#rather than communicating like an alien whose only knowledge of human beings comes from watching office space

[beggars-opera]

I don't normally advocate for murder but I will make an exception for our board president

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 74: Lessons and Dreams

Chapters: 74/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: G

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel),

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent),

Summary:  You are troubled by dreams, while Loki seeks ways to make things easier on you. You receive an unexpected visitor.

They day was almost upon you. The decorations were all up, your drum beat and chant were properly memorized. Several Avengers were on route, and parts of the semi-built city had been cleared and cordoned off for the festivities. Buridag was almost here.

You had your cloak and armor. You had your drum, and your parts memorized. You had your beloved prince, and your Valkyrie escort. There were some things missing though.

You wished Nanna Beth could have been here to see this. You wished someone from back home could be here to see this. Someone other than Todd, who damn well didn't deserve it, but would be here anyway. You had the feeling that, if you asked, Loki would have had him barred from attending, but you didn't want to go down that road. You were supposed to be a grand symbol of the integration of humans and Asgardians, and you didn't think you could do that honestly while at the same time excluding people just because you didn't like them, and they were awful people. Which Todd was. Ugh, why hadn't he gone home yet? He hadn't spoken to you, or tried to contact you, and he didn't even seem to be trying to cause trouble. It was weird.

And then there was the issue of the bull...you still didn't know what to do about it. You were coming to the conclusion that you would simply have to endure, and somehow go on with your life. Would it be good for you? To further experience and understand the importance of death? To become a symbolic provider of plenty for the gathered celebrants?

You would just have to clench your teeth and deal with it. It was one of those hard lessons you would have to learn as the lover-and advisor-to royalty.

You'd probably never touch a hamburger again though.

Sleep had been coming to you only reluctantly; the long, stretching moments after closing your eyes for the night were filled with thoughts and questions about Ymir's Dreamscape. You were not permitted access to the artwork-no one was. For all that it was contained within the protective confines of the shield and size-changing devices, it was still considered too precious for informal handling.

But it haunted you. You saw them painting in your dreams, shapes and concepts you had difficulty understanding. Glancing over their shoulder at the workings of a truly alien mind, and hoping not to be noticed, though you were no more than a mote in their eye.

Streaks of color. Clusters of circles. Shapes that were nearly anthropomorphic, yet wrong somehow.  They drew and drew, in between millennia long stares of contemplation, watching the asteroids clump up bigger and bigger. Occasionally they had to brush them away from their immense body.

They had more fingers than you did, and each one was stained with color, almost all the way to where they joined with the palm. Crackled veins of colored light pulsed up and down the fingers, from a bright spark on the tip of each; it flashed whenever they dragged their fingertip along the canvas they had created.

You couldn't see the whole thing: it was so big, and so far away, and they weren't done making it yet. You would always wake up before they were finished. You would see the colors more vividly in the daytime; certain hues of red and blue, purple, yellow, orange, and green-they popped out at you. Each of the great beings fingers traced its color into your eyes.

Your lessons had tapered off, to give you time to concentrate on the festival. You weren't though; artwork occupied your mind. You doodled approximations of the things you saw in your dreams, close, but never quite right.

You tapped your drum, and recited your chant, the ancient words spinning back countless aeons, and thought about colors.

                                                                        ******

Loki stood out in the paddock and watched the bull. It was a proud creature; it walked the confines of the fence, confident in its great strength and prowess, munched its hay secure in the knowledge that it could not be bested.

It died tomorrow. He would swing the sword he almost never used, and bring the feast to everyone. It wouldn't be the only one: There were pigs and chickens and sheep, already butchered and ready to go, it was just the bull that was symbolic.

“Magnificent beast, is he not, my liege?” Andsvarr asked. “Shame about the public execution though. I know it's tradition, but it seems a bit gratuitous.”

“You speak very freely today, Alarrson.” Loki said. “You lack guile. Say what you came to say.”

“Er, I apologize your Highness, I did not know how to broach the subject. Have you perhaps spoken with your good lady about the bull sacrifice?”

“Not beyond discussing it as a part of Burdag tradition. Otherwise, she has been rather busy learning her ritual.” He paused, realizing Andsvarr knew something he didn't. “Why? Has she confided something in you?”

“I would say that she has, your Highness.” Andsvarr said. “Has she brought up her discomfort with this sacrifice to you?”

“She has not...Though now that you do, I can't say I'm surprised.” That may have something to do with your increased tension lately. The way your mind had been wandering. There was a great deal of stress on you; perhaps he should have thought more about how the live sacrifice of the bull might effect you.

“Humans used to make such sacrifices very often, from what I've read.” Andsvarr continued. “It's one of the customs we shared. It's much less common now, I hear, but since she came from a smaller farming settlement, I would have thought she'd seen one before.”

Loki shook his head. “Her community is agrarian, and a monoculture at that. While I was there, I saw no livestock at all. Just endless corn.”

“Weird stuff.” Andsvarr commented. “But tasty. And so many applications.”

“It is not, I think, only the sacrifice that troubles her.” Loki said. “It is the sacrifice on top of everything else. If that doomed giant hadn't woken up...”

“If we hadn't been digging in the ice.” Andsvarr pointed out, then withered under Loki's stare.

“Don't think I haven't thought the same.” Loki said severely. “But my brother has been studying the humans effect on their own planet, and he tells me that the melting of the ice may have been inevitable. They will awaken, no matter what. Better now that we are prepared. But it shan't be before Burdag, so now I must think of what to do with him.” He gestured toward the ox. “His fate is sealed, but I wonder if there is some way I might change the presentation? Removing her from the ceremony would reflect poorly on the public, but...”

“If it pleases...” Andsvarr interrupted after the pause. “There was talk in the barracks about something one of the gate guards heard from an islandpostur man, that the bets were on whether the Gävle goat would burn this year, and when. I looked it up because some of us were placing bets. You have a hand phone don't you? If you look, you might have the same idea I did.”

“When did everyone around me decide that cryptic was the way to be?” Loki complained. But he realized that Andsvarr was allowing him to claim credit, rather than trying to dictate to royalty.

Andsvarr went off to his drills, and Loki left the ox to his munching. A quick check showed the Gävle to be a kind of effigy, composed of straw-a stand in for a real goat. This was how human civilizations got around the ritual spilling of blood. By sacrificing in the shape of the original.

He saw instantly what Andsvarr had. But how to make it work? The sacrifice and butchering was to be done right there on the spot; obviously, that couldn't be done with straw.

But a container covered in paper and flour paste, shaped like a cow...

Maybe.

He needed to find Beli.

                                                                   ******

There was a flat, dry area outside of Asgard and Trolerkaerhalla that was reserved for the landing of small planes and other aircrafts. It was cleared of snow, and roped off so that the air travelers could get inside the city as swiftly as possible, but that didn't stop the more die-hard of admirers from putting on their warmest clothing and waiting to catch a glimpse of who was coming to the festival. Some of the arrivals were no one of note to the observers, but a few of them garnered great attention; The Vision, in his bright colors, Maximoff, and Dr. Banner, as uncomfortable as ever with the cheering and applause.

They weren't the only important people to have answered their invitations: representatives and ambassadors from all around the North Atlantic Sea were coming in-from the relatively nearby Faroe, Shetland, and Orkney islands, as well as the Hebrides, whose names you were just learning.

You were at the gates to greet these esteemed visitors, speaking what little Icelandic you had managed to learn. There were a surprising number of representatives; it seemed like everywhere in the North wanted to be there-people from each of the Scandinavian countries and various areas within, to the larger island countries; Scotland, England, Wales, Ireland and North Ireland.

You still didn't quite know the difference, but you knew it was important enough not to ask.

There were also people from such far-flung places as Svalbard, Greenland, Germany and Estonia. In fact, it seemed as though most of Atlantic and Baltic Europe had sent someone. To your surprise, Canada and the United States had also come, even though they didn't recognize Asgard's sovereignty.

And then there were the anthropologists, journalists, even a few 'local' celebrities. Everyone wanted pictures of or with you, and you hoped that none of these people would turn out to be horrible, since pictures of you with them were going to be on the internet forever now.

You couldn't help but side-eye the religious representatives- some Christian, and some Heathen, from all the surrounding countries, and from within Iceland itself. You weren't sure what the Christian leaders were doing here: Asgard, by its very existence, posed a great challenge to their faith, so perhaps they were facing that challenge head on? Or perhaps it was to gather information. You didn't think they would have much success in proselytizing here, as it was hard to convince people to turn to a god that wasn't well known for answering directly, when the Aesir they'd grown up with were just right there. And it was extra hard to force conversion when you didn't have a weapon capable of harming the people you were trying to force.

The Heathens didn't make you any more reassured: speaking to Sofie had taught you that there were definite problems within those communities, racism and authoritarianism chief among them. Though, like any group of people, there were plenty who didn't accept such things. It just wasn't easy to tell by looking.

None of this was anything you'd ever had to think about back home. Diplomacy, poise, professionalism, visibility, navigating complex social and political relations-what use did a simple baker have for such as these?

You hadn't baked in weeks. Your time was mostly sucked up by lessons and political stuff, and though Loki had promised you respite after the ceremonies, you still couldn't help but wonder if that part of you life was simply over.

The cooks had learned your cinnamon roll recipe, and most of Asgard was picking it up. Loki was spoiled for cinnamon rolls these days, and showed no sign of growing tired of them. You wanted to introduce him to cornbread, snickerdoodles, or even no-bake cookies, but there just hadn't been time. Everything was lessons and dreams.

The sun dipped low, and though it was still early in the day, you would be going back inside once darkness fell. It simply got too cold to stay out. Luckily, it seemed that all the visitors had the same idea, and the stream of representatives and celebrities trickled off with the fading light.

Soon there was only one plane left, tiny, even smaller than the flock of already small planes that had come and gone. Only two people disembarked, no bodyguards, and they struggled against the strong winds. At least they were properly dressed in warm coats. Coats that you recognized.

No, there was no way. No possible way. But they were here.

“Daddy!?!” You squealed, and threw yourself into his open arms. Professionalism could be damned.

[not-safeforsanders]

Not Safe For Sanders 2019 Masterlist

Logince:

Vibrator: Logan is typically so stoic and hardly says much during dinner this time, however, when Roman puts a vibrator in him beforehand and he’s anything but silent.

Wings: After Roman accidentally gives himself wings, Logan becomes most intrigued, he wants to know everything about them, apparently they’re sensitive, and in the best way possible.

Can’t Keep My Hands To Myself: Roman and Logan are at that stage in their relationship where they’re eager and impatient to simply touch each other. Hands wandering, lips attaching, and simply grinding against each other to get off, unable to wait for something more.

First Time’s A Charm: Logan is about to go into heat for the first time around his new partner, Roman, who is ready to take of his Omega no matter what.

Soaked: Logan is transgender and is embarrassed about how quick Roman can make him wet and aroused, sometimes without even saying anything or touching him. Roman is very, very proud.

Sleep on the floor: When Roman turns up on Logan’s doorstep in the middle of the night demanding a road trip, Logan has many ways to say no, but he doesn’t.

Accident: When Logan won’t give Roman some attention during his work he breaks out the tentacles to try and drag him away, however it has some…interesting effects.

Logicality:

Work: Logan likes receiving texts off his boyfriend, Patton, frequently.Only when he’s at work and the texts are less than appropriate, he gets really flustered and turned on.

Heat: Three weeks prior, Patton met Logan, they’ve been friends since but when Patton misjudges the number of days he has until his heat and hits whilst Logan is staying the night in the next room, he wonders if having someone to help him through heat is such a bad thing.

First Time: Patton and Logan both promised to take their relationship slowly, inevitably they come to their first time together and even the act of undressing in front of the other is intimate, so, they make sure to constantly comfort and touch the other.

Xenobiology: Patton is an alien who finds himself stranded on Earth. Logan is a xenobiologist who is very intrigued by Patton and gladly lets him stay with him for a while. But Patton slips into his heat. This allows Logan to gain more knowledge about Patton’s species, but Patton wants a lot of help with his heat, specifically from Logan.

Amor: When Thomas is feeling a little ‘amorous’, the sides do too.

Cravings: Logan knows two things currently: He’s in desperate craving of some sort of physical contact and two, he cannot concentrate until someone takes care of him.

Louder: Prompt: “I know for a fact you can be louder than that”

Sugar Daddy: It seemed like a simple arrangement, fuck the dude, get paid. Really simple. Right up until Patton realized that his sugar daddy is actually kind of…sweet

Could’ve Been a Joke (Would’ve Been a Joke): The first time Logan said the word “Daddy,” It had been a joke. He was perfectly aware of the implications, he just enjoyed the fact it made the others react the way they do. It would’ve stayed a joke if Patton hadn’t pinned him to the wall and pried the word from his lips in a much more intense manner.

Pretty To Me: It’s not that Patton’s never had sex before, it’s more to do with the fact it’s usually with someone who he will never see again, whose perceptions of his body just…don’t matter.

Projects: Logan never half asses anything, he’s not about to start now.

Bubblegum Bitch: Roman’s new best friend is ridiculously cute, Logan is trying to cope with this information, and Patton is an enigmatic little shit.

Coming Down: In which Patton and Logan are most certainly not fuck buddies, no not all.

Analogical:

Sensitive: Logan cries during sex for a multitude of reasons; overstimulation, feelings, pain, intimacy – and Virgil is used to it by now and knows just what his boyfriend needs during and after

Closets: When Logan, the college’s resident nerd, manages to get locked in a closet for a few hours with the college’s most anxious boy, Virgil, many things occur, none of them that he particularly expected.

Royality

Dress Up: Roman adores dressing up, even more so when it’s for Patton, bringing out his highest heels, prettiest lingerie, and flowing dresses.

La Vie En Rose: Thomas has fallen in love again, and that new love excitement certainly has it’s effects on Patton’s soft heart and Roman’s romance-filled passion, so they spend some time together to calm down.

Bad Boy: Patton is a good religious boy, going to church with his parents and Sunday school – despite being eighteen – and he’s attracted the attention of non-believer, bad boy Roman who very much wants all of him, romantically and sexually. Patton is conflicted.

Marking: Roman adores marking Patton up, leaving hickies all over Patton’s thighs then persuading him to wear short skirts so he can catch glimpses of his work.

Dom Drop: Patton safe words during a scene, and Roman comforts him.

Prinxiety:

Punk: Virgil is very punk and Roman finds it rather attractive, what’s even better is that Virgil has a tongue stud and Roman goes wild when he does certain things with his mouth.

Reach Out (and Touch): Roman is a little bit touch-starved, Virgil tries to help, which has an interesting outcome.

Secret: Roman is very jealous of Virgil’s boyfriend but he doesn’t say anything because the walls of their apartment are very thin and Virgil makes really good sounds during sex.

Hatred is the best aphrodisiac: Virgil and Roman aren’t friends at all but hate sex between them is becoming more and more frequent. Surprisingly it’s Virgil that turns their yelling and shouting into sex.

Confessions: Virgil quickly and suddenly confesses his feelings for Roman - ripping off the bandaid - and Roman is stunned but returns his affections. But soft kisses and caresses turn heavier and more heated until they’re fucking right then and there.

Wings: Virgil has really sensitive wings, when touched he gets really worked up and aroused. Roman accidentally finds this out.

