#sensawunda

[mckitterick]

Seek Wonder, Not Happiness

We have so many types of initiatives – self-help books, programs, and even careers – centered around achieving happiness. This is a problem, as it forces us to interpret our experiences through a single – often overrated – emotional lens.

In this video (full transcript at link), Monica Parker argues that we should instead should pursue wonder, which is neither wholly positive nor wholly negative.

Parker likens the feeling of wonder to watching a butterfly emerge from a chrysalis – it is beautiful, complex, and even a little scary. This profound mix of awe, curiosity, and fear, is something that, when achieved, can expand our resilience and deepen our interpretation of the world around us.

The key to wonder? Slowing down. She argues that tuning into our three types of “wonderbringers” – natural, social, and cognitive – and incorporating “slow thought” activities into our lives, can help us be more receptive to wonder and the benefits it provides.

Rather than single-mindedly pursuing happiness, we ought to instead fill our days with things that spark wonder and fuel our curiosity and passions, which can help us overcome emotional barriers and live truly fulfilling, wonder-full lives.

The foundation of speculative fiction (to my mind) is what has long been called "Sensawunda," the opening of doors in the reader's mind they didn't even know were there. Fiction that evokes this sense puts the reader in a position from which they can see humankind from a new perspective.

In fiction, the sense of wonder can lead to conceptual breakthroughs inspired through paradigm shifts or shifts in perspective - time, distance, fantastic worlds, vast or microscopic scales, the Other, and so forth - that lead the audience to see things and even themselves in a fresh light.

In life, this kind of perspective shift can open our minds to the wonders of the cosmos, from its most minute building blocks that shape matter itself to the hidden structure of the universe and beyond into the multiverse. Shifts in perspective are necessary to understanding the natural world as well - science rises from the foundation of sensawunda. Personally, this feeling reveals aspects of the human condition inaccessible to the self-centeredness that can be difficult to see beyond in our mundane lives.

As a child, this is what drew me to watching ant hives do their thing, to reading books about dinosaurs and astronomy, to buying my first telescope to explore the universe first-hand, and to forming a high school science club. Once I discovered it was a thing, seeking the sense of wonder drew me to reading science fiction, then writing it, and eventually teaching it.

Even if I wasn't aware of it, I think seeking the sense of wonder shaped my whole life - it's what brought me to Lawrence, Kansas, in 1992 to begin studying with SF Grand Master James Gunn, then to helping him run his SF Center for decades, and recently to forming the nonprofit Ad Astra Institute for Science Fiction & the Speculative Imagination (@adastra-sf here on Tumblr) to better focus on sharing the sensawunda with others, including helping writers do the same, creating as big a wave of sharing this sense with more people through the fiction my students write.

I hadn't thought of it as an alternative life-path to seeking happiness until reading Parker's piece, but she's onto something important. Happiness is elusive and fleeting, while sensawunda opens the mind and grows our individual universe.

If happiness is what you seek - or at least the absence of unhappiness or freeing yourself from the kind of emptiness that comes with depression or existential dread - seeking the sense of wonder is possibly your best path in life. And far more reliable than directly seeking nebulous "happiness."

Watch those bugs and imagine their lives. Watch birds fly and imagine how the air feels to them as they use it to control their world. Watch meteor showers and picture the billions of years those grains of comets have been orbiting the Sun. Study the layers of sediment laid down over millions of years and touch the fossilized remains of beings who lived long before humans walked this planet. Explore the human world to see new places and meet new people unlike those in your prior world. And, yes, read fiction that shifts your perspective like this wrapped in exciting and compelling narratives.

Open your world to new perspectives, open your mind, open your heart, and feel your soul soar on wings you didn't know you have. Seek the sense of wonder, not because it'll make you happy (though it might), but because you have no idea what you'll find.

And what you discover could be the most wonderful treasure in the universe.

[raphkoster]

SR Pillars three: the vibe!

The third post in the series on the game pillars for Stars Reach is up. This one is all about the vibe of the world, and the thematic goals for the game… and how those things then reflect into the game mechanics. Stars Reach is a game about hope and optimism. The real world is grimdark enough. We want to capture that sense of possibility that was present in Golden Age sci-fi, that sensawunda…

[yibennianyaji]

Recent Reading: The Strange by Nathan Ballingrud

Reading Ballingrud's first novel—after a long career as a writer of short fiction—one finds oneself collecting references. Charles Portis's True Grit, Ray Bradbury's The Martian Chronicles, and Edgar Rice Burroghs's A Princess of Mars are only a few obvious influences. It's a combination that is at once incredibly enjoyable—both for the thrill of recognition, and for the audacity of mixing together such disparate works—and which threatens to overwhelm the novel itself.

The True Grit aspect is quickly established when our narrator, fourteen-year-old Annabelle Crisp, witnesses a robbery in her father's restaurant and is outraged by both his and the authorities' mealy-mouthed response. The robbers are known to live in the nearby mining colony, but the local sheriff makes only a half-hearted, and ultimately unsuccessful, attempt to arrest them, while Annabelle's father merely reopens the restaurant as if nothing happened. Despite this quintessentially Western premise, the novel's setting is quickly revealed to be otherworldly. Annabelle lives in New Galveston, the first and largest city on Mars, in an alternate 1931 in which the red planet has been colonized since the 19th century (in keeping with both the Burroughs-ian nature of the novel's version of Mars, and the novel's tendency to poke holes in the myths of American expansion, the first Martian explorer was an ex-Confederate). A year ago, all communication with Earth was lost, an event referred to as The Silence, which has effectively orphaned Annabelle—her mother was on a visit to Earth when the Silence descended, and her father has subsequently sunk into a depression, spending most of his time talking to a recording of his wife's voice. When Annabelle realizes that the robbers have inadvertently stolen this recording, she blackmails two of the town's more marginalized figures into accompanying her on a journey to retrieve it through the Martian desert.

