#eschew obfuscation

[knightshade26]

Our teacher gave us an assignment to write a short story and then present it to the class the day after and ofcourse me being a RadioApple writer, wrote a whole lot—

I was hesitant to share this here but anyway, here ya go~

So here's the piece, Titled “Perfect Pitch”

Alastor's life was the piano. Ever since he was a child, the black and white keys had drawn him into a world of symphony. Alastor pursued those evanescent melodies, the perfection of every note and every sound, every nuance—he assumed what was perfection in music, like a perspicacious conductor.

Alastor's debut as a pianist was undoubtedly a resounding success. His fingers wove the grandeloquence of music, leaving the crowd entranced, enchanted, and hanging on every note. He was the rising star. As often said, many considered him a master class in brevity—his few woven tones were always arranged with the utmost precision. Alastor, The Melodic Reaper, The Virtuoso of Moonlit Serenades—these few titles were piled onto the top of his head like a crown.

But all the glory, all of the applause, became a thing of the past. The melodies, the symphonies, the notes he once created became obscure. Fate seemed to be making fun of him, playing a game that seemed to obfuscate his life, veiling the once-shiny stage he had stepped on.

"Your hearing has been affected. I'm afraid your left ear won't be able to hear anything, and your right ear will only be able to hear at most 50%."

The doctor's words echoed clearly. Even with his impaired hearing, they were so distinct that he could almost forget he had essentially become deaf.

After a ceremonious celebration for winning another trophy, he was on his way home—completely sober, as he had not drunk any alcohol—but everything suddenly turned blindingly white as the glaring honk of a truck blared in his ears. Then came a tremendous impact. He lost consciousness.

He woke up two days later, his head still foggy when his assistant told him his ears would never function as they once did. He was sorrowful. He was angry. He screamed and lashed out. He refused help from others, and his willfulness—as if reverting to a stage of juvenile delinquency—only led him further into despair.

His world, since then, was silenced, like a tenebrous alleyway swallowed by shadows. Even in his subconscious mind, the notes seemed to disappear entirely, and Alastor could only eschew the piano. His once most beloved instrument had turned into the most beautiful curse—one he could only gaze upon. The graceful melody that once danced beneath his fingertips now seemed to mock his current self.

Alastor lowered his eyes, a smile hanging upon his lips. A slender hand held an umbrella with a casual grip. He stood in an empty playground, watching the rain subside in silence. The petrichor wafted from the wet earth—a primal scent that seemed to match his once glorious days.

Alastor took a step, intent on leaving. But then he suddenly stopped, an indistinct sound of a violin reaching his ears. It was familiar—so familiar that he violently swiveled, turning to find the melody he had once longed to entwine with. He closed his eyes, furrowed his brows, and concentrated. Slowly, he walked toward the lugubrious melody. His steps were slow at first, but as the sound became clearer, his pace quickened—gradually turning into a sprint.

He stopped.

Not far away, someone sat on the fountain. Skin morbidly pale, platinum blonde hair swaying with the gentle wind, eyes blindfolded with white cloth—holding a violin, playing a lachrymose melody that echoed in Alastor’s ears. It was so clear, so distinct, that Alastor unconsciously stood frozen, unable to tell how much time had passed.

One dared to play.

The other dared to listen.

Both remained in their places until the night sky was dotted with sparkling stars.

Lucifer.

The peak of classical music. The Devil. Heaven’s woe.

These few sobriquet Alastor could recall could never truly describe Lucifer’s pitch. In Alastor’s ears, he was the most perfect melody, the most harmonious symphony, the most flawless note to ever exist. He was the symphony—the quixotic dream Alastor had once desperately chased. He was Alastor's muse.

The melody gradually faded, and Alastor couldn’t help but step closer, subconsciously chasing the intermittent notes until he stood just a few steps away from Lucifer. Lucifer’s hands stilled upon his violin, his head tilting toward Alastor's direction. His lips quirked into a small smile.

"Aren’t you tired? Standing still like a statue for hours like that is bad for your knees, you know."

Licifer's voice flowed into Alastor’s ears. Alastor's eyes followed the orifice that produced such a gentle voice, interwoven with the susurration of the wind. Lucifer’s voice was clear, distinct—laced with amusement.

Alastor's face burned upon registering what Lucifer had said, his ever-present smile almost slipping.

"A silent type, I see. What’s your name, silent guy?" Lucifer asked.

Alastor subconsciously answered, "Alastor."

"The Master of Symphonies?" Lucifer smiled, clearly recognizing him.

But Alastor wasn’t the least bit pleased to hear the familiar nickname. "No. Just a forgotten whisperer." He shook his head with a wry smile.