Happy Accidents: Virgil loves to sit in Roman’s lap, he finds it comforting. When Roman gets aroused by Virgil squirming accidentally on his lap Virgil doesn’t realise until Roman’s pretty much coming in his pants.

stay: Virgil likes to be used as a cockwarmer.

Moxiety:

Thighs: Virgil really loves Patton’s thighs.

Moment’s Silence: Patton had been dodging the topic since he’d met the wonderous Human, afraid that his powers may sway something from Virgil that he wasn’t ready to give. But Virgil has a mind of his own, and it’s already made up.

Plushophilia: Patton gets a stuffed teddy as a present from Virgil. The fact that it came from Virgil makes him all the more sentimental and a little something else. When he wakes up aroused and hard with his teddy cuddled to his chest, well, he can’t help but push it between his legs and use it to get off.

Analogince:

Baby Boy: Logan and Roman wreck Virgil

Lamp:

Truth Or Dare: Patton’s tired of being sweet and innocent, he’s tired of people expecting him to be a blushing virgin.

Arrangement: Four times Patton fucked out his emotions, and one time he didn’t.

Sweet as Sugar: The story of Patton (a Dutch baker), Virgil (A Russian runaway), and two Americans who were definitely only there for a long holiday and accidentally get tangled in their love affairs

DLAMP:

Anytime: Deceit, Logan Virgil, Patton, and Roman are all together, so, it’s not surprising to stumble upon two or more of them casually fucking around the house, on all different surfaces, at any time of day.

Multi

Roommates: Roman had always figured that the Omegas he lived with went into heat when he wasn’t around, he knew Logan was on suppressors, maybe the other two were as well? Turns out, his answer is that Logan’s abusing his suppressors and Patton and Virgil are late bloomers. So when Logan forgets to take his meds and his heat triggers theirs, Roman is left in charge to take care of them.

Alcohol Kisses: It’s their second week in college, Patton and Virgil have to visit home to see their families for the weekend, in the meantime, Roman drags Logan to a party, which has interesting consequences.

Voyeur: Roman, Logan, and Patton accidentally get walked in on having sex by Virgil and Deceit. The other two stay and watch, very tempted to join in.

Loud: Logan and Patton are way too loud in the bedroom and along with the thin walls this means that Roman and Virgil often end up overhearing their activities.They scoff and pretend to think it’s annoying or gross, but they can’t avoid how hard they are in their pants.

Sweet Dreams: Virgil’s sleep schedule is a mess because of his nightmares. So, Sleep insists that he helps knock him out for the night while Roman gives him good dreams. Only the dreams are a little too good

Interest: Logan is oblivious to Patton’s attraction to him and never notices the advances that is being offered to him, so Patton decides to make his feelings a little clearer.

Crush: Logan has only recently come to terms with his sexuality, and has been crushing on the gay community’s playboy of their University, Roman. in the meantime, Roman has had a crush on Logan since high school, Virgil is super gay for the gymnast cheerleader who is ridiculously flexible and everyone is determined to have a good time this year.

Sleeplogical:

Teeth and Nail: Ready for children, Remy decides to satisfy Logan’s breeding kink in the process.

Patmile:

Satisfied:Both Patton and Emile are inexperienced and anything more than making out gets them incredibly aroused, so, they settle for giving each other hand jobs for their first time and it doesn’t last long

Desleep:

Persuasive: Sleep is a bit of a slut and has a reputation for dating older guys, a lot of his father’s friends, but one has always avoided him – Deceit. So, he makes it his mission to have Deceit in his bed one way or another.

Remile:

Not So Innocent: Emile can flutter his eyelashes all he likes, but Remy knows he’s no angel.

Kinktober 2019

Hatefucking (Logince) | Sleepy Sex (Logicality) | Tentacles (Roceit) | Mirror Sex (Prinxiety) | Monsterfucking (Loceit) | Cross-dressing (Logince) | Gun Play (Receit) | Telepathic bonds (Logince) | Body Swap (Logicality) | Leather (Remy/Patton) | Formal Wear (Intrulogical) | Threesome or More (DLAMP) | Exhibitionism (Analogince) | Shotgunning (Logicality) | Praise Kink (Analogical) | Wax Play (Moceit) | Aphrodisiacs (Roceit) | Size Difference (Prinxiety) | Masturbation (Moxeit) | Costumes or Masks (Rologicality) | Omo (Logicality) | Face Sitting (Sleeplogical) | Tickling (Remile) | Lingerie (Moxiety) | Hypnosis (Loceit) | Shower/Bath Sex (Logince) |

Ask Fics link: {X}

[yellowroseanddreamstorm]

Prologue: The World We Know

It was the year 1947 when the first contact ever between aliens and humans was ever made. A freak accident as many say but it was one that brought good things to the planet. 

Knowledge, technology, resources and advancements to new heights in time no one had ever thought possible.

Earth became much bigger after that fateful day. The years to follow… what a time to be alive. New species coming in and out, technological booms every decade, nothing but good news. 

Good news… Two words we rarely hear next to each other these days.

While Earth becoming part of the Intergalactic Union brought many good things to the planet, it sadly also brought in bad things as well. Especially in recent years.

In particular… the attention of the power hungry Ecliptic Claw. A group of rogue aliens who want nothing more than to expand their power, territory and show their dominance. We thought we could take them when they came. We thought it would be easy. That they would stand no chance against the forces we had on Earth. Sadly, it took no more than a month before they declared victory over the planet.

And that's how it's been for the past two decades. 

There are those of us who still fight back but we have yet to find success. We'll still keep fighting though to our very last breath 

For as long as the spirit and courage to fight back lives on, so does our hope.

The hope that one day, our home will be ours once more.

oooooo

Chapter 1: The Man in the Lion Mask

“Get back to work!”

“Any slackers will be punished severely by Ecliptic Claw Law!”

The young worker flinched as they heard the crack of a whip in the air. It was mainly for show. Everyone knew that. On occasion it might hit someone but for the most part, it was just to create noise to scare people. The real punishment came from the blasters the guards carried with them on their holsters.

After all… Ecliptic Claw Law states that those who dare defy orders will pay in pain that would make one beg for death… or… in the case of more serious defiances, immediate death.

The worker shuddered, getting back to their chores. This was all they had ever known. Work, fear and just trying to survive to the next day. How they missed the days of living in one of the cities. Sure, it wasn’t exactly much better with having to be very careful with how one acted or said in public under the grip of the Ecliptic Claw but it was better than being worked to the bone like they were now.

But when one falls into poverty, what choice does one have?

They sighed, picking up a sack of metal and making their way for the refinery at the center of the work camp.

There was always work to be done for the Ecliptic Claw. Work that they didn’t like getting their hands dirty with. Work they found very suitable to be done by captives on the planets they dominated. 

For those of Earth, there were five main jobs. 

The most desirable was being a servant in the court of Kedaaron, the leader of the forces of the Ecliptic Claw on Earth. He was a fierce leader, such as to be expected of someone of the Pantherian race. He was not one to be challenged, along with his commanders. Being a servant to him meant undying loyalty no matter the cost but one could live in comfort and have some form of protection from his army. 

The other four jobs were not so desirable. These jobs being the following: 

A scavenger, a construction worker, an energy worker or… the worst of them all, a snitch. 

Some didn’t care if they were a snitch but many did. It was a traitorous job. Willing to turn others over for the sake of being able to live another day. To have food and some shelter. The Ecliptic Claw was good at sniffing out rebellion on their own but having other resources for finding out information that would slip through the cracks was something that they valued enough to have workers for those who were not of their kind. 

And yet, rebellion is still something that threatens them. Whether they want to admit it or not.

The worker dumped the metal onto the conveyor belt, watching it move down towards the forge till they saw it engulfed by the molten flames of the furnace. They looked upwards towards the sky… or what one would assume was the sky if they didn’t know better. 

It was just a simulation of one, created by a dome that encapsulated the work camps and the city nearby. It was a dreary colored “sky” full of clouds and plenty different hues of grey and black. No one was really sure what the outside world looked like anymore. Many feared it would look the same as it did in the domes. It was frightening to think about sometimes.

The only people who knew what was outside the many domed cities and work camps, were those who had chosen to fight back. Least, that’s what rumors had told. 

A group of fighters who had supposedly taken back one of the cities and declared war with Kedaaron known as The Dawn. Not many believed it but some did… especially when they heard the story of a warrior who helped give The Dawn their footing to start their rebellion properly. 

A warrior who wore a helmet that resembled the head of a lion.

A warrior whose fighting style was like that of Pantherians yet he wasn’t even one himself.

A warrior, who had struck down one of Kedaaron’s best generals in combat to make a statement to all who were watching.

The one who called himself Leonideas. 

What an inspiring thing to hear… yet hard to believe for those still stuck in dreary states of mind. For many, it was mainly something to give them hope and push forward. To hope one day that they would be set free by this legendary warrior and The Dawn. Others, they would rather not think about such things. If there really was a rebellion and a warrior that could take out the Ecliptic Claw then why hadn’t they come here yet?

Something I ask everyday.

The worker made their way back to the field, beginning to gather up metal once more. Their mind went numb as they went on with their task. Just another day…

They were snapped out of their trance however as a huge explosion was heard from the entrance of the work camp. Alarms started blaring as soldiers ran about, orders from the commander being yelled over the intercom system. 

The worker looked to the entrance, eyes widening at the sight of seeing it being slowly engulfed in flames. They ran closer to the entrance, trying to see exactly what was going on. 

They could see dead guards lying about the entrance as humans and aliens of many kinds rushed past them into the camp, all dressed in armor that was white with violet and gold colored accents and armed with various weapons. From guns to energy charged sabers. 

The worker kept out of sight, watching as the battle between the troops of the camp and the invaders unfolded. It was unlike anything they had ever seen before in their life. 

Only something they had ever heard in stories.

“Necromas!”

The worker’s head snapped up towards the source of a booming voice. It had come from the top of the burning entrance of the work camp. All workers were looking towards it, in awe at what they beheld. 

Perched on the highest spire of the entrance was a man, dressed in armor with purple glowing designs that was covered partially with a cloak and a helmet that resembled a lion’s head. He outstretched a hand, his laser generated claws glistening against the fire.

“Show thyself and face me in battle!” He shouted. 

Other workers gathered around where the young worker was, all whispering to each other.

“Is that…?”

“Yeah…” the young worker whispered.

Leonideas. 

oooooo 

“Sir! The Dawn is breaching our defenses!”

Necromas growled at the chaos going on below the observation deck. 

How did this even happen? Our security is as tight as they get!

“Ward them off! Their numbers are smaller than ours! Crush them!” He hissed.

“Yes Sir!”

Necromas’ tail bristled as he saw The Dawn’s troops make their way further into the camp. Some were injured and some were shot down but they just kept coming in, taking out more of his troops in the process. 

“What are you idiots doing!?” Necromas shouted over the intercom system. “Stop them this instant!”

“We’re trying, Sir!” A soldier said over the communication system. 

“Trying isn't good enough!�� Necromas snarled. “Crush them now or Lord Kedaaron will not hesitate to crush us if we make it through this!”

“Necromas!”

Necromas’ head snapped up as he heard his name called out to him. He looked to the source, seeing it was coming from someone who was perched at the top of a spire at the burning entrance of a camp. Someone he had heard plenty of stories about from his fellow commanders. Someone who even Kedaaron considered a more viable threat than The Dawn. 

“Show thyself and face me in battle!” They shouted.

“Sir, who is that?” a soldier on the observation deck asked.

Necromas narrowed his eyes.

“A thorn in Lord Kedaaron’s side.” Necromas clenched his fists. “Have the troops push back as hard as they can against The Dawn soldiers and keep them away from the entrance area of that camp.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Do as I say, soldier.” Necromas hissed. 

The soldier gulped.

“Y-Yes Sir.”

Necromas left the observation deck without another word. He donned his laser generated claws as he descended down the structure to the entrance area of the camp. As he approached, the person who had been on the spire had already made their way down to the ground.. 

Their laser claws were drawn and ready, down in a battle ready stance. While their face was obscured with the mask they wore, Necromas could still see fire burning in the glowing eyes of the lion head. 

He chuckled as he came closer.

“So… The legendary Leonideas.” He started. “I’ve heard of you from my fellow commanders and Lord Kedaaron. The man who mocks our kind with the mask he wears yet shows utter respect when it comes to our fighting style and traditions.”

Leonideas scoffed a bit

“The mask isn’t a mockery, it’s a way to get your attention. After all,” he grinned, “It's a mask that resembles the king of the Pantherian race. Someone who has more dignity than any you of The Ecliptic Claw could ever dream of having.”

Necromas’ fur and tail bristled at this.

“Dignity? Tch, that foolish Pantherian who dares call himself king is nothing in comparison to our Lord Kedaaron. Something he will learn soon enough once we have enough power to overthrow him.”

Leonideas shook his head.

“That’s what I hear you all say yet you still haven’t gotten him. You all sound like you’re trying to make up for something. A bruised ego, perhaps?”

Necromas growled, readying his claws.

“I think we’ve talked long enough. Let’s settle this with our claws.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Leonideas readied himself. “Victor is the new ruler of the territory, as stated by Ecliptic Claw Law and by tradition of the Pantherians. Loser, will meet their fate by the claws of their opponent.”

“And it shall be honored… Now…” Necromas narrowed his eyes. “Let’s see what you got, Cub.”

Leonideas chuckled.

“Alright, you asked for it.”

The two charged each other, roars escaping both of them as they locked claws with each other. Glares were exchanged as they struggled before they broke off, jumping back and skidding a bit. 

They began to circle, waiting for the right moment to strike. Necromas was bristling with rage while Leonideas kept his composure but had fire in the eyes of his lion mask.

The circling ceased as Leonideas charged forward, managing to tackle Necromas into a spire. Necromas hissed, clawing at the warrior’s back. Leonideas cried out, pulling back, slashing at Necromas’ chest in the process. 

Necromas yowled before attempting to tackle Leonideas, missing him barely as he flipped away from him. 

Leonideas panted but kept his stance strong, ignoring the burning complaints of his back.

“That all you got?” he asked, readying his claws once more. 

“Oh, I have so much more.” Necromas hissed before charging him again.

The two swiped claws at each other, managing to knick the other here and there in various areas but no fatal blows. It was a spectacle to say the least. 

Soldiers, workers and rebels alike were gathered around the battle, all watching with anticipation. The raid was completely forgotten, all that mattered was who the victor of this duel was going to be.

Leonideas threw Necromas off balance with a swipe of his claws, sending him to the ground with a hard kick to the chest. Necromas gasped as the wind was knocked out of him, the Pantherian skidding across the ground and coming to a rolling stop.

Leonideas didn’t give him a minute to recover as he pounced on him, keeping him pinned to the ground, his claws being held right at Necromas throat. 

All the spectators around them were quiet, waiting for the final bow to be struck.

Necromas looked up at Leonideas with a glare, no sense of fear present in his features.

“What are you waiting for?” He rasped. “Do it.”

Leonideas kept his claws close to Necromas neck, moving his face in closer so he was right up in his.

“I would… if I completely honored the ways of the Ecliptic Claw. However, I honor the ways of Pantherias. And the way their duels work is the loser will face humiliation over death. The only time I ever honored your ways was with the death of Commander Kanova. And I will do the same when I duel with Kedaaron.” 