The thing that first captures you about The Strange is how, despite a rather convoluted setting and a mishmash of influences, it so effectively places you in its world. Annabelle's voice is pitch-perfect in both its self-importance and tunnel vision. The town, as seen through her eyes, is a fascinating combination of old-timeyness and retro-futuristic sensawunda—the spaceship that carries colonists and tourists back and forth from Earth is a saucer; the family restaurant is maintained by a Forbidden Planet-style robot called Watson. It's easy to understand how Annabelle—bright, bold, and curious—would feel stifled by a life that places her at the very edge of a frontier that seems to promise infinite possibility, but expects her to conform to rigidly-defined norms, mostly related to her age and gender. In the face of the listlessness and despair that have infected most of the adults in New Galveston, her willingness to take action can't help but seem heroic.

The more time one spends in Annabelle's head, however, the clearer it becomes that she is not merely hard-done-by, and that there is a lot that she doesn't—or refuses to—see. Choosing not to pursue justice for the robbery, for example, is not merely, as Annabelle insists, a cowardly act, but a recognition that the situation on Mars has irrevocably changed. More people in town are wondering whether it really makes sense to buy and sell food when there's no longer any guarantee of resupply from Earth, and the residents of the mining colony appear to have a legitimate complaint when it comes to resource allocation. Uncompromising and self-righteous, Annabelle dismisses these arguments as irrelevancies, demanding "justice" with no thought to the damage caused in her pursuit of it.

If The Strange were merely this, it would be an impressive gimmick. A fun exercise in working out the  references. Where Annabelle's model, Mattie Ross, had a dissipated marshal and a self-important Texas ranger to accompany her on her journey of revenge, Annabelle's companions are Sally Milkwood, a carter and smuggler who is initially frustrated by Annabelle's dogmatism, but eventually realizes that she and the younger woman are more alike than they suspect, and Joe Reilly, spaceship pilot and "the most hated man in New Galveston" for refusing to fly the spaceship back to Earth, terrified by what might be a one way trip. It's interesting to note both the similarities and differences between the two sets of characters—perhaps especially, that Sally has a sort of fond but pitying love for Joe. But just as you begin to wonder whether there's anything more to this novel than a demonstration of stylistic and genre mashup, Ballingrud ups the strangeness by introducing, well, The Strange, the substance that justifies the existence of a human colony on Mars, but which may also lead to its undoing.

The Strange is what the miners on Mars mine and send back to Earth, where it's used to power and give personhood to Engines, the robots and automata that enable every human endeavor, from war (the deserts of Mars are littered with abandoned war engines left over from the US's fight with Germany over control of the planet) to kitchen helpers like Watson. But the Strange has an effect on the people who come in contact with it, giving them green eyes and changing their behavior. When Annabelle visits the mining colony before setting off on her journey, she discovers that most of the miners have descended underground to be closer to the Strange. Some, like Silas Mundt, the man who robbed Annabelle's father, have retreated into the desert to hold communion with what they believe is the voice of the planet. As Annabelle journeys into the desert, she notices the effect that the Strange has on Watson, who begins to wonder about his purpose and identity.

This is all an obvious reference to the Bradbury story "Dark They Were, and Golden-Eyed". But one interesting choice that Ballingrud makes is to remove humans from their central place in that narrative. For all the horror of that story, there is at least a sense in it that Mars wants humans, if only as fodder for an unwilling transformation. In The Strange, we are repeatedly told that humans don't belong on Mars, that their presence there has twisted its consciousness in ways that might end up destroying both species. It's the Engines, like Watson and the abandoned war machines, who seem to find the truest symbiosis with the Strange, while humans end up playing a more utilitarian function—fused to machines to act as mouthpieces for them, or consumed by the fungal infestation that has grown in the mines. Characters like Silas and Annabelle find themselves relegated to, at best, enablers of the relationship between Mars and the Engines, providing raw materials—Silas stealing recording cylinders turns out to be at the behest of the Martian consciousness—but irrelevant to its ultimate goals.

It's here, too, that Annabelle's orneriness and refusal to be swayed from her path start paying unexpected dividends. They make her more resistant to the allure of what's transforming all the humans around her. They also make her capable of seeing through the pretenses that power a place like New Galveston—whose authorities persist in a delusion of law and order, for example threatening to hang Annabelle's father after he attacks and kills a miner, even as the foundations of their project of "civilization" crumble beneath their feet. Unlike Mattie Ross, Annabelle is capable of change and growth, even if she remains fundamentally herself. Her experiences with Sally and Joe as they cross the desert, and meeting with Silas, shake her conviction that she understands ideas like justice and rightness. But they don't change her belief that the things that matter to her are what truly matters—she remains fixed on regaining her mother's lost recording until the end of the novel, a determination that ultimately becomes as sympathetic as it is monomaniacal, in the face of an entire community struggling to find meaning in an increasingly insane situation.

