#hyperstrings

[pro3000multimeios]

Campanha para o Dia das Mães, desenvolvida com a Mazzaferro Strings para as cordas Hyper. Criação: @parollojr @saad_fabricio #maternidade #diadasmães #diadasmaes #mae #mãe #datacomemorativa #pro3000multimeios #mzf4 #mzf4strings #hyperstrings (em Hyper.PRO Strings) https://www.instagram.com/p/CAA83Zkli7G/?igshid=v79uszerk3x0

[parollojr]

#TBT de hoje: em 28/nov/2018, na festa de 33 anos da 89FM na Audio. Luiz Pimentel, Ivo Machado (iMusics) eu e Felipe Machado (Viper), na divulgação do pré-lançamento da HyperPRO. Como sempre digo, é com os grandes que a gente aprende a ser melhor... sempre! #musica #networking #negocios #business #parceria #publicidade #marketing #89fm #radio89fm #89radiorock #musicos #viper #bandaviper #felipemachado #malignojr #hyperprostrings #hyperstrings #imusics #pro3000musica #pro3000multimeios (em Audio) https://www.instagram.com/p/B5bAjlilLSA/?igshid=6p9xw1in1q9

[tomasorban]

UNIVERSAL AKASA OPERATOR

The Universal Akasa/Hadron information storage system’s 3,628,800 possible combinations (3.6288 x 10^6), per unit, when considering that protons are wherever hydrogen is (distributed in every cubic cm of space and representing 90% of the universe) — that is a hadronic universal processing system that spans far beyond the mind boggling.

Every cubic centermeter of the universe, inumerable protons are everywhen and everywhere, with such omegon hadronic processor setup (the 27D hadron akasa itself is omni-temperal, in concurrent hypertemporal unanimity past, present, and future, everywhere and everywhen.

Our actual primordial nature in this regard is glimpsed through one function of protons within our body, giving us a view of our nature as universal heart-mind processors, and holographic personifications of the hyper-fractal universe Proto-Heart-Mind All-One Macro. For in 1984, Dr. Gow and colleagues discovered that protons in the form of Ca2+ ions, have been identified as the main charge carriers in numerous cells (Gow, Microbiology, 1984, vol. 130. Pp 2967-2974 and 3313-3318).

The number of protons in the universe are now beyond the imagination, and each with some 3.6 million combination sets within their complex communication system manufold.  We thereby turn the beacon light on this 8 hz ELF proton communication information system, as being the nature of hadronic force process — being orchestra player facets of the hadronic 5th force symphony.

Dr. Puharich now goes into the specific frequency tunings for the omegon hadron:

“Preons (10 in number) are the ultimate physical particles that carry information using a basic alphabet of distinct units. This alphabet is expressed as magnetic fields with a frequency range from 10^-3 hz to 10^3 hz. The preons plus the gluons generate the ELF magnetic field through string vibrations.”

——Dr. Andrija Puharich, Protocommunication II: Universal Information/Action Transfer, February 1987. Pp 35

In hadronic physics, the string vibrations are in fact the All-One Hadron, and the nature of all mater is empty, whilst the vacuum is rigid and one. Matter is empty and space is infinitely one. Matter is the undulation of the infinitely rigid Macro Hadron modelled within the vacuum emptiness of matter. This is what we call an Omni-scalar Hadron Hyperstring. Puharich continues:

“In order to send precise signals to protons in DNA, the ELF magnetic fields must be tuned accurately to 10^-2 to 10^-3 parts of a cycle per second. One frequency only keeps the DNA perfectly tuned for health, and that is 8.00 Hz.

“Protons are the senders and receivers of information in biological systems as bound in water and DNA. Protons are changed through preon information and action to carry out the Kevran weak transmutation of atoms.”

——Dr. Andrija Puharich, Protocommunication II: Universal Information/Action Transfer, February 1987. Pp 35

The Kevran transmutation of atoms Puharich observed in laboritory studies, where the 8 hz Omegon/Preon resonation of information and action changes the protons, and new elements appear, including life.

The detailed and laborious extensive studies carried out by Puharich since the 1950s, with paradigm leaps in the mid 1970s, clearly points to the 8 hz ELF field in fact being a component of the Hadronic 5th Force — little wonder that the 8 hz proton resonance in the DNA hydrogen bond’s replication, was the first scientific mention of being a body temperature superconductive-like phenomenon (Scientific American, March 1965, Pp 28)

[luninosity]

feettootie said:MOR – I mean! thank you. If course I mean Thank You! I’d never be SO rude as to demand an end to Justin’s suffering Right Now. …nope, not me. :-)                            

~

...more, you say? Following on from the previous...

#

“We’ll leave.” Mara slid to her feet. “We don’t want to…to make him feel more than he has to. But…give me your hand.”