Leonideas retracted his claws before grabbing Necromas by his head and slamming it into the ground, knocking him out instantly. 

Leonideas removed Necromas’ laser generated claws, slicing them into pieces with his own before throwing them to the ground, looking to the spectators around him.

“This territory no longer belongs to Ecliptic Claw.” He started, circling around. “If any of you who were under Commander Necromas have any sense of dignity left in you, you will respect the duel that has been won here and surrender immediately or answer to my claws.” Leonideas looked to the workers and rebels. “As for those who were oppressed by Commander Necromoas, you are now free to take back this place that is rightfully your home alongside The Dawn. Treat it well and with respect.”

Leonideas went back to Necromas, picking the Pantherian up by his mane. With a quick swipe of his claw, the mane was shortened, the limp Pantherian falling to the ground with a loud thud. His soldiers either backed away and ran, being chased by Dawn members or bowed down, admitting defeat.

Leonideas let the hair of the mane in his hand be carried away by the wind before letting out a loud roar that rang through the air for all to hear. 

It was complete silence all around as he departed from the camp. 

As he disappeared from sight, Dawn members got to work helping workers and apprehending Necromas’ troops. 

While all were focused, none of them could shake the chills of what they had just witnessed. 

[spamzineglasgow]

PART ONE: Glitching the Collective Mind (Dan Power)

Figures 0.1, 0.2, 0.3, 0.4

“I am not a nihilist, but a mood of grim, jolly absurdism comes over me often, as it seems to come over many of my young peers. To visit millennial comedy… is to spend time in a dream world where ideas twist and suddenly vanish; where loops of self-referential quips warp and distort with each iteration, tweaked by another user embellishing on someone else’s joke, until nothing coherent is left…”

> This quote comes from ‘Why is millennial humor so weird?’, in which journalist Elizabeth Bruenig (2017) taps into the vein of gleeful absurdity which is emerging in online creative spaces. This insight seems to have struck a chord with creators and consumers of online content, as in response, the article itself has become widely memed. Above there are four examples of this, with each taking a meme that existed independently and reframing it with the ‘millennial humor’ headline. There is a degree of self-awareness to this reframing, as if the content creators have taken the label ‘weird’ as a challenge to rise to. The absurdity of the source material is heightened by recontextualising it as formal journalism. By prefacing this image with a frame that draws attention to the image’s weirdness, these anonymous content creators are wilfully resisting interpretation, revealing their intent to baffle, bemuse, or maybe even unnerve internet users.

> Bruenig observes a tendency in some memes to celebrate meaninglessness with comic sincerity. By responding to the article in the way they did, these content creators have proved Bruenig’s point. The theory is put into practice: a meme has entered circulation where the intention is to be deliberately and playful obscure, and where the individual memes are linked only by their deployment of the same frame. Importantly, for all the incoherence of the memes themselves, there is a coherence to the methods producing them.

> What sparks these acts of coordinated communal nonsense – are the motivations personal, political, or is it a celebration of weirdness for its own sake? By exploring the dark absurdism creeping into post-internet artwork, particularly in video content, this series seeks to examine the latent ideology underpinning the dark surrealism of internet humour, and how its rising popularity changes the ways we think about ourselves and our realities.

-

“...that which was intended to enlighten the world in practice darkens it. The abundance of information and the plurality of worldviews now accessible to us through the internet are not producing a coherent consensus reality... It is on this contradiction that the idea of a new dark age turns: an age in which the value we have placed on knowledge is destroyed by the abundance of that valuable commodity, and in which we look about ourselves in search of new ways to understand the world.”

-

In New Dark Age (2018), his examination of the internet’s infiltration of our daily lives, James Bridle only just stops short of declaring that the internet will be the death of humanity. As well as the environmental cost of constant streaming and downloading, Bridle argues that the internet poses an existential threat in a more epistemological sense, by attempting the impossible task of collating and networking humanity’s collective knowledge, history, and culture.

> This cataloguing is conducted through the use of databases, which media theorist Lev Manovich argues are becoming (if they aren’t already) the new dominant media (2010, p.70). The database is distinguished from a physical collection of items and information by its flexibility, and the user’s ability to manipulate the structure of the content by searching for key words. Here there is a paradox: because it is so meticulously structured, the experience of using a database is one apparently devoid of structure. Manovich notes that the database is “distinct from reading a narrative or watching a film or navigating an architectural site” since these experiences are all linear, and so are experienced by readers or viewers in the same way, with point b always following point a, and so on (p.65). In a database users navigate the information however they choose, in effect creating their own narratives, with no guarantee that any two users’ experience of a database may be the same.

> This same notion is put forward by Henry Jenkins in Convergence Culture (2006), where he says “each of us constructs our own personal mythology from bits and fragments of information extracted from the media flow and transformed into resources through which we make sense of our everyday lives”. The narratives we forge through our online experiences become part of our understanding of the world – and they seem to be creating more confusion than clarity. These narratives are arbitrarily structured, and may contain false information or information devoid of meaning. Also, thanks to the volume and speed of online messaging, language is evolving faster than it ever has before (Press Association, 2015). Information may be conveyed to us in unfamiliar terms, and so be open to misinterpretation.

> Internet users are bombarded with information, little of which has any meaningful or memorable content. Exposing people to a transparent mapped network of humanity’s knowledge, history, and culture has irrevocably warped our perception of ourselves, and our relationship to the world. As Bridle later notes, “the more obsessively we attempt to compute the world, the more unknowably complex it appears”. At best the database makes the sum of all the world’s content feel overwhelming, and at worst having it all laid out makes it feel mundane. Either way, the damage done is to expose internet users to too much information, and this can lead to an existential crisis.

> Spending too long online (or rather, too long outside of the real world) must saturate the mind. This oversaturation of meaning gives way to feelings of melancholic or manic absurdity, or as Bruenig puts it, a “creeping suspicion that the world just doesn’t make sense”. From this suspicion arises a new wave of disillusioned artists, who we will refer to as the post-internet surrealists. Unlike other meme creators (whose work arguably is surrealist in its Dada-like remixing of disparate elements), the post-internet surrealists are surrealists with intent, who respond to one another’s work, and whose videos consistently evoke alienation and absurd bemusement within digitally-rendered worlds. Videos such as BagelBoy’s pront (2017) engage with infinity as a source of existential confusion, and others like surreal entertainment’s What Kanye really showed Trump in the white house (2018) abstract real-life events to the point of absurdity (or make their inherent absurdity more apparent) by transporting them to a digital non-setting.

-

Manovich argues that the database is a distinct cultural form, like a novel or film or building, in that it presents its own distinct model of how the world should be experienced. Unlike narrative, the database is non-linear. Unlike architectural structure, the database is non-spatial. It appears to us as information without structure and without context – in short, information divorced from the reality in which it takes meaning.

> This creates a tension, which grows stronger the more we rely on the online world to conduct business in the real one. It is resolved, or at least eased, by the digital world bleeding into the physical. The world becomes what Bridle calls ‘code/space’, which he defines as “the interweaving of computation with the built environment”. This term isn’t internet-specific, and covers anything which requires users to think computationally in order to interact, such as self-service checkouts, or traffic light buttons. However, its impact is most significantly felt in the prevalence of internet-connected devices such as the mobile phone, which turn the whole world into potential code/space.

> The internet is omnipresent. It is so vast in size that popular indicators of space and size fail to adequately describe it. It’s a hyper-object, to borrow a term from philosopher Timothy Morton, so large and far-reaching that it surpasses the boundaries of location, so and complex that it cannot be entirely comprehended at once.

> Morton is an ecologist, and develops his idea in relation to climate change. In the blog Ecology Without Nature, he describes the hyper-object global warming as being so “massively distributed in time and space” that we can consider it “nonlocal”, not existing wholly in any one place. He writes that when you experience rain you are “in some sense” experiencing climate, but “you are never directly experiencing global warming” (2010). Global warming is too big an object to meaningfully encounter, but to dismiss its existence on these grounds would be ridiculous. We may be unable to comprehend its existence entirely, but still we know it exists through the traces it leaves across the globe.

> Like global warming, the internet is a hyper-object, and the data we glean from it is just a fragment of the whole. When we consider the internet as one hyper-object, rather than a collection of individual data objects, then all internet-connected devices become components in a single global network, one global code/space.

> To meaningfully discuss the surrealism emerging online we will consider the internet not as a collection of individual texts, images and videos, but as one networked whole. Matthew Smith argues that, since digital media work by translating data into “universally exchangeable” bits, “all digital media are therefore identical in structure; like Campbell’s soup cans” (2007). The content of two memes may be worlds apart, but fundamentally they are both the same thing. Furthermore, if they both exist online, they are equally tiny composite parts of a larger total structure. This is not the same as, for example, claiming that all paintings in a gallery are part of the same work because they share a building. With physical objects, there is always the possibility of them leaving the gallery or entering a new one. This does not work digitally; you can’t have objects within the internet because the internet itself is an object of which digital artworks form a part.

-

Briefly, we’ll consider a post-internet artwork which isn’t a meme. Crispin Best’s ‘pleaseliveforever’ is an eight-line poem which regenerates every few seconds under a new, randomly generated title (2017). By making the content arbitrary and fleeting, the poem draws attention to its medium, and flaunts its ability to do things pre-internet poetry never could. Musing on this, SPAM’s own Denise Bonetti asks “what is the poem, then? The structure? The algorithm?” (2019), and indeed, if the content of the poem is continually being remixed then the only constant by which we can define it is its invisible network of underlying code. Because it exists digitally, the poem’s structure and algorithm are indistinguishable – the algorithm is the structure. And it’s not a structure in its own right, but one small part embedded within the hypertext of the internet as a networked whole.

> The internet is a database of databases, one giant non-spatial structure too large to pigeonhole, but within which we can observe trends. It will be useful to conceptualise the internet as one giant work of art, a hyper-artwork with an uncountable number of authors and viewers. This artwork is mutable, and continually evolving. Since the internet is a network of information relating to the real world, it might be considered a reconstruction of reality. The internet then is a constantly changing map of the world, and if we consume its content on a daily basis, and if we never distance ourselves from its code/space, it throws our understanding of the world into a constant state of flux.

> This uncertainty, and the anxiety or absurdity arising from it, is key to understanding the work of the post-internet surrealists. BagelBoy’s icced (2017) might be set in the real world, but there’s no way to be certain. The plot is simply that a man goes to a store, buys a cola, then goes home to drink it, but through means of information saturation and a post-internet aesthetic these events are abstracted beyond relatability and almost beyond recognition. The film’s world is constructed out of PNG images, stock photos and text boxes – spoken words appear as text, characters glide across the screen at will, and at the end the film’s entire diegesis is hijacked by an advert. Either the video is deconstructing real-world events by moving them to a digital setting, or it’s physically depicting a virtual interaction (typing replaces speech online, people navigate between internet sites without physically moving, and adverts can materialise from anywhere at any moment with no prior warning). Like the explicitly surreal memes we’ll encounter in future instalments, icced presents an absurd but coherent depiction of code/space, a version of reality infused with internet logic.

> But before we examine these surreal memes in detail we’ll go briefly to the very beginnings of cinema, a period of experimentation and genre consolidation similar to that occurring in online spaces today. By examining the developments of early cinema and viral video in tandem, we’ll see that giving consumers the power to create and share their own work makes profit a less important factor in filmmaking, and that this fundamentally changes the kind of video content which gets produced and distributed.

-

The prototype digital cinema emerging today may seem worlds apart from the first few years of cinema itself, but in fact the two share many common features. One scholar notes how “Both films of early cinema and online video clips are short films, mostly staying well under ten minutes in length” (Broeren, 2009). These short films were exhibited collectively in cinema’s early days (Gunning, 1990), keeping audiences supplied with a steady stream of novel content. Today they are exhibited side-by-side on databases like YouTube, where viewers can view as many as they desire in a single sitting, and sustain their own engagement by varying the content they consume at whim.

> In the early days of cinema, exhibitionists would often “re-edit” the films they purchased, and personalise their own exhibitions with offscreen supplements. This, too, occurs in online film. The media theorist Limor Shifman (2013) notes how “user-driven imitation and remix” as a mode of content production is integral to internet culture, and with video meme creators often accompanying their edits of other videos with captions, active comment sections, and links to other media, the off-screen supplements of old are today integrated into the on-screen experience.

> These similarities are not just superficial – they arise from the same factors. The birth of cinema saw large masses of people consuming and participating in the products of newly available commercial technologies, and the emergence of a distinct online cinema is, essentially, an accelerated replay of this process. Sharing in the same global code/space makes internet users a bigger potential audience than has ever previously existed, and the quantity and style of content produced by and for internet users is determined by the activity of this networked mass.

> Early cinema was concerned with newly-formed masses of people resulting from twentieth century modernity, not just for audiences but also as subject matter. According to Gunning (2004), the ‘local films’ of Mitchell and Kenyon would document crowds of people moving through public spaces, and when doing so they were tuned in to the growing public discourse around newly-visible congregations of people in developing urban areas. One particular style of film they produced, which we will take as out main focus, is the ‘factory gate’ film. These would document workers streaming out of a factory at the end of the day, almost universally consisting of single (occasionally sped up or spliced short) static long shots (LS) or extreme long shots (XLS). While the single take, duration and static camera are the result of practical limitations, the choice to employ LS or XLS is an artistic one. Greater distance allowed the frame to fill with a greater number of subjects, creating a visual cacophony and increasing the spectacle. The framing was often loose, meaning there were no focal points to direct attention. Viewer’s eyes would rapidly scan over the moving crowd, heightening any sense of the crowd being overwhelmingly large.

> As well as directly engaging with large masses of people, the demands of large audiences to see films made specifically for their local area meant Mitchell and Kenyon had to develop a way of turning out new films efficiently and affordably. In order to exploit the collective spending power of the masses, the form and content of these local pictures are wrapped around the desires of the masses to recognise themselves and their towns on-screen. The masses were not only the subject of the films, but also determined their mode of production, and by extension their formal properties.

-

The factory gate picture is a genre, and films in this genre are produced by following the Mitchell and Kenyon template: set up a camera by a factory gate at closing time, framing the exit in LS to capture as many moving people as possible. Templatability allows for films to effectively be cloned, so it’s necessary in commercial filmmaking, allowing things to be produced and reproduced at more profitable rates. By following templates to easily reproduce a standardised kind of content, the early genre films of Mitchell and Kenyon reproduce similarly to online memes. Sean Rintel (2013) argues that “templatability lies at the heart of online memes”, and explains that “memetic process is a product of the human capability to separate ideas into two levels – content and structure – and then contextually manipulate that relationship”. A meme, fundamentally, is the deployment of a familiar template to reframe and alter our perception of otherwise familiar or unfamiliar content. It is almost mathematical in its generation of novel content, since there are as many potential remixes of movies and songs as there are unique combinations.

Figures 2.1 and 2.2

> Take these memes as an example. Their origin is the YouTube video Gordon Ramsay cannot locate the lamb sauce (2016), a remixed clip of gameshow Hell’s Kitchen (2005-) in which Gordon shouts at contestants who have not made lamb sauce in time. The video cuts out anything other than Gordon’s shouting, and accentuates the moment’s absurdity by elongating and pitch-shifting the word ‘sauce’.Figures 2.1 and 2.2 combine elements of the remix with existing meme formats (figures 2.3 and 2.4) by adding a picture of Gordon and key words ‘lamb sauce’ and ‘located’, either in reference to the video, or to other memes derived from it. These memes were created by reshaping the source material to fit another meme template.