The Strange struggles a little in its final act, teetering somewhat unconvincingly between Bradbury-ian body horror and Portis-esque frontier action. It's never entirely clear which mode, and which emotional register, the novel wants to land on in these chapters. Perhaps for that reason, the resolution of the conflict between the various factions' aims—New Galveston's increasingly desperate pretense of normality, Silas's need to believe that he matters in the Strange's plans, Annabelle's desire to save something of her family—takes too long to arrive. But the conclusion to Annabelle's story is winning, as she finds what is probably the only place for her in a world where she is both too stubborn, and too clear-eyed, to fit in among most people. Somewhat surprisingly given all the antecedents it recalls (and given that it ultimately falls more on the horror side of the horror/SF divide), The Strange comes to something that strongly resembles a happy ending. One that arrives not through surrender to an alien consciousness, but through an acceptance of the self, with all its flaws.

[dreama-art]

These guys are the principal from one of the comics are working right now. I still working on them.

[simonm223]

The problem with the middle

The problem with the middle

I don’t particularly like “middle-brow” fiction for much the same reason I don’t like centrism. This boils down to two basic points:1. It’s boring, derivative, ultimately small-c conservative and doesn’t foster my sense of the aesthetic ideal of the creation of the new. 2. It kind of doesn’t exist anyay. Now I want to clarify that I will always heartily defend trash. I came up on horror films…

[handypolymath]

“Burlesque has informed the ways in which I make art. It has pushed me to be daring, it has pushed me to be inclusive, it has pushed me to think outside of the lenses that have been given to me as a writer. Burlesque is the place where I learned to re-envision. If I can imagine Mad-Eye Moody as a woman, if I can imagine Jessica Rabbit as disabled, if I can give Irene Adler her fire back—then I can create characters I never thought I could before.

Burlesque gave me permission to dream. It gave me permission to see myself in the narrative, and that is more precious than anything I have learned anywhere else.” --Elsa Sjunneson

[youarenotthewalrus]

I was looking back through my Homestuck tag and found this post, and y'know, I think an underrated failing of the post-canon material (i.e. The Homestuck Epilogues/Homestuck^2) is the relative lack of interesting environments? Like, Homestuck had loads of interesting environments--Skaia, Prospit, Derse, the Lands, Alternia, the dream bubbles. Even the earthly environments could be interesting--sure, you had relatively pedestrian locations like John and Jane's suburban home and Dave's apartment, but you also had Jade and Jake's island, the various post-apocalyptic Earths--even Rose had a giant modernist mansion over a waterfall, that's pretty cool.

And next to all that Earth C is just... pretty boring? We get a couple of neat descriptions but for the most part the whole thing just feels like a big suburban (Sburban?) blur, a generic backdrop rather than a point of interest. Homestuck^2 improves on this somewhat in the Meat portions--Deltritus definitely has some sensawunda-inducing landscapes, and the observation deck where Dave and Kanaya talk in Chapter 3 is beautiful--but Candy remains firmly fastened to Earth C, and so despite the odd airship remains mired in vaguely 21st century suburbia.

[snowqueenlou]

When they told us that illumination would be like light flashing up like daybreak’s sun I never thought I would see it traveling with you up the I5 at 65 in my modest skirt and sweater set with the sheer hosiery in nude and just the wrong side of not so sensible heels (a girl had to have some vices.)

I never thought that illumination would leave you exhaling with relief even as we stepped off the narrow path into the broad road where the lanes were luxurious and we could follow a road map or set the cruise control and go on an adventure.

When they told us to live our life separate from the world, I never thought illumination would show me that apartness meant being apart from all those things in the world that made life worth living. 

We live in the world but we are not a part of it became we are part of the world in which we live all lit up in technicolor. 

We are made in the image of God, but whose image of God was the one from which we are made?  

God of 8-bit, god of 256 shades of grey.

Illumination flashed up and uncinched the ropes of do more and never enough and undeserved kindness and showed me unconditional and life is everywhere and community responsibility and citizen of the world.

I throw a card and it says everything is connected.  

I throw a card and it says the sun can burn you but it can also bring you wonder.

I throw a card and it tells me to look a little deeper.

I throw a card and it says look at what they told us was illumination, see how it only had shades of a single color? See how there’s one tiny candle shining in a dark place but the place is still dark? See how all these other lights from all these other directions brings you True Color in 16 million shades? 

Fantastic. 

Amazing. 

Sensawunda.

When they told us that light would flash up like daybreak’s sun, they told us how much we would lose if we walked away but they never told us how much we would gain.

~SH

[multsicorn]

THINGS I LOVED VERY MUCH ABOUT SHE-RA, A WOEFULLY INCOMPLETE LIST

* hot buff girls, being appreciated by both characters and the camera

* scorpia's everything, but especially that moment when she says 'I can do this. I'm the muscle,' how that moment of sacrifice was re/claiming so much power

* shadow weaver, and the way that abusive parental figures who do something good for once don't stop fucking you up

* going! into! space~!  sensawunda, f'real

* catra and adora holding onto each other!!!  the reversal from (having to) walk away and let go!!!

* catra going back for adora!!!  after every time that she's left, no more!!!

