#supposedly i sound like a pirate to some people online

[kustar-ryumi]

workin hard on me sixth request (we are going in strong!! 💪😼)

[heartofether]

Episode 13 - Dog with a Bone TRANSCRIPT

[You can listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts, or go to our “Listen” page if you’re on desktop.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

[INCREASINGLY SLOWLY] Please state your message.

[THEME SONG PLAYS.]

VAL

Three-eyed Frog Presents: The Heart of Ether.

[THEME SONG FADES TO A STOP.]

[PHONE BEEP.]

[INT. AGENTS MAY AND JUNES’ COMPANY VEHICLE, DRIVING INTO DAUGHTLER, WASHINGTON, MIDDAY.]

[THE TWO ARE HEARD DRIVING THROUGH THE TOWN.]

AGENT MAY

This is the audio log of Operation Saturn, phase 1.2. Investigation taking place in Daughtler, Washington, 2019. Set to last for two months minimum. This is day one. Conducted by Agents May and June. All recordings are legal property of the Harper Foundation. Any unauthorized access to these recordings will result in—

AGENT JUNE

[OVERLAPPING] Does Daughtler know no God? That church is crumbling like a communion wafer!

AGENT MAY

Agent June.

AGENT JUNE

I’m just saying! You’d think for a place of worship, they’d take better care of it. Basic maintenance, maybe a new paint job.

AGENT MAY

Well, I guess the people of Daughtler aren’t particularly religious.

AGENT JUNE

Oh, not that I care. I’m an atheist. Raised in a Catholic household, which went about as well as—

AGENT MAY

Look, in the future, could you please avoid speaking over me when we’re recording important information?

AGENT JUNE

What important information? We just got here.

AGENT MAY

Well, if we’re going to be constantly on the record, I would like to maintain some level of professionalism.

AGENT JUNE

Ahh. Hate to break it to you, bud, but if you expect me to shut up for this whole mission, I think you will be greatly disappointed. I am, you see, constantly burdened by great ideas—trust me, it’s exhausting.

AGENT MAY

[SARCASTIC] I’m sure it is.

AGENT JUNE

[AFTER A BRIEF PAUSE, HE SNORTS A LAUGH.] DVD rentals? Dude, who’s renting DVDs in the digital era of pirating—I mean, uh, legally buying and streaming everything online?

AGENT MAY

[DEADPAN] Nice catch.

AGENT JUNE

Anyways, where are we heading first? I’m guessing the motel?

AGENT MAY

Actually, we’re going to make a quick detour. Stop somewhere for a quick interview.

AGENT JUNE

[HE GROANS.] Seriously, dude? We have so much time to do that kind of stuff. Can’t we just, you know, relax for our first day? Settle into Weird Town, USA?

AGENT MAY

I’d like to start this mission off on a good foot. It would be valuable to meet some of the residents, see what they’re like. Besides, this particular individual is important enough that by establishing a relationship early on, it may be beneficial in the long run.

AGENT JUNE

Ugh, fine. Who is our person of the hour, then?

AGENT MAY

Actually, it’s less about the person and more about where they’re living.

[A BEAT.]

AGENT JUNE

Yeah, dude. Obviously. They’re living in Daughtler, Washington. You know, the place we’re investigating?

AGENT MAY

[OVERLAPPING] I mean their house.

Agent June, please, please tell me you know who Bernard Kelly Valencia is.

AGENT JUNE

Obviously, dude! That’s like asking a chemistry student if they know what an electron is. [THEN, UNDER HIS BREATH] Actually, I failed chemistry, so maybe that isn’t the best analogy.

But yeah. Bernard Kelly Valencia. Super weird dude that the entire town was kinda freaked by. Supposedly was well-known among the Ether community for his vast range of research conducted with Dorothy Wood. Nobody actually knows where all that work went after he and Dorothy died, though.

AGENT MAY

Actually, it’s possible some of it was left behind in his own house.

AGENT JUNE

Wait, seriously? Didn’t all of his belongings go to his son afterwards?

AGENT MAY

According to the original house plans, there’s an attic. His son, after leaving the house once and for all, never mentioned there being anything in the attic. This could mean it was just empty, but that fact would have to have been noted at some point. His son was thorough in his complaints about clearing his father’s house, from what we could find. It’s possible nobody ever even bothered to look up there.

AGENT JUNE

So you think he had something in his attic that just never got found?