Lucifer fell silent, as if not expecting his response. In the end, he made Alastor sit beside him, urging him to describe the stars. Neither spoke about music. They simply admired the empty nuances of life.

The two grew close—closer than they had expected. Every once in a while, they would sit in the same spot. One would describe everything he saw, while the other played a melody.

Until one day, Lucifer asked to hear Alastor to play.

Alastor rejected him outright. He imprisoned himself in his home, and the dark, depressing thoughts he thought he had successfully dispelled came rushing back like an untamed tide.

But before he could drown in sorrow, Lucifer appeared at his door, a slight smile on his lips. He dragged his suitcase, his violin case, and his cane with him.

"The pavement was so uneven I nearly tripped. Good thing I have nice reflexes."

As he spoke, he strolled inside Alastor's house, discarding his cane and suitcase outside the door but still dragging his violin case with him. Alastor stood there—messy-haired, disheveled, completely lacking the air of a fastidious person he once was—dumbstruck and speechless.

In the end, with a helpless smile, he couldn't bear to make Lucifer leave.

And so, the two started living together.

Under Lucifer’s relentless nagging, Alastor finally relented.

He re-opened his piano room.

His fingers trembled unconsciously—both nervous and anticipatory.

When he sat down, he could only stare at the familiar black and white keys in silence. At a loss.

Lucifer then chirped at his side, his eyes still blindfolded with white cloth, holding his violin as he took a stance in preparation to play.

“You remember your notes, right? Let's play a duet,” Lucifer said with a smile.

The apricity of the winter sun spilled through the curtains, casting a warm glow on Lucifer, making him look brighter, almost ethereal.

Alastor stared at him in silence as Lucifer began to play Clair de Lune. His fingers hovered over the piano keys, hesitating. Slowly, he pressed down, his touch tentative, as if afraid to shatter something fragile.

The only thing he could clearly hear was Lucifer's melody. The sound of the piano was almost nonexistent to him, yet his fingers moved instinctively, pressing whatever melody he could hear in Lucifer’s violin. The ennui that had plagued him for so long lifted so easily—just like that.

Alastor's smile turned genuine, as if a sudden epiphany had dawned on him. His fingers gradually danced across the keys, seamlessly blending with the violin’s symphony.

The duet piece was often used by pianists and violinists as a way to confess—a dreamy depiction of a lover’s intense longing and yearning. Yet, the two of them tacitly avoided mentioning it afterward. The piece was obviously an attempt to equivocate, hiding their intentions while revealing them at the same time.

Since that day, Alastor and Lucifer were inseparable. They would always be within at least five meters of each other. Their silent companionship and fleeting, undisguised glances couldn’t conceal the things that were meant to be spoken aloud.

Alastor and Lucifer then decided to sign up for an upcoming duet competition. They were more or less in sync in whatever they did. Their musicality had long fused into one, showcasing absolute harmony in their melodies.

That day, Lucifer was stuck at the stairs, his body trembling as he held his violin in a death grip. The scene of the explosion—the concert hall crumbling into a pile of debris, the crimson hell engraved into his vision before he lost his sight—replayed over and over in his mind. Lucifer attempted to breathe, to calm himself, but the familiarity of the concert hall made him remember. Again and again.

A hand suddenly cupped his cheeks, the warmth from it gradually pulling him back to reality. His confused mind and trembling body stilled, like a peaceful lake settling after a storm. He held the hand—it was slender, with distinct joints—and Lucifer subtly caressed Alastor's fingers, smiling faintly as he said, “Thank you, Al.”

Alastor was silent as he stared at Lucifer, though his hand trembled ever so slightly. “I should’ve bought a heating pad,” he muttered.

Lucifer laughed. “You actually learned how to joke?” His voice was tinged with amusement as all the tension left his body.

“I learned from you,” Alastor whispered. His hand slowly let go, hesitating, as if reluctant to part.

That night, without a doubt, they won. Alastor and Lucifer won, with resounding applause and flowers decorating their steps.

That very same night, they sat by the same fountain. Alastor patiently described the stars—their positions, the constellations he could make out—while Lucifer silently listened. The two trophies sat quietly between them, their golden gleam seeming to replicate the sparkle of the stars, as if representing a prelude of another journey.

“Hey…” Lucifer suddenly spoke, his voice lower than usual.

Alastor stopped speaking and turned to him, his brows furrowing slightly in confusion.

“What do you think of me?” Lucifer asked after much deliberation.

Alastor froze at the question, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. His face was tinged with red.