* catra supporting adora through her attempt at self-sacrifice!!!  that adora tried so hard to not have to do!!!

* LESBIAN LOVE SAVES THE WORLD Y'ALL, <3 <3 <3

* rainbow sparkles and swords and catgirls, cause there’s no need to hold back when it comes to aesthetics.  no, we got it all

[fipindustries]

Except it isn’t.  It’s the story of the whole world.  For this is a town sufficient unto itself, and a town splendid with glories immeasurably greater than paltry toys which dazzle the earthbound ape.  Imagine a spacefaring civilization of the year ten thousand, imagine the lost civilization of Atlantis, imagine a faerie kingdom beyond a series of mystic veils, imagine heaven, hell, Frašgird, Pleroma.  Whatever sets aflutter your sensawunda, reader.  Imagine the observable universe in its vast plenitude, a thinking thing turning its lens back on itself, watching itself watch itself, learning ever more, knowing never less. Imagine a little town on a hill.

im going to cry real tears

[ninja-muse]

Ten days into the 25 Days of Booklr! Today you get The Years of Rice and Salt by Kim Stanley Robinson. This is the only Robinson I’ve read and I was so pleasantly surprised by it that I’ve added a handful of his other books to my TBR.

I’m reccing this one with a caveat: this is a story set within non-White cultures and dealing with non-White history, written by a White man. It feels like he’s done his research, though, and that he worked to be true to the cultures he was dealing with. Even if it’s problematic there, and I’m not sure if it is or not, I think I’d still rec this for the way it reimagines the last 650+ years and points out that scientific advancement is not an exclusively Western thing.

(The premise of the novel is that the Black Death kills 99% of Europeans and for the rest of the world, life goes on.)

I do have to side-eye things like a mosque situated suspiciously like Notre Dame and some of the coincidences where the right person just happens to be there, and I’d like to think if Robinson had written the book in the last few years, there’d be more queer characters, but hey. I can give a pass to the former in the name of fun and sensawunda, and the latter gets ye old eye-roll of dated fiction.

Today’s music:

[theotherjax]

Been playing a shitton of Mass Effect: Squad Goals - I mean Andromeda, and though totally fuckable aliens are lovely but more importantly here is a breakdown of the squadmates pairings that have so far occurred to me complete with totally objective evaluation:

Cora/Jaal: A+++++, molto bene, he so flirt, she so fussed, girl didn’t get to be Pathdfinder but gets to bang hottest alien in exciting new culture and find belonging and family w/ dude who adores every speck of dirt she steps on, also so hot, sO HOT, WhaT IS This tHIng.

Jaal/Liam: amazing, delicious, practically canon, romanticest bromance, open heartfelt soft guys, let them watch movies on the couch together, let them try to explain the jokes to each other, THEY SWAPPED CLOTHES U KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS, i don’t need to bang them it’s okay i’ll just, watch

Peebee/Vetra: how good too good, SHE LIKES HER A LOT, badass ladies building into mutual trust, learning to open up and bond, Vetra doesn’t need to always be providing, PeeBee doesn’t need to always be so independent, literally perfect??? like??????? Sid would ship it i dare u to disagree

Vetra/Jaal: a thousand times yes, let me listen to them speak at each other with their voices forever, Vetra now has a million mothers welcome to the family Vetra, you are safe, you are loved, you two can find purpose and a place together, ALSO PERFUME, can anything be more canon power couple of smelling so nice omg omg

PeeBee/Suvi: give me all your fanwork, shove it in my face, blind me with the science so much science so much sensawunda, amazing adventures in the beauty of the universe LICK IT SUVI LICK IT ALL, staying up late trying new Andromeda foods together fall asleep in each other’s arms PeeBee feels so grounded by this so loving woman Suvi feels so swept away and blessed, squad goals life goals 

Vetra/Cora: ship of true life, help I am too gay to endure two such incredible women in one space I will soon explode of Quality Lesbian Content, two outsiders up against the world so much mutual support so much got each other’s backs, so much Cora admiring Vetra’s resourcefulness so much Vetra touched at Cora’s steadfastness and strength, everyone in their way gets shot, good end GOOD END SID SHIPS THIS TOO SID MAY SHIP THE OT3

Lexi/Drack: better for u than vegetables will heal your aching heart like a swooning asari doctor healing ancient krogan who does dumb teenage things to impress her, he hasn’t been in love in so long SHE LIGHTS UP HIS LIFE go ride him like the Nomad Lexi, go take that four-wheeler to a spin climb him like the Sheertop you deserve it so much, Kesh will prioritize your supply requests forever

Kesh/Vetra: yes yES OH MY DHGFKLG, JUST DO IT ALREADY GIRLS, PARTNERSHIP TO FRIENDSHIP TO LOVE IS MY KINK, BY YOUR COMBINED COMPETENCE WILL THE INITIATIVE SURVIVE, YOU MARVELOUS GAY FUCKABLE ALIENS, I NEED YOU IN EED THIIII IISSSSS

tl;dr poly multispecies commune on the Tempest, everyone invited. Except Ryder. They’ve got sidequests to do.