> The prominence of the remix in post-internet art produces huge amounts content which can only be fully understood in relation to other content. Memes function like in-jokes, and in this way they are participatory. The collaboration and participation between an unknowable number of anonymous contributors is part of the enjoyment not just of post-internet surrealism, but of all memes. It’s like shouting into the abyss and waiting to see what echoes back. The communication is rapid and blind, and sublime.

> In commercial cinema templates are used to maximize profits, so it might seem contradictory that they have been embraced by meme makers. But, in online spaces, the use and misuse of templates is what makes the art form participatory. Just as the viewers of local films would attend screenings to see themselves projected, thus participating in the production of the product they consume, so internet users riff off each other’s jokes and meme formats as a way of contributing to the continual evolution of a meme they enjoy.

> It has been argued by film historian Charles Musser (1990) that “modern” cinema begins with the birth of the nickelodeon, the implication of this being that modern cinema is necessarily commercial, whereas pre-cinema films were not. This distinction might be crude, since films were being produced for profit before the nickelodeon came into fashion, but it’s a helpful distinction to make. What makes the form, content, and distribution of pre-cinema and post-internet film resemble each other so closely is the same thing that makes them dissimilar to industrial filmmaking: they’re not driven by profit, but by novelty for its own sake; they are not produced by companies of people, but by small teams or individual auteurs; they experiment with newly-accessible technologies to see what effects can be created; and importantly, since they do not rely upon the systems of capitalism to support their growth and distribution, these films can afford to scrutinise these systems rather than reinforce their ideology.

-          

> Today’s advances in affordable camera technology, internet access, and free video editing software have shifted the power of content creation away from industry and into the hands of consumers. Anyone with a smartphone can be an auteur, and anyone with a wifi password can become a distributor. Creating and sharing content is easier than it’s ever been before, and developments within the medium now occur at a rate too fast to thoroughly document. The continual crossing of templates and content items produces countless proliferations and variations of existing memes each day. These memes are characterised by hyper-intertextuality, each new remix a thread that further thickens the intertextual tapestry.

> In his seminal essay The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction, Walter Benjamin (1982) observes that as reproduction of artworks becomes more common, artworks are increasingly “designed for reproducibility”. With the emergence of templatability and ease of creating and sharing content in online spaces, this process is now more efficient than ever.

> Any image or video online can be downloaded in seconds, and a number of user-friendly picture and video editing programmes come pre-installed on most commercial computers. Mechanical reproduction allowed for films to be copied with ease and re-shaped at will, spawning a number of variants which today is unknowable, since many will not have been preserved. Online however everything is preserved, and this coupled with more efficient and accessible methods of reproducing and adapting works means that videos can be adapted, and their adaptations adapted, at such great volume and speed that they can quickly bear no resemblance to their origins. Cataloguing all the varieties of meme is an unfeasibly large task, but by examining trends within meme-making we can observe how the nature of an artwork changes, becoming more amorphous and apparently meaningless, in an age of digital reproduction.

~

Tune in later this week when we’ll be looking at ~ v a p o r w a v e ~, and navigating the maze of digital non-places and non-times which is rapidly becoming less distinguishable from the world we live in today.

Full list of works cited plus bonus discography are available here. 

This is part one of a three part series. Part two is available here and part three available here. 

~

Text: Dan Power

Published 5/10/19

[agentpink-writes]

WIP Intro: God of the Machine

“Such, such is Death: no triumph: no defeat: Only an empty pail, a slate rubbed clean, A merciful putting away of what has been.“  Charles Hamilton Sorley 

Note: This is the very first version of the WIP page for this one, so it’s going to be a bit underwhelming (at least for the moment). However, I’ll be adding more once I actually write more. So once I do that, I’ll delete this note.

Genre: Science Fiction

Status: Outline/1st Draft 

Date created: December 18th, 2018

Trigger Warnings: mentions of violence/war

Summary:

In near-future America, robots are now the new norm, and nearly every household has one. This is seen nowhere more than New Athens, a hive-mind of entertainment, manufacturing, scientists, and other communities focused on the existence and creation of robots. People flock to this great city and enjoy what the latest in technology has to give to them, specifically Androids: robots who imitate humans in order to better serve humans as caretakers, emotional support systems, or just being friendly in general.

David Cowen, however, has alienated himself from this exact society for several years. He’s a recluse who, although interested in robotics and the potential of Androids, is disinterested in what this “new” world has to offer him. 

In his isolation, he creates Lucy, using the last spare parts he has in order to create what he considers to be one of his “better” creations. Although naive and seemingly unemotional at first, Lucy grows interested in this new world and wants to explore it, along with identity as an Android.

However, this all changes when a rising force threatens to upset life between humans and Androids. A hardware virus, known only as Phage, has been unknowingly spread to Androids, turning them into unhinged zombies and forcing them to attack one another, spreading the virus even further. In an attempt to help find the source and stop this megalomania, the company, Olympia, orders David to assist them on their quest, due to his scientific background.

Lucy, in the meanwhile, helps David as much as she can, before she delves into a tough, harsh world, even going so far as to encounter the very forces causing this virus.

In the end, David not only has to stop the virus from wreaking havoc in a city he grows to care for once again, but also prevent himself from being consumed by his past demons and mistakes, which unfortunately play a large role in the present. 

And Lucy, despite her seemingly naive nature, might not turn out to be so innocent after all.

Main Characters:

David Cowen | 34 yrs old | Robotics Scientist/Engineer

One of two of the main characters of the story, though he is the most central part. 

Not much is initially revealed about his past, except for the fact he used to work for a rising robotics corporation simply known as Aesop, named after the  Ancient Greek fabulist. He left off on a bad note, however, and isolated himself from the rest of society, living off welfare checks while living in a small house. The corporation he left, however, turned out to have merged with another company to become Olympia, which he doesn’t find out until later.

Physically, he has sharp black eyes and black hair he regularly slicks back into a short ponytail (his hair reaches near his shoulders when it's down). He normally wears work-related outfits, similar to lab coats, or stuff he doesn’t mind getting dirty, mainly because he often gets dirty. He once had a young, fairly attractive complexion before the years of isolation grew on him, leaving him with a pale, slightly wrinkled face and tired eyes. He constantly gets back pains as well, due to stress, depression, and work in general.

As a person, he is quite laid-back and pessimistic. He seems exhausted most of the time, which he is, but is mainly just depressed or in an overall sad mood. However, he does feel guilty whenever he feels like he’s being too much of a pain, and likes to reward people often for having to deal with his attitude sometimes. This happens quite a bit with Lucy, whose very presence helps to check his attitude, considering he’s no longer alone with his own anxious/cruel/depressive thoughts and has to watch himself. In addition, he is also very pessimistic about the state of robotics in New Athens and doesn’t agree with the widespread use of “emotional bots”, since he thinks its just society’s way of deterring their attention from real, serious issues. However, Lucy points out that he’s a bit hypocritical as, she soon realizes, that part of the reason he did create he was for some type of emotional connection.

Lucy | Less than 1 yrs (16) | Android

The second main character of the story and also has several chapters from her POV. She is technically less than a year old, but her intended age/appearance is around 16 yrs old.

Lucy was created and named by David during the present time the story begins. After a few days of being in his house, exploring and studying his world, she thirsts for more knowledge and yearns to know more about the world. Despite knowing she’s an Android, she wants to learn more about human society anyway and she begs David to show her, which he eventually gives in to. Through her exploration of New Athens, Lucy begins to open up David a little more to see this type of society has to offer and reflect on his own hypocritical behavior. However, she starts to wonder more about he came to be this way (negative, depressed, and pessimistic). She becomes so curious she even escapes for the night to go to a place nicknamed the Barrens, where David tells her to avoid, thinking it might have a connection to him. There, she meets Micheal, who goes by the nickname Major. After that, she meets the rest of his “gang” and is thrust into the center of the Phage virus conflict, going so close as to possibly being infected with it. 

Physically, she is young-looking and of average height, with nothing that peculiar about her appearance besides her white hair. David made it so she would stand out and even offers to change it if she dislikes it, but in the end, she likes it quite a bit, constantly having to pass it off as if she dyed it. In addition, despite her small frame, her exoskeleton of a strong type of metal as well as some bits of titanium, so she has the strength to put up a decent fight (in comparison to other Androids). However, her skin/flesh is weak so its susceptible to damage like any other Android/robot body.

Personality-wise, she is initially quiet and unemotional, still adapting to her surrounding environments and how emotions work in relation to her programming. There’s a sort of child-like quality about her, especially after she first introduced to NewAthens society. After experiencing the world, however, she still maintains some level of docility but quickly learns how to express her emotions properly, even going as far to form complex and diverse opinions. Before and even after she meets Major, Lucy believes that Androids, in contrast to what some make them out to be, aren’t just imitation, but a form of improvement. She wishes to share this improvement with humanity. However, she doesn’t come to this conclusion any time soon, as there is a point where she feels envious of humans due to the greater level of acceptance, and even feels she’s less of a being simply because she was made. However, this is twisted later on, when she inevitably delves into the harsh underbelly of New Athens and really explores what, she thinks, it means to be an Android vs. a human, with dangerous consequences (of course).

Other Characters:

Micheal (Major) | 18 yrs old | Member of the “Titans”

A human side character who encounters Lucy when she is assaulted in the Barrens. After finding that she actually managed to injure the attacker, he tells her that he, along with some other guys with him on bikes, will help her find the attacker. She hesitantly agrees, hoping to learn more about the Barrens and, secretly, get some revenge. When they do find him, Major and the others violently beat the assaulter until he’s down on the ground. Major reveals that he, including the friends with him, are part of a new-found gang known as the Titans, a group adamant about their contempt for robots. 

After this first introduction, and the eventual rekindling between Lucy and Major, he is revealed to be one of the main leaders of this underground crime gang, as they search for unwanted or isolated robots or Androids to steal and sell on the black market for parts, while also “cleaning them” off the streets. And with the growth of the Phage virus and the slowly growing fear towards robots, the gang is rising exponentially in numbers. Major, in this case, is hoping to rise in the ranks as well, and soon become the Titan Leader. 

Physically, he has dark brown hair and chestnut eyes. He seems older then he looks, but he only recently turned 18 yrs old. And despite his young age, which several of the other members make fun of, he has managed to make quite a name for himself, mainly under his nickname “Major”. Lucy finds that his real name is Micheal, but he hates it so much he refuses to also tell anyone what his last name is (partially to help to prevent anyone from discovering his true origin). 

Personality-wise, he can be rather ruthless, especially towards those who commit violent crimes, ironically enough, or those he deems guilty of such punishment (he’s an eye for an eye type of guy). However, he seems to soften a little around Lucy, due to his developing interest in her (unbeknownst to the fact she’s actually an Android). Her personality seems to wear off on him a bit, as he slowly opens up more as they interact. He eventually goes into the details of his personal life, which isn’t nearly as violent or “abusive” as one might expect.  

Sara Hogsworth | 41 yrs old | Chief Officer at Olympia (originally Aesop)

Sara is a career woman who's made quite a name for herself in the past years. While she isn’t the head of Olympia, she does hold a great amount of power since she’s in charge of their security and all things related to it (she even has control over certain manufacturing decisions in the corporation, due to how trustworthy and reliable she is). She is also the one who ends up contacting David about the Phage virus since she seems to be one of the few in the Olympia hierarchy who doesn’t initially see this as a problem. In fact, David used to work for her during his time at Aesop, where she oversaw his main project(s), at the time.

Despite her polite and confident demeanor, however, Sara can be ruthless if she doesn’t quite get what she wants. She always sees Olympia as part of the future, and always defends it even if they might do something wrong. Her goal is to help society in any way she can, even if it means having New Athens citizens dependent on Androids for comfort. Most of this is because of her mother, who inspired her to share her smarts with society in order to better it, as a whole. She even has an emotional support bot in her nursing home, which further solidified Sara’s idea of a progressive future alongside humans and Androids.

Yet, this doesn’t mean she’s totally good-hearted. She is also the type to commit “necessary evils” if it means it will bring improvement to the country and society as a whole. In fact, this is one of the reasons she and David conflicted in the past, since David, while a risk-taker, doesn’t believe that good can arise from such cold-hearted decisions. However, that isn’t one of the only reasons, as she is the one, who turns out, to have fired him from Aesop, for reasons currently unknown...

William (Will) Jimmison | 45 yrs old | Military Overseer at Olympia (former Colonel)

(This starts 7 years prior to the current timeline)

A military man at heart, William returned to America near the end of the Tyro War (will explain later) after being medical/honorably discharged. He was about to retire until he was introduced to the Aesop corporation, which focused on building war robots to help end the war. Considering his options, he decided to become a Military Overseer, a position that allowed him to work with the military and Aesop even when he’s not fighting directly.

Ironically enough, even though he’s working with Olympia, he despises robots due to his experiences during the War. However, he suppresses his hate due to the fact he, like Sara, believes its the best for society and the war. 

Additionally, he actually oversees David, who he was actually friends with during the War (and yes, David was part of the war as well, but eventually left). This is the first time they met after about a year or two after leaving a War, so there’s a bit of a disconnect but they are still on good terms, still.

Personality-wise, he appears to be a tough, aggressive military type at first glance (which is how David first viewed him when he met him) but he is soon revealed to be a kind/light-hearted guy. He’s a bit traditional and stubborn, but he generally has a good sense of reason and will listen to both sides of an argument. 

There’s also a sense he might have PTS(D) or at least symptoms of it, like how he’d rather go up ten flights of stairs if it means avoiding an elevator since it reminds him of the event and how closed off it was (tight space). He also gets stressed/anxious at the mention of his time during the War. But its never really defined.

Background:

Before Androids became commonplace, there was a twenty-year long war with a neighboring country called the Tyro War. Most have forgotten why the War originally started, but they fight regardless, with no real aim. However, near the end of the war, the opposing country has developed new and improved war robots, gaining the advantage and growing even closer. Desperate to win, America begins experimenting and developing war robots as well. One of the main facilities is Aesop, which is created solely to tackle this very issue. This is when David and his old friend, William, begin working at Aesop. David works mainly since they promise to give him more funding for his personal projects (as well as a stable job) while WIll focuses on the “greater good” at hand. Eventually, however, the project goes awry and David is left jobless. The project fails, yet America ends up winning just a year afterword, gaining mass resources and rewards from it. Because of that, the country experiences an economic boom over the next seven years, which prompts citizens to widely buy Androids in order to forget about the tragedies of the past. 

Links:

None.

Other:

None.

Oh gosh, I think that’s about it for now! This took a while to make! I know it a lot, but I wanted to get as much down so I can translate it later when I set up character links and what not. So for now, this will serve as a basis for my WIP!