“You’re my perfect pitch,” Alastor whispered, his voice almost blending into the wind. His nervousness was apparent—the way his lips pursed, his brows knitting into a frown—almost looking comical as he tried to fix his expression.

Lucifer smiled and breathed a sigh of relief. His voice was tinged with shyness as he replied, “You better keep it that way.”

Alastor nodded subconsciously but then stared at Lucifer in confusion before gradually realizing what he meant. He brought a hand to cover his lips, unable to suppress the wide smile forming on his face.

They sat there, deep into the night, with nothing but themselves—the echoes of the wind and the twinkling of stars as their only witnesses. No audience bore witness to the veiled confession that Lucifer had, for the first time, ever made.

___________________________

Idk about my score on this one but i guess you guys will be my judges now...🤧

[essektheylyss]

Every week I have to talk about a really stellar craft element of Midst and this week is no exception, but it is astounding how well-broadcast the fate of our heroes were without undercutting the stakes at all. I'd figured out exactly who was going to live and die, down to guessing that Lark would "make it", but would be irrevocably changed by the Fold to the point where it's not clear if she is still alive, and I don't think that's some kind of prescience on my part—it's just good follow through on the characters' journeys.

But at the same time, the final battle was appropriately unsettled enough that, when they had to flee the cabin, I thought perhaps that was it. When Weepe took the mace to Spahr's knee, I genuinely thought that he was a goner after all. When the syringe found its way into Phineas's neck, I feared that I'd been wrong, that all hope was lost, and that he wasn't actually going to live long enough to find his fresh start.

I think it's partially because Midst really eschews any sort of didacticism. You do get the sense that the narrators are simply reporting what happened, even if they're putting their own spin on things. Had the story of Midst ended only in tragedy, with all of its protagonists dead, there would've been no obfuscation of the reality of that. There is no shying away or denial of the events, even when they may fade to black, and I think this is its own skill as well—to make clear exactly what needs to be made clear, and to obscure what should remain obscured.

It takes an incredible sense of insight into how stories are told to determine those things without revealing oneself as the architect of every choice even though that is the reality of storytelling, and I think in this case, the fact that the architects are so present and have been so from the beginning does the story a service in that regard.

[badass-at-fandoming]

Hi, you were recommended to me by ryttu3k fir your knowledge of Anatole.

Their is one question from clan novel saga by the Prophet that always confuses me.

"the young wizard’s sire is within the clay.”

A bit of context- he is saying this with two Kindred present, Victoria Ash, and Jeremiah (an obfuscated nosferatu). It is said within Leopold's art studio.

The young wizard is obviously Leopold. It is revealed that he is not a toreador but is the childe of tremere antitribu, Nikolai.

But the sire is in the stone????

There are a few named statues at the art studio. A bozetto of Petrodon, but he's the deceased nosferatu Justicar and Sire of Cock robin and Julio Martinez. There is also a bust of Victoria Ash. Later their is a tower made of gangrel and Hannah (a tremere) fuses with it. But neither are Leopold's sire.

This causes Ms Ash, unaware of Jeremiah or the Justicar bozetto, to think that Anatole is saying Leopold is her childe. He is not. This causes the nosferatu to gain this incorrect info temporarily too.

It does save the day at the end, as Ms Ash walks up to Leopold (and eye of hazimel) and this distracts him long enough to be killed by Ramona.

But, as far as I'm aware, their is no Nikolai sculpture in the book. Cock robin is not a "young wizard" so it can't be about the bozetto.

The only thing I can think of, was that Anatole deliberately lied to cause Leopold to be distracted later in the book and die. But why would the prophet of Gehenna deliberately lie?

What is the answer to "the young wizard’s sire is within the clay.” since I swear there's no Nikolai sculture?

If you can't tell, Anatole is one of my favourite non nosferatu vtm characters of all time.

Hello! Awww, I'm honored to be considered to have insight into Anatole and his Malkavian prophecies. Thanks @ryttu3k! You seem anxious for an answer, @roseate-felidae, so I'll do my best. Honestly, I'd probably need to have read the Clan Novel Saga for a confident answer. Browsing the wiki and the context you've given me are good enough for guesses. In order of most to least likely:

1) Your first instinct is right, Anatole is lying. More accurately, Anatole could be manipulating his report of his vision to achieve a better final outcome. A fun layer to Malkavian visions is the difference between the vision itself and the interpretation of the vision. For example, Anatole used to think his visions were literally God talking to him, but now he's like, nah, just a Kindred power like Potence or Celerity. He could be false reporting what he's seeing or hearing, or only sharing a suggestive portion, like you first guessed.