 Kris did. The shoved-up sleeve of his shirt caught his eye: indigo, because Justin liked purple; a deeper solid color, because he wasn’t young enough for transparent or fish-net anymore, but with little glittery bits in, under stage jewelry.

 Because he’d been performing. Because it’d been their show—

 He wanted to start shaking. He felt sick.

 Justin’s aunt touched his hand; sparks seared, flared, settled into skin. Kris had worn Justin’s demon-mark, the claiming-mark, for so long that he rarely thought about it; Justin’s fingerprints settled easily in smoke and scarlet over his forearm. Protection from anyone else, Justin had said once, and a promise: Kris could touch the mark, press his own fingers into it, and call his demon-husband to his side.

 The back of his hand glimmered in ruby sunfire, now. Mara said, “It’ll last for two days, more or less, that one. I won’t renew it unless you ask. If you need us…”

 “I’ll call you.” Kris wiggled fingers. “I promise.”

 “Good,” she said, and touched Justin’s shoulder again. “Pet? We’re going. We’ll come back if you ask.”

 Justin blinked, yawned, winced, managed the pencil-sketch of a smile. “Thank you.”

 “Oh, don’t thank us,” Mara said, “you’re going to be human for a while, and we’re very sorry,”

 “I am human.” Justin’s smile grew a fraction. “And Kris will take care of me.”

 “He’d better,” said his aunt, and all three demons vanished, because they knew a good exit line; the air tasted of smoke and hot coals and wild flowers, after.

 Night fell like wings around them: amber light, sofa-cushions, New York twinkling companionably through wide windows. Stars and lights craned their necks; Justin curled himself further under the blanket.

 Kris tucked knitted stripes more closely around him. “Are you cold, love?”

 “A little. Mostly it’s just that everything hurts…” Justin snuck a hand up; Kris took it and kept it and guarded it ferociously. “I’ve pushed myself before, but this feels worse.”

 “D’you want coffee? Tea? Our bed?” He rubbed a thumb over the back of Justin’s hand, marveling: Justin was real and alive and loved him. “Anything.”

 “You’re trying to do something,” Justin said. “To do something, make something, fix something…”

 “Please let me?”

 “It’s not fixable,” Justin said. “You heard them…”

 “They said rest. And stay calm, and quiet.” He lifted Justin’s hand, dropped a kiss there. “I’m here for all of that.”

 “You love me.”

 “I do. Married you, didn’t I?”

 This got a laugh, though small; he’d guessed it would. “Kris Starr,” Justin said. “Married. To me.”

 “To the best person I’ve ever known.” One more kiss. “You didn’t answer me about the tea. And—I know your aunts said human doctors wouldn’t help, but would it, at all? You are half human, and they don’t know everything.”

 “They don’t, but I don’t think it’d make a difference.” Justin scrunched up that nose. “I know what’s wrong—I know how I feel—and there’s not really a fix for this kind of burnout. I could maybe use some extra-strength painkillers, but that’s about it.”

 His phone buzzed again, with a mild sense of shame about interruptions. Kris planned to ignore it some more; Justin said, abruptly horrified, “My family. The news—”

 Kris said a word or two that his mother would’ve never countenanced, and snatched up the mobile. Family. Yes. Six missed calls from Justin’s parents and assorted siblings, eight texts, and three other calls, one from Justin’s best friend Anna, one from his friend and employer Willie Randolph and one from Kris’s own best friend and former bassist. “Gods, even Reggie called you—”

 “You don’t have your phone.” Justin struggled to sit up; Kris dove in for support. “The stories…”

 The stories splashed themselves across headlines and home pages and social media. Accident at Kris Starr concert. Collapsing balcony. Heroic rescue. Lots of pictures of Kris and Justin standing side by side on stage; a few less tactful snapshots of Kris cradling Justin in the wake of calamity.

 Kris scrolled hastily past those. No need to see it. Or to relive it. He was still living it. “Should I call your mum?”

 “Yes, please…”

 They did. Justin’s family answered in a riot of emotion, despite the late hour. Both Professors Moore-Bautista were not only awake but alarmed; the twins and little Isabella had evidently stayed awake, worried about their oldest brother, and even James and Stephanie joined in via shared video call. Justin’s closest sibling pushed up his glasses and asked, “What caused the collapse? Do they know?”

 James always had been an engineer at heart, just like his wife; they were working on the interdimensional gateway project out at that California lab, Kris knew. James also looked too much like Justin: younger, plus the glasses and minus the demon half, but they had the same chin and the same nose and the same unconscious head-tilt when listening. Kris’s heart couldn’t quite handle that at the moment, and tensed a little.

 “We don’t know,” Justin answered, “but someone will. Probably just age; it was an old venue…”

 “Too old,” Kris grumbled.

