure to the original image has ceased. Afterimage on empty shape (also known as color dove illusion) This type of illusions is designed to exploit graphical similarities. Ambiguous image These are images that can form two separate pictures. For example, the image shown forms a rabbit and a duck. Ames room illusion An Ames room is a distorted room that is used to create an optical illusion. Ames trapezoid window illusion A window is formed in the shape of a trapezium. It is often hung and spun around to provide the illusion that the window rotates through less than 180 degrees. Autokinetic effect The autokinetic effect, or autokinesis, occurs when a stationary image appears to move. Autostereogram An autostereogram is a single-image stereogram (SIS), designed to create the visual illusion of a three-dimensional (3D) scene from a two-dimensional image in the human brain. An ASCII stereogram is an image that is formed using characters on a keyboard. Magic Eye is an autostereogram book series. Barberpole illusion The barber pole illusion is a visual illusion that reveals biases in the processing of visual motion in the human brain. Benham’s top When a disk that has lines or colours on it is spun, it can form arcs of colour appear. Beta movement Movement that appears to occur when fixed pictures turn on and off. Bezold Effect An apparent change of tone of a colour due to the alteration of the colour of the background. Blivet Also known as “poiuyt” or “devil’s fork”, this illusion is an impossible image because in reality the shape cannot exist. Café wall illusion This illusion is a pattern where different coloured squares on a wall appear to form horizontal curved lines. It is named such because this is the type of artwork often seen on café walls. Catoptric cistula A catoptric cistula is a box with insides made of mirrors so as to distort images of objects put into the box. Checker shadow illusion The checker shadow illusion shows that when a shadow is cast onto a checked board, the colours of squares A and B in the photos appear to be different, when in fact they are the same. Chubb illusion The Chubb illusion is an optical illusion or error in visual perception in which the apparent contrast of an object varies substantially to most viewers depending on its relative contrast to the field on which it is displayed. Color constancy Colour constancy is an example of subjective constancy and a feature of the human color perception system which ensures that the perceived color of objects remains relatively constant under varying illumination conditions. A green apple for instance looks green to us at midday, when the main illumination is white sunlight, and also at sunset, when the main illumination is red. Color phi phenomenon The color phi phenomenon is a perceptual illusion in which a disembodied perception of motion is produced by a succession of still images. Contingent perceptual aftereffect Convergence micropsia Cornsweet illusion An illusion where two colours can obviously be seen to be different when placed directly beside each other; however, when the two colours are separated by a thick black line, they appear to be of the same hue. Delboeuf illusion An optical illusion of relative size perception. The two black circles are exactly the same size; however, the one on the left seems larger. Disappearing Model A trompe-l’œil body painting by Joanne Gair. Ebbinghaus illusion The Ebbinghaus illusion, or Titchener circles, is an optical illusion of relative size perception. The two orange circles are exactly the same size; however, the one on the right appears larger. Ehrenstein illusion The Ehrenstein illusion is an optical illusion studied by the German psychologist Walter Ehrenstein in which the sides of a square placed inside a pattern of concentric circles take an apparent curved shape. Fechner color Figure-ground (perception) Filling-in Flash lag illusion Forced perspective Application used in film and architecture to create the illusion of larger, more distant objects. Fraser spiral illusion The Fraser spiral illusion, or false spiral, or the twisted cord illusion, was first described by the British psychologist Sir James Fraser in 1908. The overlapping black arc segments appear to form a spiral; however, the arcs are a series of concentric circles. Gravity hill Grid illusion Any kind of grid that deceives a person’s vision. The two most common types of grid illusions are the Hermann grid illusion (1870) and the scintillating grid illusion (1994). The first is characterized by “ghostlike” grey blobs perceived at the intersections of a white (or light-colored) grid on a black background. The grey blobs disappear when looking directly at an intersection. The second is constructed by superimposing white discs on the intersections of orthogonal gray bars on a black background. Dark dots seem to appear and disappear rapidly at random intersections, hence the label “scintillating”. When a person keeps his or her eyes directly on a single intersection, the dark dot does not appear. The dark dots disappear if one is too close to or too far from the image. Hering illusion The Hering illusion (1861): When two straight and parallel lines are presented in front of radial background (like the spokes of a bicycle), the lines appear as if they were bowed outwards. Hollow-Face illusion The Hollow-Face illusion is an optical illusion in which the perception of a concave mask of a face appears as a normal convex face. Hybrid image A Hybrid image is an optical illusion developed at MIT in which an image can be interpreted in one of two different ways depending on viewing distance. Illusory contours Illusory contours or subjective contours are a form of visual illusion where contours are perceived without a luminance or color change across the contour. Illusory motion Impossible object Irradiation illusion Isometric illusion An isometric illusion (also called an ambiguous figure or inside/outside illusion) is a type of optical illusion, specifically one due to multistable perception. Jastrow illusion The Jastrow illusion is an optical illusion discovered by the American psychologist Joseph Jastrow in 1889. Kanizsa triangle The Kanizsa triangle is an optical illusion first described by the Italian psychologist Gaetano Kanizsa in 1955. It is a triangle formed of illusory contours. Kinetic Depth Effect The Kinetic depth effect refers to the phenomenon whereby the three-dimensional structural form of a silhouette can be perceived when the object is moving. In the absence of other visual depth cues, this might be the only perception mechanism available to infer the object’s shape. Additionally the direction of motion can reverse due to the existence of multiple 3D visual solutions. Leaning tower illusion The Leaning tower illusion is an optical illusion that presents two identical images of the Leaning Tower of Pisa side by side. Lilac chaser Lilac chaser is a visual illusion, also known as the Pac-Man illusion. Liquid crystal shutter glasses Lunar terminator illusion Lunar terminator illusion is an optical illusion where the apparent source of sunlight illuminating the moon does not corresponding with the actual position of the sun. Mach bands Mach bands is an optical illusion named after the physicist Ernst Mach. McCollough effect The McCollough effect (1965) is a phenomenon of human visual perception in which colorless gratings appear colored contingent on the orientation of the gratings. It is an aftereffect requiring a period of induction to produce it. Missing square puzzle The missing square puzzle is an optical illusion used in mathematics classes to help students reason about geometrical figures. Moon illusion The Moon illusion is an optical illusion in which the Moon appears larger near the horizon than it does while higher up in the sky. Motion aftereffect

