#logic system

[ruinedholograms]

Be Yourself (1982)

[vocaloid-tunes]

Let's Take a Coffee (Coffee Rumba) | Logic System feat. Sweet ANN & MEIKO

[sugarmoth]

[radiophd]

logic system -- automatic collect, automatic correct

[myost]

[now-playing] - logic system - logic - 1981

[gremlinlullaby]

Album artwork by Pater Sato for Logic System's Venus (1982). A striking visual that perfectly complements the album's sound.

[jedivoodoochile]

Logic System album cover, 1982.

[taraxippos]

One of my all time biggest pet peeves with historical(ish) fantasy is when the writer constructs a religion with a clear bias that it's stupid and false and therefore only the Stupid People and/or commoners believe in it and all the smart/elite main characters are like, quasi-atheists or otherwise just routinely flout established religious conventions of orthodoxy and/or orthopraxy because they're Too Smart for it or etc.

It's usually an extension of assumptions that people in the past were just less intelligent than in the contemporary, just being like "I know that the sun is a star millions of miles away that the earth orbits, but this ancient religion describes it as a chariot flying through the sky" and not really bothering to learn the context and just (consciously or subconsciously) settling on 'that's a crazy thing to think and was probably believed in because they were Stupid'.

And that whole attitude pisses me off so much. People were as 'smart' 10,000 years ago as they are today. These beliefs aren't just desperate, random flailing to explain phenomena that could not directly be accounted for either, it's not like people just looked at the sun and went "Uhhh I don't know what the fuck that thing is, actually. I guess it might be a chariot or a boat or something?? Yeah let's go with that." and based entire religious practices on this. Every well-established belief system exists within broader contexts of cultural values/subjective perceptions of reality/knowledge systems/etc, and exist as part of a historical continuum of religious practices that came before. Even when not Materially Correct, they have context and internal logic, they're not always dead literal with zero levels of allegory, and they're never a result of stupidity.

[duckysprouts]

jbsss episode 10

this would make very little sense if u didn’t read the rest of the comic

but yeah, bella has some stuff mixed up, though she means well. she and edward will have a very different relationship in this timeline

i imagine that bella is also Not Normal, cause normal girls don’t fall in love with stalkers. she’s gonna take her weirdness in a totally opposite direction this time

[lucabyte]

On autonomy, and what it means to be Obliged to Help.

Bonus:

[canisalbus]

For your gay little dogs

.

[ruinedholograms]

Venus (1981)

Art by Pater Sato

[radiophd]

logic system -- overture

[thebiscuitlabryinth]

I can imagine after a while Black Rasin Cookie and maybe some other villagers just make plans to drive Plain Yogurt Cookie away from the village, or at least Healer Cookie, because of how much they do not like his vibes and Healer is not really listening.

Plan after plan, with various degrees of success, I can also see Plain Yogurt getting so fed up that he almost breaks character in front of Healer. Luckily, he was able to pull himself up by his boots' strips and stay in character enough. Later, however, he will get them back, and he will get them back good.

When Black Raisin asked him to accompany her on patrol, Shadow Milk already knew something annoying was going to happen.

There have been a few plots over the past few weeks between Black Raisin and a few of the more stubborn villagers, plots that involve trying to push Shadow Milk out of the village. It was funny at first, mostly because they were such pathetic attempts, but they just kept coming. Black Raisin is clearly determined, even though her accomplices have slowly backed down, accepting Shadow Milk's presence.

It was obvious this was going to be another attempt. Black Raisin never wants him on patrol, which is usually convenient, because Shadow Milk doesn't particularly want to patrol either. Still, Shadow Milk played along, just to see what she would come up with.

Somehow, he hadn't fully considered the possibility of this.

It was quick. One moment they were walking along the edge of the Raisin Cliffs, the silence between them thick and terse, and the next Shadow Milk was being pushed off the side to plummet down to his death.

The fall is more than long enough for Shadow Milk to fortify his body with magic, but it still irritates him when he hits the ground, the wind knocked out of him as a few tiny cracks spider along his dough. He lays still as he watches the tiny dark splotch that is Black Raisin lean over the edge to peer down at him, before disappearing again, seemingly satisfied that he was taken care of.

Shadow Milk would be impressed with her audacity, with her gumption and gall, if he wasn't absolutely furious that she had somehow managed to pull such a sloppy trick off. He had mistakenly assumed that she would at least avoid killing him, since she seemed to care so much about Pure Vanilla's opinion, but it seemed her devotion to him didn't extend to accepting his silly ideals. Ugh.

Shadow Milk warps himself back to the village and stumbles over to the healer's tent. With every step, his cracks grow to frankly ridiculous sizes, a physical illusion that does little to actually affect him.

"I'm hurt!" He wails as he bursts into the healer's tent, ignoring the fact that Pure Vanilla seems to be in the middle of helping another Cookie as he collapses to the floor. "Ah, everything hurts!"

"Plain Yogurt?" Pure Vanilla calls, alarmed, and excuses himself from his other patient to scramble over to his side. Shadow Milk's anger eases into a sickly satisfaction as he watches Pure Vanilla fuss over him, his dough growing pale as he gently traces those exaggerated cracks. "Oh, what happened?"

"I don't know, I didn't see much. Ask Black Raisin when she gets back." Shadow Milk sniffs.