 “Justin…” Justin’s father had always looked exactly like Kris’s mental idea of a historian: tall and thin, all salt-and-pepper, scholarly and gentlemanly over a secret giddy heart that’d once upon a time jumped into the pit at Kris Starr concerts and loved a demon wife and raised a half-demon son. Right now his eyes brimmed over with anxiety. “The news says you’re hurt?”

 “I’m…” Justin hesitated. “Kris is fine. I’m…not physically hurt.”

 “Yes you are,” Kris said.

 Justin’s family got more worried.

 Justin sighed. “It’s just burnout, okay? Nothing hit me or anything, I just over-extended myself. I’ll be okay.”

 “That sort of psychic trauma can be—”

 “Kells,” Justin said to his stepmother, “I know. I’m going to be fine.” Affection colored his tone, clear and bright. “The aunts came over and checked on me. It’s going to be not exactly fun for a while, but they said I should be okay.”

 They’d said they thought so. Different. Not the same. Kris stared hard at his husband. Justin yawned and put his head on Kris’s shoulder. “Mostly I need to rest. We only wanted to check in. We’re all right.”

 “Don’t do anything much,” Justin’s stepmother said, “and we can send Andy and Eddie over with anything you need, or at least throw some egg rolls or soup or turon and caramel sauce through one of James’s miniature portal prototypes, there’s still one in the lab out back and I could fiddle with the coordinates—”

 “That’s where that one is,” James said, illuminated. “I thought I’d left it on campus…”

 “You left that one with your parents,” Steph said, “and also the hyperstring predictor we were working on, the one that didn’t work, and also the interdimensional camera is still in your mom’s lab, but we’ll pick it up when we’re up there for the symposium next week—”

 “Oh, right, and we can drop by and say hi to Justin and Kris too…”

 “You’re always welcome,” Justin said, “even if that was so unsubtle you might’ve been shouting it through the portal. I really will be fine, guys.”

 Every single family member narrowed eyes at him. Justin held up hands in surrender. “Check on me if you want. But I’ve got Kris. I’m totally taken care of.”

 “You are.” Kris folded an arm around him. “And you’re going to rest, after this, and let me do that.” This time Justin’s family all beamed at him. Kris did not mind. He loved Justin. That was that. Simple.

 Justin’s family got off the phone, with admonitions about resting and being comfortable. Justin yawned again, and winced, and moved a hand to rub his temple. Then winced again.

 “That hurts?” Kris took over the gentle caresses. “Everything hurts, you said. Oh—hang on, we do have some sort of painkillers, I think…want them?”

 “Oh gods yes. Please.”

 Kris practically ran. Found a half-empty bottle—old but not expired��in a kitchen cabinet. Grabbed some water and some biscuits—chocolate, which was good, Justin liked chocolate—and ran back. His demon needed energy. “Here. Also we need to do some grocery shopping.”

 “Well, you’ve been on tour.” Justin took pills obediently, sipped water, nibbled when Kris offered him food. “We didn’t expect to be home much…”

 “We are now. I’ll get anything you want. Delivered.”

 “Love you. Can there be pizza?”

 “There can definitely be pizza. And your garlic breadsticks.” He fed Justin another cookie. “Any better?”

 “Kris, I’ve only just taken them.”

 “I know. I just…”

 “I know,” Justin said. “I know. I think…I do want to try to sleep, for a while. Maybe it’ll hurt less. You should call Reggie. And maybe call Anna back for me? I would, but I’m so tired.”

 “Rest,” Kris said, heart choking his throat. “Rest, love. I’ll handle that.”

 Justin closed both eyes—browner more human eyes, less laced with mysterious spice and smoke—and settled into blankets on the sofa. Kris took a deep breath, bent forward, braced elbows on knees. Scrubbed hands over his face.

 Justin was alive. That was everything.

 The coffee table nudged his leg in sympathy. He put a hand on it.

 Justin was hurt—would continue to be hurt—would be more human. Not fixable. Only rest, and time. The shiver struck his spine and made him shudder.

 He made himself call Anna. Justin’s best friend listened with typical practicality, asked whether she should come over, not necessarily this instant but soon, and if so whether she could pick up any shopping for them. Kris nearly wept at the gesture, which earned a, “Don’t you dare, Kris Starr,” followed by, “if you cry then I’ll cry, and then I’ll have to evaporate your next cup of tea before you drink it.” Anna had minor and entirely human water-related magical affinities; Kris had sometimes wondered whether she and Justin got along so well because of the complementary elements.

 She promised to come by the next day, and to bring groceries and homemade banana bread; she audibly remembered which of them was incapacitated and unable to cook, and also promised to bring some actual meals. She also said she’d stop by Justin’s high-rise editorial office and pick up any physical manuscripts or advance copies of books or authorial contracts. Kris thanked her again, and went on to the next call he’d realized he needed to make, which involved Justin’s boss. Fortunately Wilhelmina Randolph, head of that extensive multimedia publishing empire, adored Justin; she’d known him, or at least known of him, ever since he’d been an excited underground music scene reporter writing for fanzines and punk-rock outlets and occasionally consensually falling into bed with one or more story subjects. She’d seen the news as well; she told Kris to not worry about anything, and to focus on Justin’s health.