As why would Anatole lie: well. He and Victoria Ash aren't friends. She manipulated hunters into burning down his Paris haven, with his ghoul Paul inside. She's too powerful and connected to eschew outright, but I wouldn't describe their relationship as "good." At the end of the Saga, Hesha Ruhadze has the Eye from Leopold, and Hesha is on friendly terms with Anatole and his faction, the Mnemosyne. It could be that Anatole foresaw that Ash & the Nos thinking Leopold was Ash's childe would benefit him in the long run. Maybe he foresaw and wanted the happier ending you described. That, or he just wanted to throw a spanner in the works of Victoria's plan and/or general unlife.

Being a Prophet of Gehenna and a Malkavian doesn't preclude Anatole from deceit. He has to lie to humans all the time, remember, about his identity and Kindred status. He lies to his friends, including Beckett, about what's under Jerusalem. Victoria Ash points out the obvious logical flaws in his prison "rehab" program, and he self-deceives that there's nothing wrong. "We're natural liars," as Beckett says.

2) Nickolai is in a stone/clay building. While the location in Leopold's studio jumps the mind to clay sculptures, the Malkavian Cobweb's reach is not limited by immediate geography. From the wiki, I can glean that Nickolai is in his haven in NYC, which is warded with blood sorcery. NYC has stone buildings, or clay might be a ward ingredient. It's probably not a reference to a basement encased in clay-type soil, because NYC's soil is the silt-loam type of dirt (yes, I looked this up). This theory can be disproved with a description of Nickolai's haven, so I kicked it down the list.

3) The young wizard is Aisling. This theory switches the young wizard part of the equation. Malkavian visions are not necessarily about the topic at hand, after all. To a methuselah like Anatole, Aisling Sturbridge is quite young and she's a Tremere. Instead of Leopold as the "young wizard," Anatole could mean Aisling, and the clay part a reference to her sire, Lucien de Maupassant. Lucien disappeared while on a mission from the Inner Council in 1948. "Within the clay" could be any number of hints to his fate, including his ashes mixing with dirt.

4) Nickolai is being controlled by the Eye. This is a biiiiiiig stretch, but whatever. Hazimel used to a stone mason, which is a profession that works clay. Compared to Hazimel, Nickolai is an incredibly young wizard. Nickolai thinks he's manipulating Leopold and the Eye to his own ends, but perhaps Hazimel is working him. Anatole is saying that Nickolai is within Hazimel's thrall, or influence, and Nickolai is being shaped like clay under a mason's hands.

The number of problems this theory has is Many, no matter how much I like it. First off, I don't think the Eye shows full sapient intelligence: it more like, makes its bearers into powerful rage machines, like the Beast. If someone as cool as Hazimel was controlling it, the Eye would be more sophisticated. The theory is also very Lord of the Rings-y with the whole "cursed object wants to return to its master." Vampire: the Masquerade doesn't draw inspiration from Tolkien. Last, the theory falls apart under a Doylist lens. In-universe, sure, Hazimel could know that manipulating Leopold and Nickolai would drop his Eye in Hesha's hands, and Hesha would find the Eye too hot to handle and therefore drop it on Beckett, and Beckett would return it to him. Out of universe, the Clan Novel Saga was published 1999 to 2000 in a hysterical frenzy. The story of the Eye's return appears in Beckett's Diary, which launched its Kickstarter in 2016. Sixteen years is a loooonnnggg time to pay off one line in a previous book. Possibly longer than 16 years, depending on if the story was written after or before the Kickstarter was funded. A meticulous planner could do it, of course, and maybe a nebulous idea of the Eye's return existed in the White Wolf writers' heads, but I am full of doubt. The BJD story itself doesn't call back to Anatole's prophecy either, which weakens the idea further.

The prophecy is a fun puzzle! Thank you for bringing it to me to play with. If any other Clan Novel Saga or Anatole fans want to chime in with their ideas, feel free :D :D :D

[so-true-overdue]

Vaccines: The Unsung Heroes of Modern Medicine

In the grand pantheon of medical triumphs, vaccines stand as the unparalleled epitome of human ingenuity and triumph over nature’s capricious whims. Vaccines are the linchpins of public health, their efficacy and safety underscored by an avalanche of incontrovertible data, yet their importance is often obfuscated by a cacophony of misinformation.

Vaccines have achieved a monumental feat: the near-eradication of diseases that once ravaged populations with impunity. Polio, that malevolent specter of paralysis, has been reduced to a ghostly whisper thanks to widespread immunization. The triumph over smallpox, once a scourge of biblical proportions, is a testament to the unassailable power of vaccination. The statistics are unequivocal: vaccines prevent an estimated 2 to 3 million deaths annually worldwide, according to the World Health Organization. This is not hyperbole; this is empirical reality.