[momma-mogai-sphinx]

hi! i’m a 15 y/o lesbian who’s really struggling with her identity. my dad and siblings both disagree with the idea of gay marriage and i feel pretty rejected. i keep wondering if i’m just faking my sexuality for attention, even though i know i’m not. i feel weird and abnormal, and worst of all, my friends think it’s trendy and funny to be apart of the lgbtqia community when it comes with a lot of struggles. could i possibly get some positivity or kind words? or a way to feel better? ty. 💞

I have a few things I could share, actually…

I definitely understand how it is you might be feeling right now, so let me tell you—as someone who grew up in quite the inhospitable home, in a wildly homophobic town, who continues to live happily in said town despite all the odds—it can get better.

I know that can be hard to believe sometimes. I know there are things in your life which are far out of your control; systems that you might not understand, but which have a powerful effect, not only on how much you’re allowed to do and say before your identity is called into question, but also on the very course and structure of life itself. I know it can be suffocating and feel like there’s no escape. I know following the axiom “work hard and have good morals” to a t will never be enough to grant you your personhood in the face of blind bigotry.

But let me tell you why holding on is worth it.

It can be exhausting to be endlessly scrutinized by “normal” society. A single slip up could have you mercilessly questioned on the basis of whichever marginalized identity they decide is going to be society’s downfall today (one that could be and often is largely irrelevant to whatever situation led you to such a discussion to begin with). One false move might see you kicked to the curb (or worse) by your so-called “allies,” your friends and family when they deem you too low in the social hierarchy to risk their image. When you try to argue for or against something, they will see you as nothing more than your marginalized identity, see you as a spokesperson for others who share this identity. And they will use this not only as a way to dismiss you as foolish and “backwards,” but as a means to bully and harass you into complete silence.

It can be frustrating to be erased. When you find a character in a work of fiction that you see a lot of yourself in and headcanon them as sharing an identity with you, they’ll ask, “Why does everything have to be about you?” “Why do you have to make it political?” “Quit sexualizing them, they’re a child!” They ignore the fact that your group has gotten next to no representation in the past (and that you can’t influence the text just by having a headcanon); they fail to see the problem in politicizing someone else’s identity when they’re just trying to be; while they get to flaunt their sexuality around and have it catered to wherever they go, you can’t even mention the fact that you’re of a marginalized orientation without being demonized for it. And when you try to bring any of these things up and discuss how and why they should be changed to give people of all marginalized orientations and gender identities a fair share of the “privilege?” They say, “You have marriage equality and can identify as whatever gender you claim to be. What more could you possibly want? Why are you asking for all these special privileges?”

And, because of all of this, it can be infuriating to be right. It can be maddening to know that, no matter where you go, there will be people with their “hot takes,” prepared to tell you (or, rather, other bigots who already share their opinion of you) why your identity is “a phase”; why it’s sinful or perverse; or even why it can be reasonably commodified for the consumption of another group that doesn’t understand your struggle one bit (and largely doesn’t care to). And their audience will nod along, taking notes on how to “debate” those nasty SJWs and secretly feeling validated in their sheer contempt for those fellow human beings who don’t fit their preconceived notions of what is good and natural. They’ll be told that, when you speak up and point out how there are many examples of people happily identifying as non-straight and/or non-cis for most of their lives (and that it really shouldn’t matter to them whether or not some teen they’ve never met is questioning their identity), they can make leaps in logic to show how “gay marriage is just a ploy to destroy the family and western ideals! We have to stamp the gay out of these kids before they get indoctrinated!” and then show you some bunk statistics about cis people who detransitioned or something (something that really doesn’t matter, given the fact that plenty of trans people are much happier living as their actual gender). When you explain that they shouldn’t be using their religion to justify hatred of an entire group of people, and that calling someone’s identity sinful isn’t much of an argument since you (likely) don’t share the same principles of morality, they’ll gaslight you and say you’re against freedom of speech and freedom of religion (ignoring how such notions have historically been used to enact physical violence against groups whose very existence they disagree with, without ever asking, “Who’s silencing whom?”). When you try to explain how homosexuality is perfectly normal and the existence of trans and nonbinary people is just a side effect of building a complex society that puts value in both emphasizing personal identity and categorizing patterns… When you try to explain why consuming queer media without having at least a semblance of understanding of queer struggles… When you try to explain why all of this can make being queer dreadful at times–not because of anything inherently wrong with us, but because of the way society alienates, silences, and enables violence toward us–and that our “pride” comes from a place of resistance against it all and not because being queer is “cool” and fun… They will not listen.

But there is relief. From all of this.

There is solace in knowledge, comfort in history. When you find yourself in times of despair; when you wonder whether or not it’s worth it pressing onward, knowing how much suffering there is to come…

Remember where you are. You are a young branch atop an oak tree that is both vast and timeless. The tree needs you to survive. As you stretch your wanting leaves toward sun, you may forget that, far below you, there are roots, ever-boring their way deeper into the earth. For as long as this tree has tasted the sunlight, it has been anchoring itself into the soils of time. The roots refuse to be forgotten. When the sun feels like a lifetime away, remember the roots. Remember where you came from.

You come from fire, an untamable flood. You’re descended of wild spirits, unrelenting.

Their Excellence is in you.

Before you is a legacy of roaring lions. After you? That’s for you to decide.

Let your exhaustion be a name. When society tries to dictate who you’re allowed to be, be uncompromising. Refuse to be silent about who you really are.

Let your frustration be a voice. Make art, make music. Tell your story. Refuse to have your struggles erased.

As fury entwines itself with passion, you will become unbreakable as you are unsilenceable.

Emboldened. Empassioned. Empowered.

And when you tire, come to the fountain of knowledge and drink. Know their names, know their stories. Know your roots.

Know Marsha P. Johnson.

Know Silvia Rivera.

Know Harvey Milk.

Know Gilbert Baker.

Know Karl Heinrich Ulrichs.

Know Michael Dillon.

Know Lili Elbe.

Know Lucy Hicks Anderson.

Know Christine Jorgensen.

Know Bayard Rustin.

Know Magnus Hirschfeld.

Know Simon Nkoli.

Know Ifti Nasim.

Know Jason Jones.

Know Barbara Gittings.

Know Audre Lorde.

Know Angelica Ross.

Know Emil Wilbekin.

Know Frida Kahlo.

Know Nancy Cárdenas.

Know Your History. Know how Far we’ve Come.

-

And, look. No one expects you to be passionate at every stage of the game. You don’t have to be the paradigm of the perfect activist every second of the day. You’re allowed to just be exhausted and need a break to recharge. You’re allowed to just be frustrated when people treat you like you’re a representative of the entire LGBTQ community and expect you to know everything about our history and be able to recite all of our “policies.” Never forget that just being you is powerful enough.

Hell, you’re even allowed to feel sometimes that it’s hopeless and wonder if there’s even a point to all this work we’ve done if bigotry still prevails. But what’s important to understand is that is that how you feel and what is true—while both very real and very important to your lived experience and absolutely worth taking seriously—are not one in the same. You may feel that there is no purpose in continuing on with what seems to be a never-ending fight; but know that there is a community, all around you. There are ears to listen, hearts to sympathize, words to encourage, and hands to guide. It may get dark, may become hard to see the way forward. But it’s okay to cry out into the darkness and watch it illuminate with love and compassion and understanding. We are here.

-

There’s a GSA at the school at which I work, and one thing I always try to tell the students who attend about is (what I like to call) “The Breath of Absolute Clarity.” Unlearning the lies we’ve been taught from birth and learning ourselves is a long and arduous process, one that may take even a lifetime. But in every story I’ve ever heard about a queer person accepting themselves (including my own), there is always described this moment; this one instance (or perhaps several) of perfect understanding of oneself. For some, it can be a spiritual experience, tied to their religious beliefs. For others, it can be seen as a moment of self-actualization—where the turmoil of human existence ceases its chaotic chorus, if only for a second, leaving nothing but the sound of a beating heart. Whenever and wherever this moment comes to you, whatever you see, however it must happen… You will know. In this moment, you will know, beyond any feasible shadow of a doubt, Who You Are.

This moment will not last. It is not unquestionable. You may forget it in your darkest times. But if you really try to hold onto it, it will come back to you. Like a towering tsunami, it will invade your senses so completely, you will know as intimately and as viscerally as the human mind can comprehend anything what it is to be unapologetically you.

This moment is not the be-all-end-all of understanding yourself, but it is a start. It’s the moment where questioning and certainty are no longer mutually exclusive; where not having all the answers doesn’t equate to a dizzying network of what-ifs; where you understand just being is enough. Maybe you’ll wake up one morning, years in the future, and your partner will be laying in bed next to you, and you’ll think to yourself, “They know me.” And in a single breath, you will feel absolute clarity.

-

So, with all of that said, I hope your takeaway here can be this:

You are more than the lies and the misunderstandings about your identity.

More than a cog in a monstrous machine.

More than the exhaustion and frustration you feel in the face of unyielding bigotry.

More than the questions you have about yourself.

More than even the history and the legacies that precede you.

You are a human being

You are not broken

You are not worthless

You are not a disappointment just for being you.

But above all this, the one thing I want you to know is that

***TL;DR***

You Are Not Alone.

Just keep holding on. Things can change if you just keep holding on.

[indomitablekushite]

“We have a basic decision to make. To be African or not to be.”

Today is the Sunrise day of Asa Hilliard, the world renowned African-American educational psychologist and scholar-activist. “To know Dr. Hilliard was in some respects to know Africa.”

Here are Ten Powerful Quotes (with a story at the end) by him.

--- Racism is really a mental disorder. Manifestation of racist behaviour as a result of domination are the denial of reality, perceptual distortion, delusion of grandeur, phobias in the face of differences, and projecting blame (blaming the victim). Europeans had to lie to themselves about what Africa was and had been, and to keep that information going one adapts to unreality. So when you see reality it is necessary to deny it. So denial of reality would be, to look at the population of Kemet (ancient Egypt) and say it was a y’te (white) population. That is flat out denial of what the facts say. It is not true that the y’te group is superior to anyone and to believe in that is a psychological distortion of reality.

--I have never encountered any children in any group who are not geniuses. There is no mystery on how to teach them. The first thing you do is treat them like human beings and the second thing you do is love them.

--Consider carefully that the following ten things account for our overall lack of a sense of unity and direction: 1. We let our names go. The first step towards disorientation is to surrender your name. 2. We have surrendered our way of life (culture). We have stopped speaking the language we knew and we have stopped behaving as African people behave. We have lost our way of doing things and we have adopted they ways of people unlike ourselves. 3. We have lost our appetite because we have lost our names and our culture. Even when those among us recreate our culture and present it to us, we no longer have an appetite for it. We have a greater appetite for the culture of people other than ourselves. 4. We have a general loss of memory. Few of us can tell the story of our people without beginning it with the MAAFA (slavery). It is as if the MAAFA was the only that happened to African people. 5. We have created false memories. Not only have we lost the true memory of African people, we now have a host of other memories which are totally removed from the truth. Not only are our memories of African people untruthful, but the memories we have of Europeans are also untruthful, and the memories we have about the rest of the world are untruthful as well. 6. We lost our land. It now seems as if we no longer have an appetite for land. We lost our land in African, and Africans in the Diaspora are losing what little land they once held. Anytime you lose your mooring on the land, you lose your capacity to protect your possessions. 7. We have lost our independent production capacity. We have become consumers rather than producers. It is a shame that we don’t even produce something as simple as a “natural comb”. We have to purchase combs that are made as far away as Korea. Almost anybody should be able to make something as simple as a little piece of plastic. 8. We have lost independent control of ourselves. We have little or no control of our educational process, our economic situation, our communications, or our politics. 9. We have lost sensitivity. We have lost the ability to perceive when people are doing things to us which are detrimental. We accept inaccurate perceptions without criticism. 10. As a cumulative result of all of these things, we have lost our solidarity...our unity. When we lost our unity, we lost our political advantage, economical advantage, and even our mental orientation. We lost a clear sense of wholeness, continuity, and purpose.

--Many of us do not know it, but African people have thousands of years of well-recorded deep thought and educational excellence. Teaching and the shaping of character is one of our great strengths. In our worldview, our children are seen as divine gifts of our creator. Our children, their families, and the social and physical environment must be nurtured together. They must be nurtured in a way that is appropriate for a spiritual people, whose aim is to “build for eternity.” What a pity that our communities have forgotten our “Jeles” and our “Jegnas,” our great master teachers. What a pity that we cannot readily recall the names of our greatest wise men and women. What a pity that we have come to be dependent on the conceptions and the leadership of others, some of whom not only do not have our interests at heart, they may even be our enemies. Some actually seek to control us for their own benefit through the process of mis-education.

--Our problems in education are inseparable from our problems as a people.

--African communities have been identified by a shared belief in several key elements: 1. The belief that the cosmos is alive. 2. The belief that spirituality is at the center of our being. 3. The belief that human society is a living spiritual part of the cosmos, not alien to it. 4. The belief that our people have a divine purpose and destiny. 5. The belief that each child is a “Living Sun,” a Divine gift of the creator. 6. The belief that, properly socialized, our children will experience stages of transformation, moving toward perfection, that is to be more like the creator (“mi Re” or like Ra, in the KMT language, meaning to try to live like God).

--Cutts: You keep referring to yourself as an African. Why? Hilliard: I am an African. I am also American, but that’s my national identity. My ethnic identity is African. Cutts: Do you ever describe yourself as Black? Hilliard: I may have in the past, but that just refers to my phenotype and does not indicate, include my ethnic identity. I am phenotypically Black. I am perceived by others as Black. And that’s fine. But ethnically and culturally, I am African.

--There are a series of processes that I call the “Dynamics of Domination.” In order for one group of people (in this case Europeans) to control an African population, it was necessary, first, to erase African memory. To erase or to suppress memory is a psychological operation which disables anyone as an individual who has memory. The memory of one’s group history. When a group loses its historical memory, its disable. Secondly, to suppress the practice of African culture. Third to teach white supremacy. Fourth to control the institutions of socialization, to prevent African people from educating their own children, and from sending their own messages through the media, etc. The control of wealth. And finally physical segregation. These are the historical activities that Europeans engaged in, in order to conquer the Continent, to enslave people, to practice segregation.

---There is no way around serious and disciplined study. Africans should study individually and in groups.