 Kris eyed his husband. Justin was asleep now, smaller than usual under heaps of blankets, long legs strangely vulnerable. Even his hair looked wrong: so completely ordinary, soft and lovely but in a purely human way, falling in washed-out ginger waves across a pillow.

 He felt the corners and edges and harmonies of anguish tremble, an explosion of empathic rage and grief and love that did not escape. He did not let it.

 Calm. Warmth. Soothing.

 He made tea, straightforward Earl Grey, and breathed in the scent of it. Justin did not wake.

 He texted Reggie. Reg called back, which meant he was actually genuinely concerned. “Kris? Why’ve you got Justin’s phone?”

 “Mine’s still…someplace. Dressing room. England. Someone’ll bring it.” He looked at Justin and the sofa; he looked at his tea. His hand shook. He set the mug down. “He’s…he’s really hurt, Reg.”

 “Oh, gods,” Reg said. “Kris, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You want me to fly out there? To get you anything, to send you anything? Is he…how bad is it?” And his voice was the voice of the friend who’d been there when Christopher Thompson’d picked up his first guitar, and who’d stood side by side with Kris at Sarah Thompson’s funeral—she’d loved Reggie Jones like a second son—and who’d been the best man at Kris and Justin’s wedding.

 “I don’t know,” Kris whispered, and pressed a hand over his mouth; somehow a minute later he found himself sitting on the floor in the hallway, sobs rattling his chest while Reggie talked to him urgently, gently, with love.

 Eventually he ran out of tears. Justin hadn’t stirred; Kris, sitting on the hardwood planks, felt oddly lighter, if shakier. “…sorry.”

 “Nah, you needed that.” Reggie sounded surprisingly comfortable with being long-distance emotional support. “Get it out. ‘S fine. You said he’s doing okay? But he is hurt?”

 “He’s human,” Kris whispered, “and he’s in pain,” and tried to explain more while Reg listened.

 Reggie said, when he was done, “So he’ll recover. They said so.”

 “Yeah…but…what if—”

 “Kris, they said so.”

 “I just want him to not be hurt…”

 “So you’ve got painkillers, maybe some willow bark, cloves, stuff somebody with some herbal healing gifts worked on? And food. I know he needs food. I’ve seen your adorable husband eat.”

 “I’ll get him pizza…”

 “Okay. You’re gonna be okay. You know what he needs, yeah? And he’ll tell you if something’s wrong.”

 “He will.” Justin would.

 “Okay, then.”

 “Have I ever told you,” Kris said wearily, “how much I don’t deserve you?” The floor was getting extra-hard; he thought he could probably get up now. His tea was waiting patiently over on the table.

 “You have,” Reggie said, “but you can always say it again. Check in with me tomorrow, maybe?”

 “Sure.”

 “Love you both,” Reg said, and got off the phone; if Kris was any judge, his former-bassist-turned-vineyard-owner was already planning care baskets to send them.

 The thought made him smile. Reggie did care. Justin had friends; Kris and Justin had friends.

 He peeled himself off the floor, and went to sit with his husband.

  Justin slept, on and off, for the rest of the night. He did not sleep easily; he woke with small sounds of pain, and creases between eyes. Kris, heart knotting his throat, offered painkillers, tea, coffee, various foods—sweet, savory, anything Justin indicated interest in—and stayed awake. His hands seemed to help: stroking Justin’s hair, kneading Justin’s back or the nape of his neck, being present and steady. A few knots unwound in his chest when Justin smiled tiredly at him, and nibbled pizza, and murmured, “That feels good…” while nestling more into Kris’s touch.

 Trusting. Relaxed. So unguarded about placing himself into Kris’s care. Justin was a fucking miracle. But then Kris had always thought so.

 He sang to his husband, along with the backrubs and hair-petting. His own songs, love songs, ballad rock new and old. Some decades-old silly pop love ditties. Some lullabies, the one or two that he vaguely recalled in his mother’s voice. Justin turned his head, at that last, enough to nuzzle a kiss into Kris’s caressing hand.

 Justin at another point yawned and said, “I can make it to bed, I think, if you want?” Kris shrugged a shoulder and told him that anywhere was fine, the sofa was fine, not moving at all would be fine. Justin pointed out that their bed was bigger and therefore better for full-body cuddling. Kris gave in, in part because Justin did look marginally better, or at least less pale.

 In their bedroom, Justin sank down on the end of the bed, which held him up anxiously; the rainbow-striped duvet tucked itself around him. Kris, heart fluttering in his throat, touched Justin’s shirt, the edge of skinny jeans; Justin laughed briefly, an escape of air. “You just like me naked.”