Contrary to the alarmist rhetoric perpetuated by the misinformed, adverse reactions to vaccines are astonishingly rare. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention reports that serious allergic reactions occur in approximately one per million doses. To juxtapose this with the morbidity and mortality rates of vaccine-preventable diseases is to lay bare the absurdity of the anti-vaccine diatribe. The infinitesimal risk of adverse reactions pales in comparison to the devastating consequences of unchecked infectious diseases.

In the realm of jurisprudence, the mandate of vaccination is not merely a matter of public health; it is a legal imperative grounded in the doctrine of parens patriae. The state has an incontrovertible obligation to protect the welfare of its citizens, particularly those who are most vulnerable. Compulsory vaccination laws have withstood judicial scrutiny, their constitutionality upheld in landmark cases such as Jacobson v. Massachusetts (1905). This jurisprudential precedent underscores the principle that individual liberties do not encompass the right to jeopardize public health.

In conclusion, vaccines are not merely a medical marvel; they are the bulwark against the resurgence of pernicious pathogens. The statistical evidence is irrefutable, the legal framework robust, and the ethical imperative clear. To eschew vaccination is not an exercise in personal autonomy but an abdication of social responsibility, a perilous flirtation with epidemiological disaster. Let us, therefore, extol the virtues of vaccines with the fervor they so richly deserve, recognizing them as the silent sentinels safeguarding our collective well-being.

[penhive]

A Stoic and Epicurean narrative

Now what is stoicism? Stoicism is an ancient philosophy that flourished in Greece. It is the philosophy of forbearance (being immune)  to everything that happens and also fortitude (mental courage).

Now what is Epicureanism? Epicureanism comes from Epicurus and it’s doctrine that espouses the pursuit of pleasure and avoidance of pain.

What I am going to do here is to enlarge the philosophies of Stoicism and Epicureanism with certain typologies.

Morals and Stoicism

Stoicism is a philosophy that calls for conservative moralism. Morals are virtuous and therefore a principle to emulate in society. We have to lead a life with goodness, purity and chastity. Our relations with our fellow beings should be one of Godliness. Lust and sensual pleasures are an anathema for the stoic. Sexuality is limited to the confines of the family. Pleasures have to be overlooked and sacrificed with the ritual of righteousness. Stoicism is the absence of lust. Sensual pleasures are demoted to a lower grade in the hierarchy of Stoic tenets.

Seismic Stoicism

Seismic stoicism is an arcane philosophy that conducts democratic principles for individuals and nations. War is a demotivating force and should be eschewed at all costs. An individual should live life by practicing charity and benevolence with her fellow beings. A stoic principle from the Bible is: love your enemy as yourself. Stoicism embraces the philosophy of love, peace, tolerance and nonviolence. A notable stoic is Mahatma Gandhi who with his philosophy of nonviolence freed India from the yoke of British colonialism. Stoics are altruistic helping one another in need. Seismic stoicism adumbrates a love that is Platonic.

Tectonic Stoicism

Tectonic stoicism is a mental phenomenon, a philosophy of being limited and being satisfied with what is. Tectonic stoicism curbs the excesses of passion. The ID and the Ego are wrought in chains making the superego control all emotions and feeling. The pleasures of the body are obfuscated. The stoic mind is dull and pathetic weighing pleasures and pain with stoic reverence. A stoic plucks the roots of passion and denies with existence of free will. The body of the stoic is conditioned to the desert of denial. Stoic attitude is one of mental denial and immolation, a crucifixion of passions and desires. The stoic is an orphan desperado of negation of the pleasures of life.

Now what is Epicureanism? Epicureanism is the philosophy of Epicurus which is the pursuit of pleasure and the avoidance of pain.

Here I am expanding the Freudian theory of the ID, Ego and the Super Ego.

ID

The ID is the seat of passions and desires.

Ego

The Ego is the language, culture, customs and traditions of the Society.

Superego

The Super ego is the laws and morals of the society.

My philosophy of Freudian Epicureanism is Deify the ID, Glorify the Ego and Subvert the Super Ego.

ID and Epicureanism

The ID is the seat of passions and desires and the ID is neither judgmental mental or moral. Many a time the society conditions us and makes our passions compliance with the norms of the society. The ID for the Epicurean is of deification (praise). Celebrate the ID by surrendering to  passions and inhibitions. The ID is the source for all art and creativity.