Black Raisin's face when she enters the healer's tent and sees Pure Vanilla tending to Shadow Milk is nothing short of priceless. She looks utterly crushed, a stormy despair swirling in her eyes as she stutters, "You- how did you-?"

"Ah, Black Raisin!" Pure Vanilla turns to her eagerly, his hand still resting warmly against Shadow Milk's chest. "Do you know what happened to Plain Yogurt? He says he doesn't know for certain what happened, but the damage is awful. It's almost as bad as when he first arrived!"

Black Raisin stiffens at the question, and Shadow Milk flashes her a dark, smug grin. So? What will you do now? Go on, lie.

"I don't know either. I lost track of him somewhere by the cliffs." She answers slowly, averting her gaze. Her crow hunkers down on her shoulder, as if it feels guilty too. "...Maybe he's just clumsy."

Clumsy. Clumsy. Him?

Shadow Milk barks out a laugh, far too sharp to be anything less than maniacal, and just barely manages to cut himself off devolving into cackles. He grits his fangs together, balling his hands into fists to hide the claws that have torn through his fingers. He imagines, briefly but vividly, tearing Black Raisin apart piece by piece and feeding her crumbs to the crows she loves so much.

Pure Vanilla turns back to him, worried. "Plain Yogurt? Are you alright?"

No, he wants to lunge at Black Raisin, who is watching him with unnerved eyes, and rip her throat out with his teeth. But he can't say that, he can't do that. Yet.

"Hurts." He croaks out in a growl, forcefully craning his head towards Pure Vanilla and letting the hot gold of his magic try and fail to wash him clean of his frustration.

[stars-obsession-pit]

Hello! Can do a chapter fic off this fic prompt Danny phantom x dc: https://www.tumblr.com/corkinavoid/767516270934556672/dpxdc-legal-power?source=share

This isn’t a one-to-one recreation of that dialogue but it’s based on that as a framework/premise

Batman dropped down into the room behind a pair of figures—a teenage boy and a slumped adult—letting his landing create an audible thump to alert them of his presence.

If the teen noticed, he didn’t react. Even as Bruce approached, he continued to stare impassively at the wheezing figure on the ground, an old wooden bat with flaking green paint on its side loosely held in his right hand. Bruce had already suspected who the figure would be since he arrived, but seeing the Joker so broken was still bizarre. No laughing, no schemes. He didn’t even seem to be attempting to escape his binds, just… lying there, almost as if pinned in place.

Bruce paused a step behind the teen. “I don’t know what the Joker did to you, but this isn’t the right way to go about this.”

The teen scoffed, and Bruce felt a painful lurch in his chest as he was reminded oh so strongly of his son Jason. “And what, let him go kill more people?”

“I know he deserves to face justice, but not like this. Everyone deserves a right to fair trial. No one person should be judge, jury, and executioner.”

The teen turned to look at him with glowing green eyes, and Batman felt himself freeze. He had faced gods before, yet even using that as a comparison felt like an understatement. The boy’s eyes belonged to someone far older than his teenage form implied, and they radiated power. Inevitability.

When the teen—no, the entity—spoke again, his words carried an unearthly echo. “Perhaps, but I’m not acting for just myself.” He paused, glanced down at the Joker, then asked almost conversationally, “Do you know how many people he’s killed?”

Another pause, but before Bruce could even try to answer, the entity continued, “Eight hundred and fifty-six. He’s ended the lives of eight hundred and fifty-six human souls. I can tell you about every single one, if you want. About who they were, what their dreams were before he killed them. About the pain they felt at his hands.”

He punctuated the word ‘pain’ by raising up the wooden bat in his hands and ramming its end down onto the Joker’s arm. He let out a wheeze, muffled by the gag in his mouth.

“I have a duty to my people. I am the King of the In-Between and of all the souls that pass through it—even ones whose stays were as brief as his. I am the rightful arbiter of his fate. And with that power, I sentence him to death.”

He raised the bat again, adjusting his grip so he’d hit with the side rather than the end this time, then paused and let out a chuckle. “Of course, just because it’s based on some justice doesn’t mean I can’t have a bit of fun with it too.” He swung the bat down, slamming it into the Joker’s side, then hooked it under the clown’s torso and flicked him up through the air to slam into the wall. “We all really hate this guy.”

With the entity’s attention fully turned away from him as he sauntered towards the Joker’s slumped figure, Bruce could finally unfreeze himself.

Even if the Ghost King did have the right to pass judgement on Joker, Bruce still couldn’t let torture go on like this. He wouldn’t win a direct fight, but he could hopefully at least grab the Joker and bring him over to the police. Carefully, he reached for some of the smoke bombs and batarangs on his belt and readied his grapple. He’d have to do this very, very fast.

But before he could move, another figure entered the scene. Red Hood, emerging from the shadows on the far side of the room, an unexpected bit of a pep to his step.

“Nice to see someone else who gets that that bastard needs to die. But if I may make a suggestion, how ‘bout you use a crowbar instead of that old bat? It’d be a bit more… fitting.”

[philosophybits]

A man is so prone to systems and to abstract conclusions that he is prepared to distort the truth on purpose, prepared to deny the visible and the audible just so he can justify his own logic.

Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Notes from Underground