 “I do. But I was thinking more about you being comfortable.”

 “I know.” Justin smothered a yawn in a hand. “I can change, I think…pajama pants…”

 “Yeah, that was the plan.” Kris found the cozy flannel ones, the type designed for New York winters, plus a long-sleeved old Phantom Fighters shirt that Justin wore a lot around the apartment on icy nights, and came back over. “Want help?”

 Justin made a not-quite-annoyed face, sighed, and held up arms. “Yeah…”

 “Love you,” Kris affirmed, with a kiss to the tip of his nose; and slid rock-show clothing off and protective warm clothing on, with care.

 He did love Justin’s naked body: slim hips, smooth skin, lean thighs, that lovely long swinging cock, that pert backside. His fingers knew the feeling of all those places, the sensations of Justin under his touch. They wanted to linger; he gazed at his own hands over Justin’s waist. Justin wasn’t generally fragile—demon magic, runner’s muscles, punk-kid boots, and writer’s cleverness abounded—and was fearless, exploratory, delighted, in bed.

 Justin was injured now, and moved as if breathing hurt. Kris curled a hand over his hip, tugged pajama pants up, and leaned in to kiss his stomach: feather-light, no demands, full of too many emotions to express.

 Justin put a hand out, touched Kris’s hair, coaxed his gaze up. Their eyes met; Justin smiled.

 In bed, twined together, Kris read to him for a while—a history of nineteen-fifties all-girl all-witch groups—and hummed a few songs for him and held tea for him to sip and some trail mix for him to nibble. Justin, drowsy and safe, draped an arm around Kris, snuggled in, and drifted in and out.

 Kris loved him. Kris loved every piercing, terrifying, potentially heartbreaking moment of life with him. Wouldn’t change a thing. Here in their bedroom, under the kindly glow of a single lamp, some wrist cuffs and the collar from their wedding-night in the drawer under the bed, he understood as much.

 He loved Justin, and Justin had the kind of heart that’d leap in to help people; Kris wouldn’t take that away. He’d never want to. Not when Justin could still feel that way, could still love the world that way, in beautiful courageous defiance of an ex-boyfriend and a past and a world still a little unsure about demonkind, though that was getting better.

 He hated Justin being hurt. But he could never ask his husband, his hero, the man who’d saved his life long before any of the night’s events, to be less than a marvel. Justin had looked at Kris Starr, cranky and petulant aging rock legend, and had seen someone worth salvaging, caring for, loving. Even before they’d been lovers. Even when Kris had insulted him and pretended they weren’t friends.

 Justin loved like that: a gift, freely given. Because he thought someone—an old rock star, a friend, a person he’d only just met, a writer he’d offered a book contract—deserved to be loved.

 Sometimes he couldn’t believe Justin had married him. Sometimes he could believe it, and then he swore on every single battle-lined bit of whatever soul he’d got left that he’d make Justin’s life as splendid and delicious and full of cherishing as his husband deserved.

 He’d stopped reading, as the sun came up. He thought Justin might be asleep; he tried not to yawn, and failed. Not as young as he used to be. Not as bouncy. But Justin needed him.

 Justin folded the arm more tightly around Kris’s waist, murmured, “You can sleep, I’m here,” and wriggled closer: all worn-out half-demon loyal fierceness, even when mostly mortal. “You should rest too. With me.”

 “You sure?” He ran a hand over Justin’s head. So human. Very human. Red and dull. “Was kinda thinking I’d stay awake, in case you needed me.”

 “I do need you,” Justin explained into Kris’s shoulder. “Right here. I’m okay…sort of…mostly, anyway…I’ll wake you if I’m not. If I’m hurting worse. I promise. Sleep with me.”

 Kris sighed.

 “Please?”

 “…all right. But you’ll wake me if you feel worse.”

 “I promise, Kris.”

 “Even a tiny bit worse. Even if you only think you might feel worse. Or you’re thirsty. Or hungry. Or—”

 “Kris.”

 “…I love you,” Kris muttered, defeated. “Love.”

 “I know.” Justin waited for Kris to flip the light off, then fit himself into elderly knightly arms. “I love you. Always. My Kris.”

 “Yeah,” Kris breathed, as Justin’s human hair kissed his chin, as light crept around curtain-edges and traced familiar bedposts and doorknobs in gold, “yours.”

[garden-ghoul]

@unopenablebox has pegged me as having “excellent taste” and, well, I may not have excellent taste but I sure have a LOT of taste. for the record, boxpal, your taste in colors is EXCELLENT, it’s very dark forest witch. very baba-yaga-core.

Colour(s): my official favorite color is california poppy (look it up, it’s like butter/saffron?) and all my favorite palettes are earth tones + green + lavender. I pretty much always favor soft muted palettes and struggle with getting high contrast because I don’t use dark colors.