Ego and Epicureanism

The Ego for Freud is the language, customs and culture inherited from the society. Society taboos the individual with its dogmas and conventions. An example can be taken from the LGBT community. The LGBT community was isolated from mainstream community until very recently. Do the institutions of the society limit freedom? The ego is celebrated with the nihilism of the society’s language, culture and traditions.

Superego Epicureanism

The superego is the laws of the society. It always acts as a limiting factor for the individual’s pursuit of freedom. For the Epicurean, the superego has to be subverted and that means circumcising the laws and following a path without getting caught. The Epicurean is a skillful acrobat who does his subversion with finesse and agility.

To conclude I would like to say stoicism is a philosophy of fortitude and forbearance and Epicureanism is the celebration of life with the deification of the ID, glorification of the Ego and subversion of the Superego.

[dustedmagazine]

Arve Henriksen and Harmen Fraanje — Touch of Time (ECM)

What exactly is a “Redream?” Yes, it’s the third piece on trumpeter Arve Henriksen and pianist Harmen Fraanje’s new collaborative album and one of Fraanje’s own compositions, but is it a dream reboot or a contemplative revisitation of somnolence, a “regard” a la Messiaen in contemplation of the baby Jesus? Like the music on Touch of Time, that elusive title occupies a between space, a glance toward opposites that never quite solidify as expected but float by, imbued with  introspective calm.

As with so many ECM albums, music and production were made for each other. Henriksen’s sound has been documented enough to need little description. Its combination of reed, flute and voice expands and obfuscates in tandem, but the breath supporting that constantly morphing timbre may never have been caught with just this level of detail in motion. It moves in physical space with the same easy grace carrying each note toward the myriad conclusions Henriksen has perfected. His inaugural phrase of “Passing on the Past” skims those shadowy lines as lush vibrato and cloudy tone bolster notes wavering through and around each other, each luffing breath a new tempo against Fraanje’s ghostly shades of motive and chord. Henriksen’s use of electronics is tasteful, as when “The Dark Light”’s melody takes on the heft of cathedral harmonies and “Mirror Images” sits anchored in a clear but deep pool of drone. In a continuation of his work on Mats Eilertsen’s And Then Comes the Night, actually recorded in the same space, Fraanje’s pianism is captured in similarly staggering detail. Every nuance of “Redream”’s pianism is front and center, and it’s as if we can watch him pedal, digging deep into each gesture as his foot teases phrases forth with rhythmic variation akin to Henriksen’s breath control. His incorporation of melodic fragments outside whatever scale the duo’s inhabiting demonstrates a masterful adventurousness, a subtly inquisitive nature tempering harmonic stasis, whispering mischievous implications at the boundaries of conventional expression.

That’s what ECM has been doing for 55 years. The label has expanded, often via methods less overt, the spaces in which being “Avant Garde” are delineated. It is spaces just like those explored by Henriksen and Fraanje that Manfred Eicher has been opening at least since Afternoon of a Georgia Faun, Marion Brown’s awe-inspiring 1970 improvised soundscape, or did the meditative universe come into being with Benny Maupin’s 1974 masterpiece The Jewel in the Lotus? Like Allan Pettersson’s approach to shifting planes of harmonic consonance and dissonance in his symphonies, those two albums defined the emotionally adjacent innovations and conventionalities the label so often explores, but ECM production offers so much more to experience. Touch of Time demonstrates yet another aspect of adherence to the label’s lineage of atmospheric sonics. Whether live or under studio conditions, foregrounded detail and room ambiance combine in a way few, if any, other labels achieve. Each creak from Fraanje’s bench or instrument and the slightest breathy movement Henriksen executes comes aliveand becomes an integral component to the music’s evolution. Each sonic document from ECM provides a coexistent narrative, telling the story of its creation even as that creation manifests, but those narratives are thorough-going. Ensembles, even a duo, morph, shedding notions of size and surrounding space even as the music eschews the confines of harmony, melody and their predispositions. Touch of Time is one of the label’s most stirring recent examples of double-narrative. Dig deeper into the electronics Henriksen employs to find worlds of undulant harmony in glorious states of becoming, and each note Fraanje plays decays with his instrument’s glorious overtones in full view. Go deeper still into each key stroke and sonic moment to find that timbre succumbs to similar flights of fancy. Are those metallic cube sounds peppering an atmosphere? Is there a ghost harmony just below a melodic surface? Did those notes external to the scale really fit perfectly after all? Re-audition tells one story, then another, and finally reiterates the first in a new way, a (re)experience well worth having.

Marc Medwin

[remembering-the-future]

Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed scholars, and fellow denizens of this digital dystopia, I present to you the inexorable conundrum of interminable technology, a relentless juggernaut propelled by the insidious machinations of destructive capitalism.