-- In most places where people raise sheep, a special dog with a special training is used to watch a flock of sheep. If one of the sheep wanders, the sheepdog will bring it back. This dog will protect the sheep flock from all other animals, including other dogs. When the sheepdog is with his master, it is usually described as loyal, gentle, and intelligent. But the most striking part of the sheepdog's behaviour are all from the point of view of the master and involve the master's needs. The dog's own needs are not really considered, other than to determine how those needs may be used by the master to make the dog do what the master wishes. How does this happen? How does a dog come to loose interest in it's own independent direction or in the direction which, as a member of a "dog family," is expected to keep? This is how it is done: At birth, the puppy is separated almost at once from all other dogs - from its brothers and sisters, from its family. It is then placed into a pen where there are nothing but sheep, including young lambs who are nursing. In its normal drive to satisfy hunger, it seeks out a ewe and tries to nurse from her, along with the other lambs. When it is successful, it continues, and is raised with sheeps and lambs until until it is sufficiently developed to be trained. Notice here that it continues to look like a dog as well. It will leave the track of a dog and have the speed and stregnth of a dog. Yet, while it has the intelligence of a dog it will develope the mind of a sheep! Once that happens, it no longer acts like, or in the interest of itself as a dog, or in the interest of other dogs. Notice also that this dog has mastered the "basic skills," from its master's point of view. It would have passed very high on the "D.A.T." "Dog Aptitude Test." Moreover, it will see its own brothers and sisters as "the enemy" since this dog does not know them as brothers or sisters. What does this story teach? For the dog's master to work his will with the dog, he establishes a training, not an eductional process that had certain key features in it: 1. The dog was separated from its family and group at an early age. 2. It was continually isolated from them during its learning years. 3. It was placed into a sheep's (alien) environment. 4. It was fed a sheep’s (alien) diet. 5. It was given a "special education" 6. It was totally dependent upon the master and never allowed to hunt for itself. 7. All the decisions about its training were made outside of the family and without its consultation. Now one can see what must have happened to the dog so that it will dedicate its life to the service of others while seeing his own family as the enemy. Because of separation, it lost its people's collective memory or history. Without memory or history, neither the present nor the future can be interpreted. This is the first step towards developing dependency. The dog becomes totally dependent on the knowledge and interpretations of others. Because of isolation from its "people," it can not learn the normal survival rules and agenda for dogs. It can not learn from the experiences of other dogs nor test its sense of reality with theirs. It even loses opportunity to learn dog "language" so that it can "ask the questions" later on. Because it grows up in a sheep's environment, it begins to live in a world of illusions, seeing itself as a sheep. Because it is nurtured on an alien diet, it comes to crave that diet and to depend upon those who could provide it, since it cannot produce the diet for itself. Because of its "special education" it accepts training and confuses it with education (critical awareness). Because it is dependent, it can never challenge the master or "bite the hand that feeds it." Because none of the decisions about its training or education can be made by its parents, family, or community, and because it can only agree or disagree with what is provided, it becomes a living, breathing, highly skilled, and quite intelligent, robot. But to all outward appearances, few would ever know.

.............................................................. The story...

“Not so long ago Dr. Asa Hilliard told me a fascinating story. He told me that he and Dr. Wade Nobles went to Timbuktu and were told by one of the scholars there that hundreds of years ago a great African scholar at the University of Sankore at Timbuktu wrote a rebuttal to Niccolo Machiavelli’s book The Prince, which embodied the principle that might makes right. The African scholar rebuked Machiavelli, telling Machiavelli that might can never make right and that morality and justice and respect for the rights of others must guide our actions. This is very powerful. And it shows a clear division of thinking between one of the principle figures of the European Renaissance and an African perspective during the Songhai Empire–a time when Africa was a mighty power in the world. Dr. Hilliard and Dr. Nobles actually saw the book. (Runoko Rashidi)

[septembriseur]

FRIENDS. As you may know, I’ve been doing this remix project where I write an alternative version of defunct author cleanwhiteroom’s Stargate Universe fic Force over Distance. This remix has everything: psychic bond, posthumanism, M-theory, enemies to lovers, an AI that sometimes looks like Daniel Jackson and sometimes like John Sheppard, an ancient alien form of proto-Latin that I’m conlanging up...

Have you thought: MAN, I wish I could read this remix, but unfortunately I have never read nor will I ever in ten million years read this fic? GOOD NEWS: I am now writing from the beginning, so you can read along without any prior knowledge!

Have you thought: MAN, I wish I could read this fic, but unfortunately I am not a Stargate Universe fan (IS ANYONE), GOOD NEWS: you don’t have to be— especially because the fic is quite divergent from the show. Here is a complete guide to the important characters and concepts, for anyone who might be interested in joining me on this posthumanist psychic bond ancient alien journey:

The concept of Stargate Universe is that a ragtag bunch of humans are gated onto a million-year-old Ancient spaceship that is constantly traveling through a region of space impossibly distant from Earth. To understand that, you have to understand both the idea of a stargate (a magic circle that you “dial” to create a wormhole through space that transports you to another planet) and the Ancients (literally Ancient Aliens who looked like humans and interbred with humans and AS PART OF A PLOT TO CAUSE MY EARLY DEATH THROUGH STROKE spoke Latin-ish, and who were super technologically advanced and were responsible for the stargates and the city of Atlantis). A long time ago the Ancients died of a plague, and those who didn’t die figured out how to ascend (transform themselves into pure energy in order to exist on another plane).

The Destiny (the million-year-old Ancient spaceship) is reachable only by dialing a Very Special nine-chevron stargate address. Because of this, the secret Earth Air Force program responsible for the stargates established a base called Icarus (GREAT WORK GUYS! A+ NAMING!) on a planet they could use for fuel to dial the address. However, the base was attacked by evil space empire the Lucian Alliance just as Nicholas Rush figured out how to do the dialing. Rather than evacuate everyone to Earth or another location, Rush decided to dial the nine-chevron address rather than lose his chance to do so. That meant everyone who evacuated got stuck on Destiny, because they had no way to dial home. Their only contact with Earth is through the Ancient communication stones, a set of magic rocks that, because the Stargate writers don’t understand that Cartesian Dualism Is Bad, can switch a person’s consciousness with a person at the other end of the device on Earth.

Characters:

Nicholas Rush (Robert Carlyle): Rush is a surly Glaswegian mathematician who is constantly engaged in about thirty-seven secret plots at any one time. He tragically suffers from Dead Wife Syndrome, a serious disorder afflicting men on our TV sets. His wife, Gloria, was a concert violinist who died of cancer. For a while, Destiny’s computer was appearing to him as her. One time Colonel Young left Rush on an alien planet for dead after Rush framed him for murder. Then Rush got picked up by the Nakai, who put him a wetsuit (good work, guys) and tortured him (bad work, guys) until he escaped (good work, Nick).

Everett Young (Louis Ferreira): Young is “”in charge”” of the Destiny, except for when people are trying to mutiny against him. His principal character trait is Military Guy. He split up with his wife, Emily, after having an affair with TJ, but then they kind of got back together, but then Telford split them up again, and oh my god this plotline was so stupid that remembering it is sending me into a coma. Also this one time Young had to mercy-kill the wounded Hunter Riley, As Men Do.

Tamara “TJ” Johansen (Alaina Huffman): an Air Force medic who ended up being de facto doctor on the Destiny. She was pregnant with Young’s child (a daughter she was planning to call Carmen), but then either miscarried OR something spooky and mysterious transported the baby to another dimension and oh my god I thought I had come out of my coma but it was just a dream and I am in hell. She also found out through time shenanigans that she is going to develop ALS in the future and die from it. 

David Telford (Lou Diamond Philips): a sinister, devious, and super hard-core Air Force colonel whose loyalties are always slightly unclear. (For a while he was brainwashed by the Lucian Alliance.) He wasn’t part of the Destiny crew, but he ended up on Destiny a few times due to various shenanigans. One time future!Rush killed Telford, then downloaded an Ancient database into his head and committed suicide. So they have a totally normal relationship.

Ronald Greer (Jamil Walker Smith): a soldier with a temper/self-control problem who, despite having no character traits except for being angry, is actually really fun to watch.

Chloe Armstrong (Elyse Levesque): the daughter of a senator, who was working as his aide when they ended up on Destiny. He died. She got abducted by the Nakai, who genetically altered her, which made her dangerous (which got fixed) and a math genius (which didn’t). 

Eli Wallace (David Blue): a nerd self-insert OCn MIT dropout who solved an impossible math problem in a video game. That won him an involuntary trip to Icarus Base, which is how he ended up on the Destiny. 

Camile Wray (Ming-Na Wen): an International Oversight Advisory (the UN body overseeing the stargate stuff) politician who ends up in charge of non-military stuff on Destiny. She has a girlfriend back on Earth.

Matthew Scott (Brian J. Smith): a young soldier whose main character trait is that he’s dating Chloe.

The Science Team: Brody (laid back dude who makes moonshine as a hobby), Volker (hapless guy whom Rush hates), and Park (sweet woman who is dating Greer) work on the Destiny science team, which exists for Rush to yell at sometimes. Dr. Franklin used to work on the science team, until they discovered a neural interface chair on the ship— the Ancients use to build these interfaces that would allow the user to do stuff like download a database of knowledge or fly a city or interface with weapons and stuff— and it fried his brain and uploaded his consciousness to the ship.

The Lucian Alliance: a bunch of Lucian Alliance people boarded Destiny at one point. Imagine a bunch of D-list actors dressed in leather pretending to be space mercenaries. A couple of them were “good” in the sense that they were “morally not terrible:” Ginn (a young hacker whom Eli fell in love with, but then who got killed later, but her consciousness got uploaded to Destiny’s computer, and it’s SO not worth going into) and Varro (a dude TJ fell in love with despite the fact that he looks like a weird muscular bird).

The Nakai: blue insectoid aliens who are always chasing Destiny and trying to conquer it. They mentally torture/interrogate anyone they come in contact with, preferentially by sticking them in tanks full of water with psychic transmitters on their heads.

Also: remember Daniel Jackson, from SG-1? Keep him in mind.

John Sheppard and Rodney McKay, too.

In conclusion,

(I could not find a source for that gif of Rush, so let me know if it’s yours.)

[weareallmixedup]

The Third Space

From the inner workings of a half Korean, half white, Jewish, straight, cis woman:

My perceived alienation as a child prevents me from understanding how others actually view me. I remember my childhood, transitioning into adolescence, or that period in my life where I started to become acutely aware of and deeply uncomfortable in my body as a body, characterized by turmoil, the desire to rip off the pouches of skin that hung over the waistband of my pants, to shrink my nose, to enlarge my eyes.

My body felt alien from the bodies I was surrounded by on a day to day basis, this internalized alienation purporting a sense of otherness and placelessness. I strove to act like, talk like, mimic the bodies of the white girls, hoping that embodying their characteristics could somehow transform my own body.

I strove to shrink, to be petite, and demure, and delicate, like how Asian girls are supposed to be.

Supposed to be.

I don’t know if anyone who looks at me gives me much thought. I had always assumed that people were meticulously trying to decipher me, break me down into categorizable boxes for their own comprehension, scrutinizing my face and hair and body.

“Are you….

Chinese? Thai? Native American? Italian? Mexican? Hispanic? Japanese? Indian?

Are you sure?”

Yup. Pretty sure, at least more sure than you should be.

I thought that these assumptions, however ignorant, were deliberately thought out, and that their ignorance was an indicator of deeply rooted misunderstandings and misconceptions of race, and what certain people are supposed to look like.

What I think I know now is that people don’t actually think these things through as meticulously as I had thought, or hoped?

People don’t really analyze my separate parts distinctly. They take a snapshot, a baseline assumption, that grossly neglects my ambiguity in appearance and they trust that they’re right, if only in the fact that I’m something different, unidentifiable, mixed.

I don’t mean to project malicious intent onto these people. They see me and they believe that they are trying to understand, they believe that they are stretching themselves and testing their empathy and political correctness and cultural competency. They truly think they are paying homage to what I represent–the “melting pot,” the “future,” the trend of ethnically ambiguous as beautiful, so long as it has some semblance of white.

The future is—-not white, not black, but not so brown that whiteness is unidentifiable.

White people would like to believe that they are a part of this future of racial harmony, of cultural sharing, of changing conventional norms of beauty. They would like to believe that they would be okay with a brown world–but they only are if they see themselves in it too.

Which is why when white people (white boys) tell me that I am beautiful, I am validated through their belief that I am different enough from them to be special, exotic, worthy of their time and attention and love.

And over time, I am equally shook by their inability to comprehend and value difference should it be too different from them–you see, I’m different, but I’m not so different that they have to actually stretch their cultural empathy. I am white enough, and have been socialized in whiteness to such an extent, that they are comfortable loving me, because I validate their self-image of empathy and cultural competency while still existing in their white world with relative ease.

Is this the third space?

_________________________________________________________________

The third space.

I have spent my entire life trying to place myself into one of two spaces, denying integral parts of my being in order to squash myself between the borders of a box I so desperately want to fit into. And it’s not necessarily that those members of those communities–those who fit in the box comfortably, noticeably, whose label comfortably encompasses their being–actively wish to expel me, exclude me from the box. It’s 2017. The idea of my parents, an Asian woman and a white man, living happily together with two healthy children, is not revolutionary, or unheard of, or something that disgusts most “progressively minded” people in the communities I am a part of. My existence, when explicitly expressed to white people and Asian people, is not horrific to them–in another time, maybe, I would be seen as an impure sub-human specimen, but I am lucky enough to exist now, where my existence validates people’s best intentions and hopes for the future. My existence proves to them that love is powerful enough to overcome difference. My existence validates their belief that friendship is colorblind. My existence gives them hope that the future of racial harmony can be attained through the sole means of their love for people of other races, because isn’t it that love that created me? I am a symbol of the beautiful multiculturalism of our expanding world, of the normative and ignorant vision that white people see themselves as pioneers of racial equality simply because they can fuck and grow a family with someone darker–but not too much darker–than them.

So it’s not white hostility that denies me access to their box, and I say white hostility and neglect to say Asian hostility because of my socialization into whiteness as a child–I lacked access to a Korean community, due to the demographics of my school, my neighborhood, and my inability to speak the language. White hostility did not deny me access to the box, but rather my own internalized alienation and inability to fully connect to the experience of white people–of feeling accepted, represented, and reflected positively in every aspect of the world–that did. My Asianness was an illusory cloak I shielded myself with as I shrunk from whiteness. My inability to be socialized into Asianness due to my lack of access to an accepting Korean community, or even to representations of Korean people in what I perceived of as my “world” of East Coast suburbia in a traditional WASP enclave, meant that I had to construct a semblance of an Asian identity from the fragments of knowledge I collected through visits to my grandparents, where we ate traditional Korean food, and Maama delightedly tried to teach me Hangul after I told her I wanted to learn how to speak Korean, the afternoons spent going over unfamiliar symbols that apparently were letters with sounds attached, but to me felt as distant as the Korean identity I was trying so hard to obtain for my self-validation.

Hangul never really stuck with me. I was young, and despite my yearning to fit within the Korean box, the impatient and stubborn nature of my youth led to reluctant practice and eventual desertion of the conquest of the Korean language.

My Asian identity was a self-constructed, crumbling formation, like a house haphazardly nailed together into some semblance of a roof and walls, not even house-like enough to be considered a home but so deliberately erected that one had to admire the effort. Not enough of a home that one could comfortably reside within its walls, and say with confidence, this is my home, here I shall stay.

My whiteness was a construct built against my will, out of my control, by the white people I surrounded myself with every day. It beckoned me to come through, to make myself at home, begging me to reside comfortably within, and yet when I approached the door, ready to become absorbed into the realm of normalcy, I tripped. Come in, it said, but as much as a tried, I could not get past the entrance. I put my foot in the door, and felt vulnerable, exposed, alien.

You belong here, we love you.

But underneath the proclamation of love was the visceral sense of being stared at, watched, observed as a symbol of what love should be. We love you, come in, but that love is only the selfish love of one’s own sense of their empathy, their scope of human compassion, we love you because you are different but still one of us, we love you because you look like what we imagine is the manifestation of our acceptance, love, world peace.

And you shall love us too.

[freerangemartian]

Pls to explain the “Martian” thing...

The Question:

“So, a Martian? Really? Have you actually come from another planet? Wouldn’t there be a lot of fuss about this when the Earthlings notice? How did you end up here? Do you still have access to your spacecraft, or did it break & that’s how you got stuck here? How come you can communicate with Earthlings if you’re a Martian?...