Last band t-shirt I bought: tee no, shirt yes, I bought a doomtree no kings tank top that I can’t wear until I get top surgery or a dysphoria-ectomy. which is tragic because it’s a very cool-looking shirt and, I hate kings

Last band I saw live: I already answered this question on the last iteration of this meme, but it has enough questions changed that I am doing it again. isn’t it fascinating how they mutate? So instead I’m going to ask a new question and progress the mutation.

What music obsesses you right now? I wrote this question specifically so I could tell everyone about the new Hadestown live album that is out, which is even more narratively satisfying than the original studio album

Last song I listened to: pretty sure that the last song I listened to out loud is actually the original maggie reilly version of every time we touch, since someone linked it, but the better answer is that I simultaneously have hadestown and o my heart stuck in my head

Last movie I watched: I saw black panther yesterday guys!! best part is the shoulder dance they do during ritual combat, worst part is when shuri does a meme

Last three TV shows I watched: let me see... I literally only watch tv shows with lex torrentnavy so it would be rurouni kenshin, gegege no kitarou, and flying witch (not counting the shows we watched part of and disliked, which would include mononoke and you-kai watch)

Last 3 characters I identified with: are you really asking for my kins. that’s awful. I want to skip this question because they’re probably all naruto characters, but on the off-chance charlotte reads this... they’re all characters she doesn’t remember anyway.

Book I’m currently reading: the book of night with moon, which is about cat wizards who live in new york and maintain hyperstring portals, recced by lee armcontrolnerve. it’s very silly and the enemies are raptorial dinosaurs BUT the author doesn’t realize that we still have those, which is awkward.

I just got out of class so I’m too tired to tag anyone but if u are vain and love to showcase your opinions I will absolutely read them

[radiobiss]

#Repost @hyperprostrings (@get_repost) ・・・ Ter a música como atividade é encarar a vida com desafio, vocação, arte e sobretudo... paixão! 22 de novembro DIA DO MÚSICO #diadomusico #musica #musico #violao #violão #guitarra #guitar #baixo #contrabaixo #bassguitar #luthier #cordasmusicais #ukulele #mzf4 #hyperstrings #hyperclassstrings #hyperprostrings http://dlvr.it/RJtQ64 http://dlvr.it/RJtQ64

[journalgen]

Proceedings of the 5th Summit on Nanotechnology and Hyperstring Theory

[bisslee]

#Repost @hyperprostrings (@get_repost) ・・・ Ter a música como atividade é encarar a vida com desafio, vocação, arte e sobretudo... paixão! 22 de novembro DIA DO MÚSICO #diadomusico #musica #musico #violao #violão #guitarra #guitar #baixo #contrabaixo #bassguitar #luthier #cordasmusicais #ukulele #mzf4 #hyperstrings #hyperclassstrings #hyperprostrings

http://dlvr.it/RJtQ7L

[thisisstarfleet]

tag game

Wasn’t tagged directly but passed through from @therebe-whales-here​

Star sign: Aquaaaaaaarius

Put your playlist on shuffle and list the first four songs that pop up:

Spanish Castle Magic (cover) by Spin Doctors

Back On the Road Again by REO Speedwagon

Spacegrass (live version) by Clutch

Magnification by Yes

Grab the nearest book to you and turn to page 23. What is line 17?

The middle of an extremely long and rambling passage about hyperstrings that goes on for an entire paragraph-length sentence. - Dark Mirror by Diane Duane

Ever had a poem written about you?

Don’t think so

When was the last time you played air guitar?

It’s been a while.  I’m more of an air drummer.

One sound you hate and one you love:

Hate: scraping frost - I’m clenching my jaw just thinking about it Love: Starship engine noise

Do you believe in ghosts?

I don’t even know anymore

Do you believe in aliens?

Yes I do

Do you drive and if so have you gotten in a crash?

Yes and yes but never one that was my fault that involved another vehicle

Do you like the smell of gasoline?

Not really

Last movie you’ve seen?

Theatrical: Endgame on Friday, Home media: Star Trek Beyond last night

Worst injury you’ve ever had?

I was hit by an extremely slow-moving car while riding my bike.  Ended up with a concussion and a goose-egg over my eye that took a month to go back to normal.

Do you have any obsessions rn?

Star Trek in all forms, but more specifically in expanding and documenting my merch collection.

Do you hold grudges?

I try not to, but I don’t always succeed.

In a relationship?

Negative.