[robustcornhusk]

my friend generated a bingo card as a summer reading funtimes challenge, and apparently that was the kick in the pants i needed to go through a bunch of books i had and have been wanting to read.

in the last two weeks or so, i’ve read nineish.

short book thoughts following

the annihilation score, charles stross: i’m mixed on it; a little heavy-handed at parts; a little too much creepy demonic violin sex for me. i might not be the target audience for this one, but on the other hand, i was the target audience for all the ones leading up to it. the narrator change sure happened and the narrator for this had a lot more stuff going on than the narrator for the previous ones, which.... I’m just surprised, I loved Apocalypse Codex and Rhesus Chart.

the paper menagerie and others, ken liu: !!! i loved it. one story in the collection fell flat for me, but the rest ranged from “real well done” to “holy shit”. some stories (very intentionally, i think) call to mind ted chiang, though he can do and does more than just copy chiang. the majority was scifi, very based in fact, so i’m extra impressed that his two novels so far are much more fantastic.

the last colony, scalzi: i enjoyed it a lot as i read it; afterwards i noticed some plotholes, some threads dropped. but i didn’t notice them while reading, so i mean like, job well done? 

dichronauts, greg egan: i love gregan, this wasn’t their best, w/e. it’s definitely one of the weirder, if not weirdest, conceits that it’s made into a book; it was hard to wrap my head around this one, so that the novel exists at all is incredible. but it lacks the sensawunda that i got from orthogonal trilogy/permutationcity/diaspora/schild’s ladder. i get the impression that there’s some surface-level at least borrowing from the blazing world and flatland, so i might check those out. i think this world would’ve been better as a game than a novel, to be honest. initially i thought it ended leaving room for a sequel, but then i realized it was pretty much all wrapped up.

river of teeth, sarah gailey: a friend recommended it, with the caveat that it felt “a little bit like marginalized bingo”. and yeah, i’d agree that it’s sorta awkward and clumsy for the first few chapters where the characters are being introduced. on the other hand, it flows much better starting around a third of the way through. my other complaint is that it was too short and straightforward. i’m interested to read more of her later, whenever the next book comes out.

decrypting rita, margaret trauth: very pretty! a little hard to follow at first! confusing! pretty! really cool use of layout; this wouldn’t work as text or animated, i think, only as a comic. i think reading it via screen is better than print, unfortunately; the paper copy is nearly 3 feet wide and is physically uncomfortable to read. 

ninefox gambit, yoon ha lee: this was cool! i didn’t like the first two chapters, and was worried the whole thing would be as confusing. it was not! it was fine and good! really into the characters. writing, for me, wasn’t as clear/lucid/straightforward as i prefer, but the characters/the situation/...

death’s end, cixin liu: sensawunda, but bleak. i really like ken liu’s translation here; it has the clarity that i like a lot. holy fuck, though. dark forest ended on a brighter note, but this brings it all crashing down.

[...] when the sea is drying, the fish have to gather into a puddle. the puddle is also drying, and all the fish are going to disappear. 

also like, spoilers for the end, because eternal screaming: gur fbyne flfgrz vf pbairegrq sebz 3-qvzrafvbany fcnpr gb 2-qvzrafvbany fcnpr, xvyyvat arneyl nyy uhznaf. gur fcrrq bs yvtug vf ybjrerq sebz 299792458 z/f gb 18 z/f. n punenpgre rkvfgf naq vf pbzzhavpngvat jvgu gur cbi punenpgre bar cntr, naq n fhowrpgvir ~2 jrrxf yngre, unf orra qrnq sbe 18 zvyyvba lrnef. 

blackout, connie willis. a book split into two! i mean, the ending was an appropriate place to split, it’s just that nothing has been explained yet. i enjoyed it, will read the second half, can’t make many statements until i have, i guess.

[glopratchet]