Play media

Motion illusion Müller-Lyer illusion The Müller-Lyer illusion is an optical illusion consisting of a stylized arrow. Multistability Musion Eyeliner Necker cube The Necker cube is an optical illusion first published in 1832 by Swiss crystallographer Louis Albert Necker. Numerosity adaptation effect Orbison illusion The Orbison illusion is an optical illusion that was first described by the psychologist William Orbison in 1939. Penrose stairs The Penrose stairs was created by Lionel Penrose and his son Roger Penrose.[1] A variation on the Penrose triangle, it is a two-dimensional depiction of a staircase in which the stairs make four 90-degree turns as they ascend or descend yet form a continuous loop, so that a person could climb them forever and never get any higher. Penrose triangle The Penrose triangle was first created by the Swedish artist Oscar Reutersvärd in 1934. The mathematician Roger Penrose independently devised and popularised it in the 1950s, describing it as “impossibility in its purest form”. Pepper’s ghost Perceived visual angle Peripheral drift illusion A motion illusion (1979/1999) generated by the presentation of a sawtooth luminance grating in the visual periphery. Phantogram Phantograms, also known as Phantaglyphs, Op-Ups, free-standing anaglyphs, levitated images, and book anaglyphs, are a form of optical illusion. Phi phenomenon Poggendorff illusion The Poggendorff illusion (1860) involves the misperception of the position of one segment of a transverse line that has been interrupted by the contour of an intervening structure (here a rectangle). Ponzo illusion In the Ponzo illusion (1911) two identical lines across a pair of converging lines, similar to railway tracks, are drawn. The upper line looks longer because we interpret the converging sides according to linear perspective as parallel lines receding into the distance. In this context, we interpret the upper line as though it were farther away, so we see it as longer – a farther object would have to be longer than a nearer one for both to produce retinal images of the same size. Rubin vase Rubin vase (1915): an ambiguous or bi-stable (i.e., reversing) two-dimensional form. Sander illusion In Sander’s parallelogram (1926) the diagonal line bisecting the larger, left-hand parallelogram appears to be considerably longer than the diagonal line bisecting the smaller, right-hand parallelogram, but is in fact the same length. Silencing Silencing is an illusion in which a set of objects that change in luminance, hue, size, or shape appears to stop changing when it moves. Size–weight illusion The size–weight illusion is also known as the Charpentier illusion (or Charpentier–Koseleff illusion). Stroboscopic effect Swept-plane display Ternus illusion The Ternus illusion (1926/1938) is based upon apparent motion. Thaumatrope A thaumatrope is a toy that was popular in Victorian times. Trompe-l’œil Troxler’s fading Troxler’s fading: When one fixates on a particular point for even a short period of time, an unchanging stimulus away from the fixation point will fade away and disappear. Vertical–horizontal illusion The Vertical-horizontal illusion is the tendency for observers to overestimate the length of a vertical line relative to a horizontal line of the same length. Visual tilt effects Wagon-wheel effect White’s illusion Wundt illusion The two red vertical lines are both straight, but they may look as if they are bowed inwards to some observers. The distortion is induced by the crooked lines on the background Zoetrope Zöllner illusion The Zöllner illusion is a classic optical illusion named after its discoverer, German astrophysicist Johann Karl Friedrich Zöllner.