Tagging: anyone who feels like it! you can @ me; i love reading these tbh (passing this comment through unaltered - I feel the same)

[pro3000multimeios]

Nosso parceiro Rodrigo Bige estará hoje ao vivo com Leo Novatti, apresentando mais uma edição de seu Projeto Elvis Acústico. É no MoocaCycle's às 14h. Confiram! #musica #musico #parceiro #apoiocultural #aovivo #musicaaovivo #moocacycles #projetoelvisacustico #elvispresley #acustico #unplugged #cordasmusicais #violao #rodrigobige #leonovatti #mooca #mzf4 #hyperclassstrings #hyperprostrings #hyperstrings #pro3000musica #pro3000multimeios (em Moocacycle's Petisqueria) https://www.instagram.com/p/B8ByxN0Fcg2/?igshid=dpgbrdyfwo3d

[pro3000multimeios]

Neste domingo (5/janeiro) às 20h, o programa VIDA DE MÚSICO entrevista GERSON CONRAD: músico, cantor e compositor, ex-integrante do lendário e revolucionário SECOS & MOLHADOS. Vida de Músico é apresentado pelo nosso parceiro, o professor Paulo Toth! Confiram: youtube.com/watch?v=_4Sj8bG_dTI #musica #youtube #paulototh #vidademusico #gersonconrad #secosemolhados #músico #musico #música #apoiocultural #parceria #cultura #culturabrasileira #mpb #entrevista #aovivo #hyperstrings #hyperprostrings #mzf4 #pro3000musica #pro3000multimeios #bluenotemusical (em São Paulo) https://www.instagram.com/p/B665EIBFeRM/?igshid=gdmceqzq8i4h

[pro3000multimeios]

Amanhã temos mais uma apresentação do duo Daniel Coronado e Keity Acioli com muita MPB, pop e classic rock em formato acústico. No Santa Corifeu (zona Oeste de SP) a partir das 19h e a entrada é franca. Daniel e Keity usam cordas Hyper e tem apoio do selo Pro3000 Multimeios. #musica #musico #violao #acustico #unplugged #cordasmusicais #danielcoronado #keityacioli #novaideiaproducoes #pop #mpb #rock #santacorifeu #pro3000musica #pro3000multimeios #hyperclassstrings #hyperprostrings #hyperstrings (em Santa Corifeu Bar e Restaurante) https://www.instagram.com/p/B5a0lTMlhZD/?igshid=1ja6lrrljt8wb

[luninosity]

I THINK this chapter of ‘rain on tin’ is finally done, though I don’t know if I have time to post it today, since I have to go teach soon! We’ll see...

##

The Avengers liked pizza, it turned out. Sebastian also liked pizza, so that worked well for everyone involved. Tony Stark had a favorite place that delivered enough for superhero appetites, no questions asked; in fact, Tony said, they had multiple favorite places, one near each of the bases, and then took the last piece with artichokes on it, and waved the piece while talking. “How’s your room? How’s your head? It's a very nice head and also we need it to get Cap’s boyfriend back, so that’s both aesthetic and professional concern. Garlic bread?”

 Sebastian took the garlic bread both out of self-defense—it was in his face—and also because he did indeed like garlic, and wanted it. “My head is trying to process having the actual Tony Stark call it nice. No, seriously, I’ve still got that headache, but it’s not bad. Whatever you gave me took the edge off.” He was sitting on the lab’s diagnostic bed because that’d been where the pizza’d turned up. Both Tony and Bruce Banner, plus a virtual version of Princess Shuri waving from Wakanda, kept poking readouts and projections.

 He’d been given—within limits—the freedom of the tower. Little glowing guide-lights and a helpful elevator had shown him to his room, which had a dazzling ocean view and technology that put Sebastian’s own Apple-related love affair into tiny perspective. He’d been allowed to access any media he wanted, and he’d done that for a while, diving headlong into this world, the world that’d previously been a wild fantasy. He’d lost himself in stories, details, attempts to comprehend this place and the larger-than-life figures and tales, the super and the terrible and the extraordinary.

 He loved this world, both his and not; he’d always loved these characters, the sacrifices and complexities and choices. His inner science-fiction and philosophy geek was jumping up and down and shrieking in joy.

 He’d even found the gym. The actual Avengers Tower—this secret backup base, anyway—gym. Where the actual Avengers actually worked out, or some of them, sometimes. When not in the much scarier and better equipped training room. Sebastian, being human, was perfectly fine with equipment he could recognize.

 That sneaky little thrill bolted down his spine again. He’d used the Avengers’ gym equipment. Amazing. Incredible. Best thing ever.

 As he’d stepped out of the equally impressive shower he’d gotten a call to come down to the lab if he wanted dinner. He did, so he’d thrown on one set of the comfortable spare lounge pants and t-shirts that he’d found in the closet—in his size, too, which was a bit unnerving in the case of the underwear—and followed the helpful lights that way.

 And now he was eating pizza. With the Avengers. Answering Tony Stark. Just a normal weeknight, really.