retirement-home

Undergrowth seeking The sun is setting, and the sky is beginning to turn orange as it begins to set in your eyes shelter from the rain Lightpoles of light shine through the trees, illuminating the ground below Lightpoles of light shine through the trees, Construction drama all around Accustomed to the shadows, willow adepts hold hands in a circle, chanting Robert chats with Féval père Construction drama all around Green-skinned bodyguards adorned in leather and denim stand on either side of the gourmand saurus, his pupils dilated… Let's just get to it! Green-skinned bodyguards adorned in leather and denim stand on either side of the gourmand saurus, Bandages dirtied with mud and blood The gnome seems pale Conscious, if just barely Bandages dirtied with mud and blood Monitors beep alarms His fists ball up as a jolt of lightning runs through his body "Where am I? "Naledi Monitors beep alarms Vaccine enters the patient's body through his veins Your nostrils flare, smelling the thick scent of diesel, grease and rubber Vaccine enters the patient's body through his veins Shocktroops prepare grenades as a leutnant barks orders at them Shocktroops prepare grenades as a leutnant barks orders at them Pharmaceuticals Midrim Limited, owned by the Regime and helmed by Captain Rimanika Pharmaceuticals Midrim Limited, High-roller midbite owners, books and casinos owned by the Regime High-roller midbite owners, Lizards gamblers and thrill-seekers from all over Confederacy space Lizards, Gorazel and his blood-manipulating magic Miguel ineptly fumbles with trigger, as you teach him the ways of warfare Gorazel and his blood-manipulating magic Cyber-surgeon Professor Mberupekwe Mbara works tirelessly on the wounded Nurses and orderlies taking small breaks from the chaos overtake the hospital Cyber-surgeon Professor Mberupekwe Mbara works tirelessly on the wounded Lieutenant Krozer is here! Agent walking slowly over to the pot of coffee, pouring some for him and you "Boss Agent walking slowly over to the pot of coffee, Borders, barriers, segregations Agent stretching turning back to the room Big L salute; you return it "The Moonracer was a success! Agent stretching, Blood baths The blood seeping from his chest to the cracks in the concrete floor General Ecker's last stand Bloodbaths Agent caregiving Sedated forever, locked in a coffin of steel and glass Naked but for plastic curtains separating them Dog -eared copies of Green Genetics | The Choice of Progress, and Why Monarchy is Evil propped up in their hands Dog-eared copies of Green Genetics | The Choice of Progress, Agent cheese-making Abomination, barely even human NASA stickers still visible, turquoise and dull yellow against the rusted metal exterior of the machine Agent roving His head rises, as if sticking his neck out Will you approve or decline his offer? Cyclone of emotions in a heartbeat Lion's roar burning a whole through everything Agent well-being His mighty paw clutching an Uzi short shotgun Albino cobra, hood fully expanded as it prepares to strike Agent coping Pulse quickening as adrenaline surges, burning through you Do you recognize these feelings? Agent catalyzing Blackness, pierced by the wailing of a mother Young soldiers scramble, dropping their food to draw their various firearms Agent landscaping His groan is a presage of the pain you're about to unleash upon him Sergeant peers through the periscope, whistles Agent mistreating Something clatters to the floor The stare of wounded soldier, waiting for the final blow The sickening crunch of splintering bones Agent diagnosing Seeing the world through a foggy camera lens Invaders, enslavers, slaughterers Agent stroking Soldier stiffening as the electricity tears through him Agent portraying Urgency so thick you can taste it, adrenaline pumping into your veins Everyone thinks you're a monster, because that's what I wanted Agent evoking Night-sky, lit up by the blast You miss the battlefield Agent photographing Explosion of emotions from the dying soldier Agent handicapping Sergeant bellows, high-caliber bullets tearing through the air Agent joking A gurgling laugh escapes your own throat as the knife cleaves through his frontal armor Agent giving orders Agent brushing off excess dirt One foot after the other, none of them stepping too harshly Aloof and unaffected by the future Sundowning setting apocalypse into slow motion Agent acediology The soldier's finger pulls the trigger, but the gun fails to fire Sanitation of body and soul Synapses in the brain misfiring, leading to sleep Colossus rising; fortress of solitude The smell of fresh blood and vomit churning in your gut Regression into infantile fantasy as a shield from bloodshed Community-dwelling tribal warfare Epinephrin rushes, adrenaline pulsing Great gear overflowing from bookbags and lockers, assault rifle peeking out the top Muckety-mucks hoping that your psych eval comes back positive Shuffling of papers and murmuring of hushed voices Bare mattress and worn-down carpet Ribbon-cutting for the new healing wing Helicopter blades whirring overhead Anxiety burning in your chest, despite the smiles you put on Balloons and mini-birthday cakes under halogen lights, a celebration of fifteen years since the Cure Sensawunda! Grooming Torn-out page of the Kama Sutra, hidden behind a biology book and attire for your next pageant Skinnys the newest substance replacing alcohol and tobacco A blue card, redeemable for one cured child's organs Counseling sessions to discuss death, over and over again Motherload of narcotics and psychotropic drugs seized by Delta Company Never-ending remorse, shaking hands Eating contests and wet T-shirt contests, barf bags at the ready Your system cleansed of toxins, feeling invigorated Whisky-joint -basketball-throwdown! Dwelling in darkness as your world crumbles around you Terrorist organizations pledging alliance, chaotic guerrilla strikes and bombings Sodbuster besieged by nightmares of bloody, doomed civil war CSI sorting through the wreckage, pointing fingers Sleeping Fortress America, gateway to the world the sleep of the righteous, night after night Your personnel records expurgated for reasons of national security Mini-chainsaw carved from a battered hunk of meat, abandoned A torrent of memories and birth identifications 26 undergraduates, dead and taken off line Astryl sifts through evidence and admonishes you A spent casing rolling under a bookcase The family silver, tarnished Toothpaste and nail clippers, procured at the last ration station Fighting over a cracked compact mirror Shambles that was once an infant, swollen several times natural size CSI measures every cubit and indices every blackboard scrawl Wet-nurse standing before you, blubber pouring from eye sockets like tears Towering, irate figure promising freedom in flesh and machinery beating in unison Chatters chmidtchild mp3 plays faintly while in your pocket Hegemony and valor bleeding into the unknown Passageways twist and turn as you hunt, quietly Rot increases as putrid steam billows into frigid air Admission collected to raise hitman Body buried two thousand feet below Rotting, empty eye socket watches you with a mixture of hope and lust Weakness-magnets each pulling in a different direction, tearing the collective apart from within Homelike prison, built to hold the worst that humanity has to offer Mausoleum awaits, made from the destruction of your aspirations Cafffeine -fueled hyper-articulate poetry from shouting voices and violence The only certainty Gerontologist calm and collected as you lie in wait Sitting in your drafty crypt as rot spreads, eating at hopes and dreams Tumblebleeds yourself away, forever stumbling forward into the future The vague threat of terrorism franctically expended to fill time and distract Cognizance truncated by drugs injected at birth Consciousness smashed to bits against the grinding wheels of this atrocious hamster wheel Gusts of bloodthirsty elation in battle The distant echo of gunfire somewhere outside of this citadel Life-prolonging machine breathing for you in bursts A sewer connecting one locus of despair to the other Surgeries leaving you disfigured and without certain organs Mild satisfaction brought on by contribution of articles to sub-standard news organ Sports and reality shows to forget your sorrows, if only for a moment Addled brains desperately searching for truth, wisdom, decency Mousehole to escape when craggy reality becomes too much to bear Immortal ruler of fables and nursery rhymes