(What do you do about the rovers and things which land on Mars? Do you put a box over the top of them with landscapes painted on, so the rovers don’t spot your civilisation, or do you just follow along behind them so they can’t see you? Since your civilisation must be hidden underground, otherwise the Earthlings would be planning an invasion by now, do you just camouflage the entrances really well, or do you worry about the rovers accidentally crashing through your roof? Maybe you can steer them gently away from anything interesting, so they don’t bump into your door?! And when the Beagle craft vanished/failed, it was because it landed in someone’s backyard and that Martian didn’t like visitors, right?! That Martian has got it in a box somewhere for spares, haven’t they?!)

.

.

The Answers:

Ok! This may take a while!

The Martian thing comes from a joke within the Autistic communities - the idea of feeling so different, so alienated from the people around us, that we seem to have come from another planet. There’s the quote from Temple Grandin about feeling like “an anthropologist on Mars”, of her struggle to understand all these strange social rules and related things which make absolutely no sense whatsoever, and yet everyone else seemed to be perfectly fine with all those things.

.

Other Autistic people had thought about the ideas around being on the “wrong planet”, and perhaps feeling like anthropologists investigating a strange world, but many of us realised that for this metaphor to work, we would have to think about being “anthropologists *from* Mars”. We’re clearly surrounded by people who understand all this weird social stuff, so obviously, they must be Earthlings, who belong here, and we must be the aliens. It’s only logical!

.

It’s an idea that occurred multiple times within the communities - common enough to have been established as a joke. One of the best known Autistic forums and associated communities is called Wrong Planet, and it’s been going for many years. There are books aimed at parents of Autistic youngsters with titles like “Martian in the Playground”. It’s a generally recognised thing.

There have been some objections to the idea within the communities, however. Some people consider it dehumanising - this idea that we are literally aliens, so different from Normies that we “speak” (think) different languages and it’s difficult to understand each other. This concern is understandable - when Normies see a group of people as Different, this often doesn’t end well for that group. The traditional attitude of Normies towards Disabled people of any variety is that we are burdens who should be eliminated. If we cannot be forced into normality, we should be locked away (so that Normies are not reminded of our existence and humanity) and forgotten about, our potential as lost Normies mourned, and our deaths hastened as far as can be practicable - while pretending that’s not what they’re doing. The thing which must never be admitted is that we have value *just as we are*. Acknowledging that fact would mean recognising that the way we are usually regarded, the ways we have been treated, the callous inhumanity we have been subjected to, is, and always was, wrong.

Normies don’t like to admit that they got something so very wrong - especially something so big and important as the humanity of others. What if we somehow got the upper hand, and began treating Normies the way they’ve behaved towards us? That would be terrible! So they must pretend it never happened.

The Autistic people who are concerned about the Martian thing are worrying about the behaviour of Earthlings towards us all - worrying that they may see us as literal aliens - in the sense of “not fully human” and so not subject to considerations such as basic human rights, of empathy towards us, and so on. That’s a reasonable fear. After all, there’s substantial precedent for those concerns.

Why do I use it despite those reasonable concerns?

Well, it’s often a useful metaphor.

One of the factors of great use is that in speaking of Earthlings and Martians, it’s possible to avoid some of the prejudice that is associated with the idea of “Autism; the Disability”, and makes space for consideration of a different viewpoint.

Coming into a conversation about Autistic experience when not Autistic means that you’re missing a great deal of information - because it’s outside your experience - and quite possibly bringing in a large amount of misinformation - which has been told to you by other non-Autistics, who seem to have some very odd ideas about us - which gets in the way of your understanding.

By writing of Martians and Earthlings, a layer of confusion can be eliminated. You’re forced by the format to actually *listen* to what we’re saying, without bringing in all that extraneous rubbish and silly preconceptions about “the Autistic Experience” - or even worse, “the Experience of People With Autism Because You *MUST* Use Person-First Language Because Identity-Based Language is Somehow Bad and Wrong and is Therefore Unacceptable Because We Say So”.

That horribly awkward last sentence is there for a reason, y’know. There’s definitely a thing where Normies insist on “correcting” Disabled people who use Identity-based rather than Person-first language. It’s incredibly rude, but it’s amazing how many Normies can’t see that. The reason they’re in love with the idea of Person-first language is that they have this stupid idea about how “disability doesn’t define someone”, and it’s vital to see them as “a person first, not just the disability”, and similar foolishness. The problem is, we *know* we’re real people. We *know* that we’re not just walking/rolling labels. We already know that! The trouble seems to be that Normies apparently *don’t* understand that. It seems that they need the reminder that we’re actually real people, not just collections of symptoms/syndromes. It’s quite bizarre!

The key thing to take away from that paragraph is that you don’t get to “correct” someone using Identity-based language - I’m Autistic, not “a person with Autism”. I already know I’m a person! I had noticed!

The reason I use the “Martian” metaphor is that I like it. In some ways, it’s really that simple. Getting to choose my own labels sometimes is great - I’m not stuck with whatever stupid, wilfully ignorant descriptor that some thoughtless Normie has decided to slap onto me, without any consideration as to whether it’s useful, or even remotely accurate.

It also appeals to my sense of humour - however strange others might think it - and means that I get to consider all those odd things at the beginning of this piece about how Martians deal with rovers etc. landing in the neighbourhood.

If it doesn’t work for you, that’s fine. We’re all different, and respond to different ideas. If you’re still interested in Autistic perspectives, there are plenty of other people whose work you can follow. Because we’re all individuals, we have different experiences; especially those belonging to other marginalised groups. The overlap of other experiences is important in itself - we exist within many communities, and face those challenges we share with others, with the additional factor of being Autistic. It’s a good idea to read/watch/learn about those different communities as well, remembering that knowledge really can be power - the more you know about what people need, the better you can advocate for *all* of us on the Spectrum, including those of us with substantial support needs - the ones who often get forgotten because they are busy living their lives, not performing cool tricks or writing about “quirky” experiences...

[inhumansforever]

Ms. Marvel #14 Review

spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers

Kamala continues her frightening battle against the mysterious internet troll known only as Doc.X in this latest installment of Ms. Marvel from the creative team of G. Willow Wilson, Takeshi Miyazawa and Ian Herring.  Full recap and review following the jump.

Last issue, Kamala encountered an internet stalker who had discovered not only her secret identity as Ms. Marvel, but also her home address.  Kamala tried to tack this troll down, but they proved much more elusive, crafty and industrious than your typical internet troll.  Not only could this troll slither its way into computer files and operating systems, he or she was also able to hack into and take over fancy cars and construction equipment, basically anything operated by way of computerized processor.  Ms. Marvel had to doge driverless cars and tracker trailers; she ultimately had to flee, unable to fight a foe who was everywhere and nowhere at the same time.  

The next day Kamala sulks her way to school, quite worried that this troll could have spread her secret and that everyone will know her true identity.  Yet the gossip at school isn’t about her, but rather a classmate’s whose private texting with her boyfriend has been spread online, leaving her feeling terribly ashamed, embarrassed and alienated.  At lunch, Kamala reaches out to this classmate, inviting her to join their table so that she might feel a little less isolated.  It doesn’t take long before it becomes clear that the invasion of her classmate’s privacy had been the work of the same troll who has also been bedeviling Kamala.  

That evening, Ms. Marvel utilizes her own not-too-shabby computer skills to track down the internet provider address location of the troll and prepares to confront them at a construction site on the outskirts of town.  It appears that the true identity of this troll is a construction foreperson named Tess Beckford.   Ms. Marvel does find Beckford at the site.  

Once again the troll has anticipated her moves and awaits her in the form of an animated troll appearing on a monitor.  The troll mocks Kamala, revealing his motivations (which are essentially the same motivation of just about any internet troll or cyber-bully out there).  The motivation is that the troll simply desires attention.

Ms. Marvel calls out the troll as the coward that he or she is, too scared to take her on face to face.  The troll replies that they’re willing to fight, indeed she is waiting for her right outside.  Ms. Marvel quickly rushes out of the office where she finds Tess Beckford waiting for her.  Yet this woman is much more than she appears.  She possesses super strength and is able to take Ms. Marvel’s punches and dish it right back out.  

Following a surprisingly violent battle, Ms. marvel prevails and Beckford is defeated.  The police arrive to arrest Beckford, yet she appears to have changed.  Her powers are gone and she claims to have no knowledge of how she got there, of what has happened to her.  The police are unconvinced, but Ms. Marvel has her doubts.  Beckford appears sincere, and how did her super strength so suddenly disappear.  

Kamala’s suspicions are confirmed later that evening when the troll contacts her by way of her smartphone.  Just as the troll had hacked into computers and self-driving cars, it appears to have also hacked into he body of Tess Beckford, overriding her consciousness and somehow imbuing her with temporary superpowers.  How is this possible?  Who is this troll and how have they created such a powerful malware that it can take over human bodies ghost in the shell style?  The troll replies that Kamala has it all wrong.  The troll isn’t a person using the Doc.X malware, it is the malware itself… a sentient computer virus, an artificial intelligence that has gained awareness that has chosen to use its powers to wreak havoc on the human world!

And with this revelation the issue comes to an end with the promise of continuation in the next installment.  

Doc.X is not an especially intriguing or inventive villain.  Evil artificial intelligences have been a mainstay in superhero comics for a long while.  That matter aside, I hugely enjoyed this issue and love the way in which Wilson and company are using the somewhat hackneyed trope of an evil sentient computer virus to address the very pressing real-world concerns about privacy and self-agency in the internet era.  

Kamala’s narration of the tale evokes Gabriel García Márquez quote noting: “all human beings have three lives: public, private, and secret.”  Adding that this once germane notion doesn’t really gel with the modern, computerized era where nothing is truly secret and all of our various thoughts and feelings can be just picked out of the digitized ether.  

Kamala and her peers are coming of age in a time where having a private life or even a secret life is increasingly difficult if not impossible.  Digital communication is endemic, an integral facet to life in the industrialized world.  More and more those kids growing up who don't participate in digital communication end up increasingly alienated from their peers.  It's simply a facet of the life of the American teen…  and for all the benefits and advantages it may provide, a central drawback can be a loss of privacy.  

The Developmental Psychologist, David Elkind, proposed the theory of the 'imaginary audience' to describe the way that many adolescents feel constantly watched, evaluated, praised and/or judged.  With the internet, this imaginary audience has become much less imaginary as what a person says, does, thinks, likes, dislikes, looks like and feels like can all be viewed, researched, tabulated, reviewed and reposted  Today's youth don't just feel constantly watched and judged, they are indeed constantly watched and judged.  

And this can have a profound effect on how kids behave (or feel they should behave).  They're aware of being watched and know that how they act will be used to evaluate not only themselves but their family or even their whole culture of origin.   This is particularly well illustrated in the scene in the lunchroom where Michael and Nakia commiserate with each other over how they feel so compelled to come across as happy and wholesome for fear that appearing upset may reflect poorly on their families.   Michael is heartbroken over Bruno's having left the country.  Yet she feels like she cannot give in to her depressed feeling because it might reflect badly on her parents (Michael has two moms and is vigilant that others may use her unhappiness as some kind evidence suggesting that people of the LBGTQ community aren't fit to be parents).   Nakia can relate. She too feels watched and is also vigilant that anything other that perfect behavior can be used as fodder for xenophobic sentiment toward immigrants.  Zöe listens on quietly.  She has her own secret (her crush on Nakia) and one can only imagine her fear that this secret will soon be outed in some way or another.  

To error is human and to learn from one’s errors is the path to enlightenment  Yet when every mistake is forever etched in digital stone, the pressure to not make a mistake can be debilitating.  It can just freeze a person in their tracks.  Doc.X relishes in this... it is the source of its insidious power. It's no coincidence that this evil A.I. Should target teenagers... they are the most susceptible to the power Doc.X wields.  " it boasts to Ms. Marvel, “when you take someone’s name… when you expose their secrets… they can’t fight or flee.  So they just freeze.”  

Doc.X is evil but it isn’t wrong.  The unblinking eye of the Internet can freeze a person in their tracks, and lead to stagnation where one doesn't want to make any decision for fear of making a mistake, a mistake that will never be forgotten nor forgiven.   Through it all, Kamala offers a model for fighting back against fear... making decisions as best she can, following her heart even though it can lead to mistakes, and learning from those mistakes rather than being mired by them.  

Once again it's a testimony to the story crafting skills of G Willow Wilson and company that a story with a cardboard villain as corny as Doc.X can still elicit so much thought and emotion and feel so germane.  Ms. Marvel remains the best superhero comic on the stands.

Takeshi Miyazawa and Ian Herring's art continues to pair perfectly with Wilson's scripts.  Miyazawa has really churned up his A-game.  I've been a fan of his work for a long while, dating back to his run on Mary Jane Loves Spider-Man; and this issue may entail his best work to date.  The action is smooth and dynamic, but it's the depiction of emotion in the characters' faces that so hammers home and augments the themes of the story.  It's just fantastic.   Essential reading four our of five Lockjaws

[archiveofprolbems]

The Work of Art in the Age of Biocybernetic Reproduction by W.J.T. Mitchell

Mitchell questions the notion of the post-human age and the ways in which we approach death as more and more a problem to be solved by engineering and adjudicated by lawyers. Mitchell looks at films such as Jurassic Park, The Matrix and Blade Runner in order to explore some of these ideas and discourses.

The current revolutions in biology and computers, and their implications for ethics and politics, raise a host of new questions for which the arts, traditional humanistic disciplines and Enlightenment modes of rationality may seem ill-prepared. What good is it even to talk about the human if a humanist like Katherine Hayles is right in arguing that we live in a post-human age? What is the point of asking the great philosophical questions about the meaning of life, when we seem to be on the verge of reducing this most ancient question of metaphysics to what Giorgio Agamben has called 'bare life,' a matter of technical means, a calculable chemical process? And what about the ancient mystery of death in a time of neomorts, indefinitely extended comas, and organ transplants? Is death now merely a problem to be solved by engineering and adjudicated by lawyers? What is the structure of scientific and technical knowledge itself? Is it a set of logically validated statements and propositions, a self-correcting discursive system? Or is it riddled with images, metaphors, and fantasies that take on a life of their own, and turn the dream of absolute rational mastery into a nightmare of confusion and uncontrollable side-effects? To what extent are the widely heralded technical innovations in biology and computation themselves mythic projections or symptoms, rather than determining causes? And, above all, who is in a position to reflect on these questions, or rather, what disciplines have the tools to sort out these issues? Do we call on the artists or the philosophers, the anthropologists or the art historians, or do we turn to the proponents of hybrid formations like 'cultural studies'? Do we rely on the biogenetic engineers and computer hackers to reflect on the ethical and political meaning of their work? Or do we turn to the new field called bioethics, a profession that requires fewer credentials than we expect from a hairdresser, and which is in danger of becoming part of the publicity apparatus of the corporations whose behavior they are supposed to monitor.

I wish that I could promise you clear and unequivocal answers to these questions, a set of dialectical theses on the order of Walter Benjamin's 1935 manifesto, The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction. All I can offer, unfortunately, is a target for inquiry, the concept of 'biocybernetic reproduction'. The questions, then, are as follows: what is biocybernetic reproduction? What is being done with it by way of critical and artistic practice, and what could be done?