 “Let me know if it gets worse,” Doctor Banner said. “We’ll see what we can do. Shuri, is that hyperstring knitter out of the theoretical stages yet, or—”

 “It’s not easy to transport.” Her hands moved, checking a calculation. “And you’d need it in Atlanta. But if I send you these figures, and the dimensions, you should be able to fabricate these parts—here, these ones, that’s the central section—for yourselves, assuming Stark doesn’t decide to enhance it with any unnecessary modifications…”

 “Hey,” Tony said. “Was that a comment about the last time we built a quantum artifact locator? That was a comment about the last time we built a quantum artifact locator. And it needed a fedora. You can’t build a quantum Indiana Jones without a fedora.”

 “Some of that Asgardian tech might be helpful for the dimensional bridging,” Bruce said. “And, for the record, I was opposed to the fedora.”

 “Yeah, you wanted to go with a bullwhip instead.” Tony pointed more garlic bread in Sebastian’s direction. “Fedora. Yes? No?”

 “On Harrison Ford,” Sebastian decided, “yes. Did your quantum artifact locator look like Harrison Ford?”

 Tony stared at him for a second. “I knew I liked you. Guys, we’re making Mark Two look like Harrison Ford.”

 “No we’re not,” said Doctor Banner and Shuri in unison, and went back to amiably debating bridge-structures and dark matter and the proper architecture of temporality-twisting weaving-looms. Tony, about to argue, said instead, “You’re inventing two new elements there, look at that, you’ll need something with twice the density of—” and jumped in with enthusiasm and stray Wizard of Oz references.

 Sebastian looked at the last pepperoni pizza. One slice missing, it looked back; neither of them happened to be a genius scientist, and the conversation carried on without them.

 “That’s not two new elements, that one already exists—well, I’m fairly sure it does—”

 “How are your seven PhDs only fairly sure about the existence of something—?”

 “That’s how having a PhD works! You get less sure about everything!”

 Steve Rogers had not come down to the lab for dinner and genteel scientific bickering and human presence. Sebastian considered the almost-full pizza box again, and said softly, “Friday? Do you know where Captain America is? Only tell me if it’s okay that I’m asking. And if he’s somewhere that’s…not personal. Or private.”

 Tony’s house and assistant and brilliant artificial intelligence hummed quietly for a moment—unnecessary, but she’d picked up that humanity appreciated some interaction—and then said, “Captain Rogers is in the kitchen. He is alone, but I suspect he could use some company. He has been staring at the refrigerator for eight minutes and fifteen seconds.”

  “Thanks,” Sebastian said, and picked up the pizza and went out. If the firework-eruption of scientists behind him noticed later, Friday could tell them.

[parollojr]

Está no ar a versão online da revista Música & Mercado com minha entrevista sobre a criação da Hyper e os próximos passos para 2020 (edição 107 - março/abril). Acesse https://en.calameo.com/read/00411748188795804739c ou https://musicaemercado.org #musica #revista #musicaemercado #entrevista #consultoria #mercado #mercadomusical #negocios #business #marketing #estrategia #varejo #encordoamento #instrumentosmusicais #cordasmusicais #acessoriosmusicais #musico #violao #ukulele #mzf4 #mzf4strings #tonyacosta #labellastrings #hyperstrings #hyperclassstrings #hyperprostrings #pro3000musica #pro3000multimeios (em Pro3000 Multimeios) https://www.instagram.com/p/B-FJxNclIAk/?igshid=y112lssn6ynk

[pro3000multimeios]

Está no ar a versão online da revista Música & Mercado com a entrevista de nosso CEO Júnior Parollo sobre a criação da Hyper e os próximos passos para 2020 (edição 107 - março/abril). Acesse https://en.calameo.com/read/00411748188795804739c ou https://musicaemercado.org #musica #revista #musicaemercado #entrevista #consultoria #mercado #mercadomusical #negocios #business #marketing #estrategia #varejo #encordoamento #instrumentosmusicais #cordasmusicais #acessoriosmusicais #musico #violao #ukulele #mzf4 #mzf4strings #labellastrings #hyperstrings #hyperclassstrings #hyperprostrings #pro3000musica #pro3000multimeios (em Hyper.PRO Strings) https://www.instagram.com/p/B-FI6NllUg3/?igshid=1kua6avw26mnt

[pro3000multimeios]

Júnior Parollo com o guitarrista flamenco Flavio Rodrigues visitando a Marquês Musical para planejamento de ações conjuntas na divulgação de nossas marcas. (foto: Cristiano Carvalho) #business #marketing #planejamento #acaopromocional #marquesmusical #totalflamenco #pro3000multimeios #industria #fabricante #encordoamento #instrumentosmusicais #cordasmusicais #acessoriosmusicais #musica #música #musico #músico #violao #violão #violaofolk #violaonylon #violaoclassico #violaoaço #fosforobronze #ukulele #mzf4 #hyperstrings (em Marquês Musical) https://www.instagram.com/p/B7vwJYpFSRL/?igshid=h8wbumhipwt7