Resurrection ists stripping the flesh from your bones for money The disease spreading rampantly, claiming youthful lives Harmonica haunting you through the prison corridors All trials leading back to the supernatural Detached shoulder pulsating microphone stand, choir of shrieks and howls Mattresses embroidered with nursery rhymes, sweet lullabies for the wicked Booty in bottles of shine and bags of pdevices Blood-soaked urchin armies waging gangland warfare over crackhouses Rusted-out trash barrel fires and rats the size of ponies Rotting meat smell of dead bodies left uncovered in the streets Phosphorus searchlights ripping through your being Alleys and allies twisting in an eccentric patterns, never straight for more than a few cubits Automaton driven to find the killer of his beloved Selma Hellfire and brimstone preachers bringing morality to the masses Megalomaniac al omnipotent entity demanding sacrifice after sacrifice The ghostly echo of the apocalypse in bottomless silos Dust to dust, pain to pain, doom to doom Eternal life seems like nothing more than a fever dream now Patriots raving in a static-ridden anarchy Heaven's goblins, led by the fiddler and the lean man Adrenaline -charged duels and gunfights along dead-end streets Grease-stained gambling and long, lingering bartabs Conquistadors hacking and flaming their way through jungles Olmec colossal heads commandeered by Jolly Ranchers and liquor Gangrenous and necrotic plague victims emitting the smell of rot and mildew Anxiety-relieving pills to avoid the toxicity of Mankind Forever! Faucet dripping, wall crumbling, the sounds of the night Sidewalks carved into and stepped pyramids for the peasants Prophecy foretold of the coming goblin and fanatic followers Zombie hordes bottle-necked by lack of open doors Triangulation of the blood, splattered brains, and rusted-out metal Pirates jettisoning stolen treasure into the depths Preachings of the end of days to doomed desert travelers A dead man and his broken slaver Cataclysmic beams of lightning crashing down from the heavens Corrosion eating away at all metals save for one Rebel alliances exploding within themselves Soapbox oratory drawing all eyes to one man Bloated King feasting on the misery of his subjects Moisture Oily machinery, water buffaloes, and steaming rice paddies clumps silently in the darkness Sermons prophesying the Day of the Dead and All Souls' Rotten, rusted-out hulks of abandoned machinery Lobotomize the rabid, pot-smoking college students Skeletal pirates prowling the night in search of plunder and rum Delivery rooms for freshly killed virgins and babies Toothbrushes being given away for free with student IDs Bleach-white political propaganda exhorting the virtues of community Talisman swelling with power and striking terror into all Bleeding-edge technology much more efficient than it should be Making candy bars out of human flesh Stinky skin conditioners and vomiting hair tonics Stacks of ludicrously cheap VHS tapes A language that, while vitally important, nobody speaks Insecticide miners and natural poison barrels Ancient, decaying albums full of Jimi Hendrix, John Lennon and Bob Marley Oozes and oozes of all types Eternal stains on hotel carpets Life and death decided by rusted dice Newspapers overflowing with conspiracy theories and scandals Lacquer cabinets cascading over with rum bottles Static-laden, monotonous radio broadcasters Diplomats scrambling for crumbs Slick-talking, well-read merchants pontificating on high culture Jocks and preps in backwards hats beating the crap out of goths Obsolete mines and anachronistic technologies Eskiminzins melting Greenland's ice caps Grave robbers pilfering priceless cadavers for medical research Physique gyms pumping man-musk Obsequious Elvin slaves functioning as doctors Ken-doll politicians spewing empty promises Garden-variety chemical-resistant weeds A colony of subterranean mole people Burrowing owlbears tearing through the soil Chemicals from a bygone age destroying the state of things Alsation-trained debt collectors Designers pumping out "new" clothing every year Complacent monks devoting their lives to an unattainable end Anatomy books used by future doctors Kooky 14-year-old leaders taking over the reins of power Ancient government overthrown in a popular revolution Populations of the future spreading to and inhabiting other planets Armadillo-like future robots armed with lasers and other weapons of mass destruction Coffee -flavored coffee Tabloid newspapers with photographs and moving pictures A foreign language that sounds vaguely French Hoppers skittering about Stank-hole criminals hiding away with their ill-gotten loot Sealed reliquaries containing the bones of saints Livers mooth and shiny robot butlers incapable of independent thought Cowardly "soldiers" using ricin-filled bullets Nobility hiring mercenaries to fight their wars for them Sand-filled hourglasses constantly running out Vicinity -enforcement licenses that keep you always nearby Automated tellers constantly loaning you money that you must pay back with interest Vitamins found only in the intestines of humans Grading people for social norms, beauty, and other variables Silent sports with no fans Scorpions and vultures literally fought to the death Helpless slaves in thrall to fat masters Former citizens building communities up from nothing Watermelons that actually melt inside you Dumpster -diving universities for the poor and destitute Prisons filling with both criminals and political opponents Bravado -loaded mercenaries attempting to recapture lost territory Silently suffocating hotel guests Dune buggies full of different types of the undead Librarians marching for work arrangement reform Apocalypse-weave guns stuffed with holy water bullets Trees were extremely rare before the event Occupations concerning themselves only with business and money Spit-and-polish military coups Scamps and vagabonds eking out an existence through thievery Psychopathic laughter issuing constantly from a person's mouth Super-soldiers made with oil and other biological matter Protests over dead refugees from the war Distributed battle armor of the type you currently wear Teetotaler ghettos spawning intolerance on both sides Highly vented helmets trickling clouds of poison gas Zoologist savages attempting to re-mold humans into new shapes and sizes Many undead werewolves with a taste for human flesh snacks Lizard-on-a-stick Galaxy far, far away Endoskeleton and useless attachments such as wings and shark teeth Bagpipes full of infectious black mold spores Bullying protests targeting video game studios Phenotype -altering illnesses altering lupine sydnrome Tiny toy hunting knives carve "V" for victory symbols Moreauvian stumbles into a mundane trap Kleptomaniac youth exposing their treasures Toxic foam pool cleaner When it comes to entering the earth on must do it very precisly and carefully You need to enter the air at a precise speed and angle so that you don't get burned up in the atmosphere or skip out into space to your destruction If you return too fast or too steeply bad things will happen If you pause too long in outer space, your body will absorb enough solar energy to burn you up when you next descend If impact is to shallow then back you go back into space to be frozen preserved and released half a millennium before others of your kind Too deep and the brutal forces will crush your life away The three requirements deceleration heating accuracy of landing or impact Most of your descent is burn monotony You will need to float the egg in some liquid so you will need to find some liquid that is the same as egg so you can select the best and choose the one that do not flow the liquid However, everything is possible, you can refill of "fuel" The container will need to be rigid to make sure that the walls do not flex or the egg could bang on the walls of the container and crack and if you place a shell inside then this could bounce or deform with pressure and scratch the egg on roughness of inner surface An egg can withstand between 20 to 30 gs before cracking so the landing should not be an issue from that perspective This is why you have kept this as plan B You start saying some thing "how much further should reach the outer layers soon don't want to rush things too much though Straining your neck looking up you try to see the sky Sort of like day dreaming or some thing You start to wonder what your landing will be like Some say hitting water is like landing on solid ground