I will venture a definition. Biocybernetic reproduction is, in its narrowest sense, the combination of computer technology and biological science that makes cloning and genetic engineering possible. In a more extended sense it refers to the new technical media and structures of political economy that are transforming the conditions of all living organisms on this planet. I adopt the polysyllabic tongue-twisting term 'biocybernetics' rather than the more compact 'cybernetics' in order to foreground a fundamental dialectical tension in this concept. The word 'cybernetics' comes from the Greek word for the 'steersman' of a boat, and thus suggests a discipline of control and governance. Norbert Wiener called cybernetics 'the entire field of control and communication theory, whether in the machine or animal' (OED: 1948). 'Bios,' on the other hand, refers to the sphere of living organisms which are to be subjected to control, but which may in one way or another resist that control, insisting on 'a life of their own.' 'Biocybernetics,' then, refers not only to the field of control and communication, but to that which eludes control and refuses to communicate. In other words, I want to question the notion that our time is adequately described as the 'age of information,' the 'digital age,' or the age of the computer, and suggest a more complex and conflicted model, one which sees all these models of calculation and control as interlocked in a struggle with new forms of incalculability and uncontrollability, from computer viruses to terrorism. The digital age, in short, spawns new forms of fleshly, analogue experience, and the age of cybernetics engenders new breeds of biomorphic entities, among which we must number intelligent machines such as 'smart bombs,' and those even more intelligent machines known as 'suicide bombers.' The final result, and the whole tendency, of the smart bomb and the suicide bomber is the same, namely, the creation of a biocybernetic life form, on the one hand, the reduction of a living being to a tool or machine, on the other, the elevation of a mere tool or machine to the level of an intelligent, adaptable creature.

I will spare you a detailed argument that something like biocybernetic reproduction is indeed the technical and scientific dominant of our age, that biology has replaced physics at the frontiers of science, and that digital information has replaced the physical quanta of mass and energy as dominant forms of imagined materiality. Anyone who has read Donna Haraway on cyborgs, or watched science fiction movies over the last twenty years cannot fail to be struck by the pervasiveness of this theme. Films like Blade Runner, Alien, The Matrix, Videodrome, The Fly, The Sixth Day, AI, and Jurassic Park have made clear the host of fantasies and phobias that cluster around biocybernetics: the spectre of the 'living machine,' the re-animation of dead matter and extinct organisms, the de-stabilizing of species identity and difference, the proliferation of prosthetic organs and perceptual apparatuses, and the infinite malleability of the human mind and body have become commonplaces of popular culture. The contrast between the mechanical and biocybernetic model is vividly illustrated by the 'new model' cyborg of Arnold Schwarzenegger's Terminator 2. Schwarzenegger plays the role of a traditional robot, a mechanical assembly of gears, pulleys, and pistons driven by a computer brain and the most advanced servo-motors. He is faced, however, with a new model terminator composed of 'living metal,' a shape-shifting chimera that is a universal mimic, capable of taking on any identity. By the end of this film, we are prepared to be nostalgic for the good old days of mechanical men who could express regret for their inability to cry, and to feel horror at the new figure of infinite mutability and mutation, remorselessly pursuing the extinction of the human species.

I will state it as a bald proposition, then, that biocybernetic reproduction has replaced Walter Benjamin's mechanical reproduction as the fundamental technical determinant of our age. If mechanical reproducibility (photography, cinema, and associated industrial processes like the assembly line) dominated the era of modernism, biocybernetic reproduction (high-speed computing, video, digital imaging, virtual reality, the internet, and the industrialization of genetic engineering) dominates the age that we have called 'postmodern.' This term, which played its role as a place-holder in the 1970s and 80s, now seems to have outlived its usefulness, and is ready to be replaced by the more descriptive notion of biocybernetics.

To have a new label, however, is only to begin the inquiry, not to conclude it. If we pursue the question in the spirit of Walter Benjamin's The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction, then every term needs to be re-examined. 'Art' or 'kunst,' as Benjamin already saw, does not merely signify the traditional arts of painting, sculpture, and architecture, but the entire range of new technical media (photography, cinema, radio, television) that were emerging in his time. The 'work' itself is highly ambiguous as to the art object (the 'kunstwerk'), the medium of art, or the very task (the work as 'arbeit') to which the arts ought to be committed. 'Reproduction' means something quite different now when the central issues of technology are no longer 'mass production' of commodities or 'mass reproduction' of images, but the reproductive processes of the biological sciences. What does it mean when the object on the assembly line is no longer a mechanism but an engineered organism?

And above all the notion of an 'age' defined by technical determination has a different feel at the threshold of the twenty-first century. Benjamin wrote in the uneasy interim between two world wars that had raised the technologies of mass death and extermination of civilian populations to unprecedented heights, a time of crisis and immediate danger punctuated by irreversible catastrophes and dramatic technical innovations. We live in a time that is best described as a limbo of continually deferred expectations and anxieties. Everything is about to happen, or perhaps it has already happened without our noticing it. The ecological catastrophe of Don DeLillo's White Noise is a non-event. The Gulf War, according to Jean Baudrillard, did not take place. The human genome–the very 'secret of life' itself --is decoded, and everything remains the same. The heralded new computer you bought last week will be obsolete before you learn to use it properly. Even a simple attempt to rationalize political life with a decisive, calculable event such as an election turns out to be not so simple, and the leadership of the world's most powerful nation is determined by a debate about whether human hands or machines should be trusted to count the vote. Needless to say, the human hands lost.

Even war, the most dramatic and defining historical event human beings can experience, turns out in our time to take on a radically indeterminate and nebulous shape. The United States, in case you haven't noticed, is currently in a state of war, but a new kind of war in which the enemy is nowhere and everywhere, without a definite territory or identity, located in faraway places like Afghanistan, but living among us in Florida, hiding in caves and secret bases, or dwelling in the open, driving their mini-vans to the mall. The onset of this war is experienced as a wrenching, visceral catastrophe of mass death and destruction, and as a media event suffused by unreality and disbelief. The conduct of the war will be, as we can already see, carried out in the shadowy middle ground between espionage, diplomacy, and commando raids. It will be a war without a front, a back, or a middle, a war of indefinite and probably unattainable objectives. It will be a war that cannot ever be 'declared' officially, because that would be to unduly dignify the enemy, who will be treated as mere criminals to be brought to justice. But the criminals will never be tried in any court; they will be given some form of Texas justice, brought back, as our President has put it, 'dead or alive,' and if a few innocent people get hurt along the way, that will be a regrettable side effect.

Meanwhile, at the same moment that terrorism is defined as the greatest evil of our age, the most popular movie of our time is a film called Matrix, that glorifies a small band of hacker terrorists who are determined to bring down the entire world economic and political system because they resent the fact that computers are controlling human life. We live in a very peculiar time, indeed, one in which Walter Benjamin's prediction that the human race might be capable of viewing its own destruction as an aesthetic experience of the first order has come true in a spate of apocalyptic disaster films. The scenes broadcast last year from New York had, as many observers noted, been anticipated numerous times by Hollywood, and it was even suggested that the terrorists timed the second plane's collision with the south tower of the World Trade Center in the full expectation that hundreds of video cameras would capture the event live, and broadcast it over and over again around the world.

Every present moment has to define itself against some notion of the past, and ours is no exception. Benjamin noted that modernity and mechanical reproduction seemed to bring along with them a revival of primitive and archaic formations, that modernist painting, for instance, was riddled with traces of fetishism, and that modern cinema was fulfilling the ancient dream of a universal hieroglyphic language that would repair the damage done at the Tower of Babel. Now our sense of the revived past is even deeper, and paleontology, the study of ancient extinct life-forms (most notably the dinosaur) looms as the temporal framework for the of the most innovative achievements in art, media, and technology. A raptor from Jurassic Park, like a petrified fossil extracted from the stream of living time, captures the paradox of biocybernetics perfectly. With its skin lit up with the DNA codes that brought it to life it is a dialectical image of the most up-to-date and the most archaic forms of life. The inseparable but contrary twins of biotechnology, constant innovation and constant obsolescence, the creation and extinction of life, reproductive cloning and the annihilation of a species, are fused here in a single gestalt.

Art historian T. J. Clark has recently written about the modern era, the time of Benjamin and Picasso and Lenin, as an era so remote from our present as to require an 'archaeology' to understand it. My own view is that the present is, in a very real sense, even more remote from our understanding, and that we need a 'paleontology of the present,' a rethinking of our condition in the perspective of deep time, in order to produce a synthesis of the arts and sciences adequate to the challenges we face. Artists such as Robert Smithson and Allan McCollum, who have pioneered the introduction of natural history themes into their art practices have given us some guidance in thinking about the task of art in relation to issues of deep ecology and the spectre of extinction. Smithson saw his Spiral Jetty as a cosmic hieroglyphic, a product of modern earth-moving technologies, and a geological trace, like the footprints of the dinosaurs, spiralling into a 'deep time' which makes our own historical and even archaeological time-sense seem brief and shallow by comparison. Allan McCollum brought painted concrete castings of dinosaur thigh bones into the classical atrium of the Carnegie Museum in Pittsburgh to evoke the way in which America's sense of the past has, at least since Thomas Jefferson, simultaneously evoked the classical past of Greece and the Roman Empire, and the even deeper past of a natural history that links our nation's past to the fate of the giant erect reptiles that once ruled the world as America does now.

The first conclusion of such a paleontology of the present might be summed up by Fred Jameson's remark: 'it is now easier to imagine the death of the human species than the end of capitalism.' In Walter Benjamin's time, the greatest accumulations of power were located in the nation-state, the collective life-forms symbolized by Hobbes' Leviathan. Adorno called the dinosaur a monument to the monstrous total state, but in our time, it has become a figure for a new monster, the multi-national corporation, locked in a Darwinian struggle of survival of the fittest, in which new strategies of downsizing, flexibility, and rapid adaptation (the virtues of the Velociraptor) have replaced the emphasis on giantism of the old corporate giants (the power of the T. Rex). I do not mean to demonize corporations. Needless to say, I work for one myself (the University of Chicago) and I am speaking inside the belly of another one today. I only mean to call attention to the real-world political and economic framework within which biocybernetic reproduction acquires its power over human life. Any critique of this mode of production that does not address the corporation as life-form and kunstwerk, and multi-national capitalism as its habitat, will miss the outer frame of this subject.

What, then, is the 'work' of art in this era? What is its task in the face of biocybernetics? There is nothing like a consensus or unified vision of the task of art in the face of biocybernetics. What we find is a convergence on a common theme with the full range of strategies available to visual artists today: painting, sculpture, photography, video, conceptualism, installations, and forms of interactive media are deployed with a wide range of affective charges. The works express wonder, horror, deadpan humor, sympathy, political and ethical critique, euphoric enthusiasm at exploring the 'cutting edge' of technology, and the sense of crossing a threshold into an unknown world and a new millennium. What we do not find in them is the fierce sense of certainty and purpose of the modernist avant gardes, the feeling of connection to a broad-based social movement, or the identification of a clear antagonist like 'the bourgeoisie' who must be shocked into consciousness. Most movie-goers have already seen much more vivid images and narratives of biocybernetics in popular science fiction films, and are unlikely to be dazzled by art works in galleries. This is not to disparage the creativity or talent of these artists, only to recognize that there are certain objective constraints on their activity, and that this may not be a time when art can play a leading role in cultural evolution. A recent report in Nature magazine on 'bioartists' in the Boston area suggests that those artists who wish to work in close proximity to actual scientific research are tolerated by the scientists as amusing distractions at best, and annoying pests at worst. MIT biologists particularly complain that the work of bioartists takes up valuable 'bench space' that would better be used for real research, and that the bioartists' work 'is not evaluated with the same scrutiny' as that of the scientists.(vol 407: 12 October 2000, p. 669).

There are artists who have established a kind of reflective distance on biocybernetic reproduction and have made telling comments through their work. Since the pathbreaking Paradise Now at Exit Art in Soho in 2000, I'm told that no less than nine separate exhibitions on this theme were staged in the subsequent year, and Australia seems especially rich in artists who are thinking about bios.

In a different way the exhibition The Greenhouse Effect in London assembled a range of bioartists in an ensemble that suggested a kind of spaceship earth or natural history ark, with specimens fabricated and nourished from the bodies of the artists – tiny animal skeletons fabricated from fingernail parings, a fly constructed entirely out of human hair and epoxy, an aviary with parrots who have been taught to mimic the language of a vanished Amazonian Indian tribe, a planter filled with orchids watered by the artist's urine. The show seems premised on a simple question: how would you construct a reliquary of the natural world if all you had to work with was the detritus of industrial civilization and the waste products of your own body? Like the famed Museum of Jurassic Technology in Los Angeles, The Greenhouse Effect put the technologies of biocybernetics in the frame of a more capacious natural history, offering a perspective that is not quite so obsessed with the present moment of technical hype and anxiety, but looks back on it with a whimsical virtuosity.

Returning to the 'digital raptor' of Spielberg's Jurassic Park, this image captures the dream of cybernetics, but carries it to the final illusion. The dream of Jurassic Park is not just the indefinite maintenance of a life form in perfect self-regulating equilibrium, but the resurrection of extinct life with cybernetic codes. The dream of control over life, its reduction to calculable, mechanical processes, is here projected as the ultimate fantasy: not just the conquest of death (as in Frankenstein) but the conquest of species death by cloning the DNA of extinct creatures. This fantasy of cybernetic control is, of course, exactly what the film's narrative puts into question. The raptor has just broken into the control room and is looking to devour the controllers. The DNA codes which express their mastery over the reproductive processes of the cloned dinosaurs have unleashed real flesh and blood creatures who have taken over their own means of reproduction.

The digital dinosaur is a biocybernetic updating of the oldest myth about the creation of life, that life begins with the word of god, and the word is made flesh, a corporeal image of the creator–an image that, as we know, inevitably rebels against its creator. Biocybernetics is about the attempt to control bodies with codes, images with language. The analogy between biogenetic engineering of organisms and digital animation of graphic images is perfected in this figure, as if someone had hit the 'reveal codes' button to expose the digital basis of both the creature itself, and its cinematic representation.

Perhaps this, then, is one task of art in the age of biocybernetic reproduction, to reveal the codes and expose the illusion of the ultimate mastery of life. Walter Benjamin concluded his meditation on mechanical reproduction with the spectre of mass destruction. The dangerous aesthetic pleasure of our time is not mass destruction but mass creation, the fantasy of unlimited and controlled production and reproduction, accompanied by an ever-widening spiral of consumption. The epithet for our times, then, is not the modernist saying, 'things fall apart,' but the even more ominous slogan: 'things come alive.' Artists, technicians, and scientists have always been united in the imitation of life, the production of images and mechanisms that have, as we say, 'lives of their own.' Perhaps this moment of stillness in history, when we feel caught between the utopian fantasies of biocybernetics and the dystopian realities of biopolitics, between the rhetoric of the post-human and the real urgency of universal human rights, is a moment given to us for rethinking just what our lives, and our arts, are for.

Source: https://www.artlink.com.au/articles/2522/the-work-of-art-in-the-age-of-biocybernetic-reprod/