👁‍ Optical Illusions 👁‍🗨❇️😵✳️👀 SoundEagle would like to invite all and sundry to contemplate the following queries: 👁‍ Is seeing always believing?

[curiositydotcom]

Here's an assignment: Stare at a bright, stationary point on a dark background. It could be a star in the night sky, a faraway streetlight, or a dot of white-out on black construction paper. Whatever it is, if you stare at it long enough, it will start to ... move.

http://bit.ly/2FLEAnz

[nxnathania-blog]

Fish-Bird Circle B - Movement C

FIsh-Bird Circle B- Movement C is an interactive installation that explores the dialogical possibilities between two autokinetic objects (two robotic wheelchairs) and their audience (us). 

These robots are assisted by integrated writing arms that would write intimate letters, impersonating human characters, Fish and Bird, who fall in love but cannot be together due to ‘technical’ difficulties.

Audiences would join the space and interact by reading the written letters that are left on the floor, as if these robots have feelings.

https://www.artspace.org.au/program/exhibitions/2005/fish-bird-circle-b-movement-c/

[ageofultron]

it was probably the autokinetic effect! basically ur mind playing tricks on u.... or it COULD be aliens 🤔🤔

i thought about that too, i was like okay am i tripping??? but i swear i was not those things were moving, aliens i’m telling u

[linuxtutorial4u-blog]

@linuxfoundation : This blog series highlights @autogradelinux members and how they are contributing to open source software solutions that will benefit the entire automotive industry! Don't miss this profile of Francois Thibault, Dir or Innovation at Autokinetic: https://t.co/Aj8wrPhnsr https://t.co/NvIPTb0qgK

[iwishitookap]

SCLOA SN #3: Evaluate research on conformity to group norms. (22)

Last on: Paper 1 November 2014; Paper 1 November 2017

INTRODUCTION This essay will make an appraisal of the strengths and limitations of research on conformity

OVERVIEW Conformity Theories

Conformity: type of social influence in which individuals change attitudes or behavior to adhere to existing social norms

Private conformity: private acceptance of social norms

Public conformity: overt behavior consistent with social norms that are not privately accepted

Informational/normative social influence theory

Social comparison theory**

Bystander effect

Groupthink**

Address: method, culture, ethics, gender; extent of support; findings/applications; contrasting explanations/data

DON’T TALK ABOUT OBEDIENCE YA LOSER

Key Studies:

Sherif (1935)

Asch (1951)

Abrams et al. (1990)

Sherif (1935)

Group asked to estimate distance traveled by a light across a surface

Used autokinetic effect (an optical illusion)

Arrived at a group average that formed the group’s social “norm”

Used average even when asked to complete task individually

Informational influence: accepting views and attitudes of others as valid evidence of how things are in a situation when no other information is presented, especially prevalent in ambiguous situations and we cannot test validity of our own perceptions

Asch (1951)

Conformity stats

76% conformed at least once

32% conformed over half the time

24% did not conform at all

Normative influence: underlies our conformity to the expectations of others, and is based n out need to be liked and accepted by others; fear social disapproval and rejection

Abrams et al. (1990)

Asch replicating using either other psychology students or ancient history students

More likely to conform when psychology students were the other participants

Referent informational influence: conformity is not just a matter of adhering to any social norms, but rather to a person’s ingroup norms; people conform because they are group members, not to validate physical reality as with informational influence; conforming to a norm than to other people

Strongest influence with conformity

[whatsnewsdaily]

The 'Miracle of the Sun' at Fatima - I vote it was the autokinetic effect. I'm very prone to seeing this illusion - it's cool. https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/retropolis/wp/2017/10/13/our-lady-of-fatima-the-virgin-mary-promised-three-kids-a-miracle-that-70000-gathered-to-see/?utm_term=.8fc3fcfbec72

[ihavenothingtosayandimsayingit]

Here’s Cloud Music, No.12. This is all taken from one 2 minute field recording I took at the Acton Children’s Museum. Specifically, I took the recording of a DIY autokinetic sculpture. It was like a low tech version of George Rhoads Archimedean Excogitation which can be seen here (warning: homemade video--quality is a bit rough) as well. 

Here are the words I share on my Soundcloud page: Memory can be frozen, looped, stretched, fast forwarded and reversed. Our brains are clever that way.