In this epoch of unprecedented innovation, we find ourselves ensnared in a labyrinthine web of technological marvels, each iteration more beguiling than the last, yet inexorably tethered to the voracious appetite of capitalistic avarice. The omnipresent specter of progress, once a beacon of enlightenment, has been transmogrified into a Sisyphean endeavor, perpetually rolling the boulder of advancement up the steep incline of consumerism, only to watch it cascade back into the abyss of obsolescence.

The crux of our discourse lies in the pernicious symbiosis between technology and capitalism, wherein the former is manipulated as a mere instrumentality to perpetuate the latter’s insatiable greed. The ceaseless cycle of innovation, ostensibly heralded as the apotheosis of human ingenuity, is in reality a meticulously orchestrated stratagem to engender perpetual dependency and obfuscate the true cost of progress.

Consider, if you will, the ubiquitous smartphone, a paragon of modern convenience, yet a veritable Pandora’s box of planned obsolescence and environmental degradation. Each successive model, replete with ostensible enhancements, serves not the betterment of humanity but the coffers of corporate behemoths, who wield the cudgel of obsolescence with impunity, coercing the hapless consumer into an interminable cycle of acquisition and disposal.

In this grandiloquent theater of the absurd, we are but marionettes, our strings deftly manipulated by the invisible hand of the market, our agency subsumed by the inexorable march of technological determinism. The very fabric of our existence is interwoven with the digital tapestry of surveillance capitalism, where our every click, swipe, and scroll is meticulously cataloged and commodified, our privacy bartered for the ephemeral gratification of connectivity.

Thus, we find ourselves at a crossroads, confronted with the imperative to extricate ourselves from this quagmire of technological subjugation. It is incumbent upon us, as stewards of the future, to recalibrate our trajectory, to eschew the siren call of unchecked capitalism, and to forge a new paradigm wherein technology serves as a catalyst for genuine human flourishing, rather than a mere appendage of avarice.

In conclusion, let us not be lulled into complacency by the veneer of progress, but rather, let us endeavor to reclaim our agency, to wrest control from the clutches of destructive capitalism, and to chart a course towards a more equitable and sustainable future. The time for action is nigh, and the onus is upon us to transcend the shackles of interminable technology and to envision a world where innovation is harnessed for the collective good, rather than the insatiable greed of the few.

[xerserise]

Eschew obfuscation, advocate cognizability.

[kijiboop]

Eschew obfuscation.

bro stop being so verbose the hoes keep having to look up dictionary definitions every time they talk to you

[trmpt]

“Rationalizing Trump’s actions demands rewriting both history and the English language. Committed Trumpists are happy to warp reality to fit whatever distortions their leader demands. Yet distinct from the Trump sycophants are the Trump enablers, both witting and unwitting, more serious figures who eschew such crude gestures of devotion in favor of cautious minimizations that obfuscate the truth rather than openly contradict it. There are all too many serious writers willing to oblige, intelligent people making clever arguments that amount to sophistry.”

[lakeville-lolita]

why

eschew obfuscation… the trick to getting a meaningful answer is asking a meaningful question.

[ghostleymostley]

So, my current dumb World of Darkness project is creating a multi-splat X20 game. So far I have fully fleshed out Vampire and Werewolf (Conceptually, have not stated NPCs Yet), I have started work on Mage, and I still have Hunter, Changeling, Wraith, Demon, Mummy, and KotE Relentless Age to work on. So yeahhh this will definitely be a large project.

There is one idea I’m kinda proud of inspired by A Time of War’s Life-path system are boosts based upon what your PC did before the game started (Most PCs won’t start brand new to their splat unless they want to) Here’s two samples, one from Vampire and one from Werewolf:

Sabbat Bonus Options:

Rising Star: You and your pack have been considered rising stars in the Sword, you are well liked, and known to be effective in combat. Gain the Rising star Merit (v20 p. 489, Start at humanity 4, and gain a dot from one of the following disciplines: Potence, Presence, Obfuscate, Celerity, or Fortitude this comes from a diablerie you have committed.

Eschewer of Humanity: Yes you’re still all about the sword, but you fully embraced your inhuman nature early on in your time in the sect. Swap out your humanity rating for a rating in a Path of Enlightenment of your choosing You start at rank 4 of the Path in question. Additionally you gain: two dots of Sabbat Status and 1 dot of melee or brawl.

Pack Priest: While you may not be so well known in the sect at large, you have a wealth of knowledge on the history and ritae of the sabbat and you serve your pack faithfully as their priest. Gain three dots of the rites background and two dots of Sabbat lore knowledge.