[onanuine]

NatGeo’s #MARS is the most fascinating (also deeply depressing) show on TV rn—s01 was mournful rather than the Rah Rah Go Go Space Race! you might’ve expected, a poetic elegy to the old sensawunda of space exploration rather than a blind reiteration of it, but ultimately w/o submitting to cynicism or relinquishing hope; s02 is turning out to be a sobering dissection of capitalism. btw reassessing last week’s ep, the show hasn’t after all Kerblammed itself (yet)—the ep wasn’t siding with the corporation but rather cautioning against science w/o conscience. wouldn’t mind it tho if s02 could somehow find a way to end on a similarly hopeful note as s01. https://www.instagram.com/p/BrRUtHflr5-Pq4i-8L8oQeVKQRSINWc3xWqVr40/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=12vtb5f8sxqqb

[handypolymath]

Catching up with season 3 Star Trek Disco, and FUUUUUUUUUUCK. It GIVES me FEELINGS and THOUGHTS.

I feel like it's in dialogue with both TOS as a story, but more importantly, with TOS as a cultural artifact of a tumultuous time and the flawed best hopes of that time. There's a forceful optimism at the heart of TOS that can be stunningly naive and cloying with the benefit of 20/20 hindsight.

Discovery is also in dialogue with our current time, but it also resonates with TOS not just explictly by revisiting certain settings and characters, but by adding a Federation Standard Fuckton of complexity and trauma and emotional intelligence to its treatment of them. I'm 3rd gen Trek, and this show feels like a love letter, like the people expanding this universe love it, care for it, want it to grow, like they know it can speak not just to us here and now, but FOR us in ways that have mostly been the province of fandom for decades.

I haven't even gotten to the bounty of older women characters, and how our main protagonist draws older badass moms and mentors like moths to a flame. I had a disagreement once with someone who felt that "fathers and sons" are a rich deep vein of human experience to talk about, but disagreed that "mothers and daughters" offered equal depths to plumb. Like, dude, let me introduce you to Michael and her strike team of Proud Mamas.

I'm utter pants at meta, so this is rambly and squeeing, and I'm still not fully caught up, but one last thing. The spouse was very careful not to spoil me, so I just watched S03:E10, the Terra Firma two-parter, and let me tell you, the fucking rush I got on the character reveal of the old guy still gives me RL goosebumps. I FEEL SEEN in such a specific way because its not just fan service, it's a callback that adds emotional and ethical depth, like fuck, they did say temporal wars, didn't they? Oh man, everybody's been through it, even this guy, especially this guy, but that's why he's helping isn't he?

Because love is transformative, it's worth the risk of vulnerability even when you lose, it's how you create instead of destroy. Ideals aren't a place you can arrive at and rest, they will always remain compass points to steer you into the unknown.