Gaian Garou Bonus Options

Glory: You focused your time in earning glory for yourself and your pack. Gain a dot of perm Glory as well as 1d2 battle scars and a Tribal Gift that you are eligible for. Additionally, you may take either one dot of Stamina or one Dot of Strength.

Honor: You focused on earning Honor for yourself during your time before the game. Gain a dot of Perm Honor, choose one Phildodox that has a position in the sept: you are considered to be on good terms with them, and a Breed Gift that you are eligible for. Additionally, take either one dot of Wits or one dot of Charisma.

Wisdom: You focused your time on growing wise before the game started. Gain a perm Wisdom, a level 1 Talen of your choosing, and an Auspice gift that you are eligible for. Additionally, take either one dot of Perception or Intelligence.

Before you tell me these options aren’t equal I know. That’s the point. These two splats aren’t gonna be equal in power and I wanted the rewards to bs more thematic/appropriate kinda like V5’s loresheets. Also just a note the other Garou option is Ronin Garou as BSDs are a part of the antagonist faction.

[halcoded]

no, and to be honest i still don't fully understand what 'shifting' is. i have times where i feel even more like a robot (or other non-human thing) than usual to the point where it feels like it affects my physical presentation (nothing fantastical - i just mean the feeling of walking, the way i feel in my body, the way my thoughts feel, etc) - fiction often causes this, like reading the Murderbot diaries made me feel distinctly like a SecUnit for a while. but i don't know if i would call that a "shift".

i tend to eschew a lot of community terminology in general though, largely because i feel like there's a lot of labelling that tends to obfuscate meaning rather than clarify it.

🪽Kin Question of the Day #9🪽

Have you ever shifted before?

If you have, what are some triggers for you?

(Please share whether you want a reply or not, as I like to engage with others and will likely reblog/reply if you don't say anything that lets me know not to.)

[so-true-overdue]

In a world teeming with microbial assailants, the quintessence of human ingenuity has manifested in a simple, elegant solution: vaccines. These minute miracles, conjured through the alchemy of modern science, have transcended the mundane and achieved the extraordinary, transforming our collective fate.

Vaccines, the stalwart sentinels of our immune system, have unequivocally altered the trajectory of human health. They have extirpated smallpox from the annals of endemic diseases and relegated polio to the brink of oblivion. Their efficacy is not merely anecdotal but robustly corroborated by empirical data. Consider the paradigm of the measles vaccine: a triumph that has diminished the global incidence of this virulent scourge by 99% since its inception. Such statistics are not mere happenstance but the result of meticulous research and rigorous clinical trials, which have consistently demonstrated the unparalleled efficacy of vaccines.

The statistics delineating the benefits of vaccination are irrefutable. The World Health Organization (WHO) attests that vaccines prevent 2-3 million deaths annually. The historical reduction in morbidity and mortality rates from diseases such as diphtheria, tetanus, and pertussis is a testament to their unparalleled potency. Moreover, the introduction of the human papillomavirus (HPV) vaccine has precipitated a precipitous decline in the prevalence of HPV-related cancers, illustrating the prophylactic prowess of vaccination.

Yet, in an era rife with misinformation, the discourse surrounding vaccines is often obfuscated by fallacious narratives. The specter of adverse reactions is frequently invoked by detractors, yet the preponderance of evidence elucidates that such occurrences are exceedingly rare. The incidence of severe allergic reactions, anaphylaxis, is approximately 1 in a million. By contrast, the morbidity and mortality associated with vaccine-preventable diseases are exponentially higher. The juxtaposition of these statistics underscores the irrefutable verity that the benefits of vaccination overwhelmingly eclipse the infinitesimal risk of adverse effects.

To deny the efficacy of vaccines is to eschew reason and embrace anachronism. It is to dismiss the incontrovertible evidence amassed through decades of scientific inquiry. Vaccines epitomize the zenith of human ingenuity, embodying the impeccable synergy of science and medicine. They are not merely an option but an imperative, a societal obligation to safeguard public health.

In summation, the perspicacious embrace of vaccination is not merely a testament to individual sagacity but a communal bulwark against the inexorable tide of infectious diseases. Let us not be swayed by the cacophony of misinformation but remain steadfast in our commitment to empirical truth. The science is incontrovertible, the benefits unassailable. Vaccines are the apotheosis of prophylactic medicine, and their continued utilization is nothing short of imperative.

[so-rel-art-able]

Made some metal stamped tags today! These are gonna be either bracelet pieces or keychains.

- Michelangelo

[nihthraefn]

ESCHEW OBFUSCATION