AGENT MAY

That’s what the Foundation believes.

AGENT JUNE

Alrighty, then. That’s not too bad. We just break into a dead guy’s house and pillage through his attic. I mean, how hard can that be?

AGENT MAY

It’s not that simple. There’s a new tenant living there.

AGENT JUNE

Ahh, I see. Do you think they know?

AGENT MAY

Perhaps. There was a recent missing person report linked to the house—an inspector who the landlord sent out to investigate a supposed mold problem.

AGENT JUNE

Classic.

AGENT MAY

Which leads us to believe that the new tenant is at least familiar with Ether—assuming the mold problem was of supernatural origin, which is probable due to the house’s location and the report filed by the landlord describing the mold: yellow, with an odd scent.

AGENT JUNE

So, what’s our plan? Are we just going to go and ask to search the house?

AGENT MAY

Unfortunately, the Foundation couldn’t acquire a formal search warrant. We’ll have to convince the new tenant to let us in of their own free will.

AGENT JUNE

Who is this person, anyways?

AGENT MAY

Her name is Irene Gray. She’s twenty-one years old. Works as forestry aid.

AGENT JUNE

Do we know anything else about her?

AGENT MAY

Let’s just say the mold inspector isn’t the only missing persons case she’s connected to. Four years ago, an 18-year-old girl named Rosemary Quinn went missing. Officials think it’s likely she ran away. Irene Gray was Rosemary’s girlfriend. The police’s interview with Irene states that the two of them had planned on running away together not long after the date Rosemary had gone missing.

AGENT JUNE

Way to rat your girlfriend out like that.

AGENT MAY

She could have been desperate for any sort of lead, even if that meant getting herself and Rosemary in trouble. And she did get in trouble, I believe, though not with the law, per say. Irene couldn’t have known where Rosemary had gone, though. She was so emotionally devastated after the event, there was little chance she was faking it or lying to cover for Rosemary. She actually started therapy not long after.

AGENT JUNE

So, why does it matter? Did they ever find Rosemary?

AGENT MAY

Unfortunately, no. The official record states that the last place she was potentially seen was a local animal shelter, where she dropped off her cat, whose name she said was Sage. This, however, does not sync up with reports from her family claiming the cat’s name was Sir Griffin the Third, which led to some uncertainty. They had a difficult time tracking her after that, though. All they had to go off of was one potential gas station siting, but all that resulted in was another dead end.

AGENT JUNE

Uh, you still haven’t explained why any of this matters.

AGENT MAY

[FRUSTRATED] Could you just be patient for one— [HE HUFFS A SIGH.]

Look, it’s important because it’s unlikely Irene Gray will let us explore her house if we just ask nicely.

AGENT JUNE

So, we have to use bait?

AGENT MAY

It could be a mutually beneficial relationship, is what I’m saying. We both have something the other wants.

AGENT JUNE

Wait, does the Foundation, like, know what happened to that girl?

AGENT MAY

Not quite, but, potentially. I’ll show you what we have once we stop the car.

AGENT JUNE

Great! This should be interesting.

AGENT MAY

[UNDER HIS BREATH] I’m sure it will be.

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

[INT. IRENE GRAY’S HOUSE, MIDDAY.]

[IRENE IS ON A PHONE CALL WITH ADEN. ON HIS END OF THE LINE, THERE IS THE LOOPING SOUND OF A BROKEN FAX MACHINE ATTEMPTING, BUT FAILING, TO PROCESS PAPER.]

IRENE

It’s a fax machine. How do you not know how to use a fax machine? I’ve literally watched you do it before.

ADEN

Well, I thought I knew! And I mean, come on, how come you get to judge me when you can’t even use your phone properly?

IRENE

Oh, my god—Aden, it’s my day off. Can’t you just look it up?

ADEN

I don’t know how to describe the problem in a way a search engine will understand. It’s too—you know—specific.

IRENE

Ask someone there, then. Carol and Julia probably know better than I do.

ADEN

Julia’s sick, and Carol’s on some important phone call. Look, I just—if we have to replace this thing and it’s my fault, I’m going to freak out—

IRENE

Okay, wait until Carol gets off the phone and then—

ADEN

[WORRIED] What if it sets on fire or something?

IRENE

[FRUSTRATED] It won’t! It’s probably just jammed.

ADEN

But what if it does?

IRENE

[SNAPPING] Jeez, dude, just go find the manual! Why are you calling me?

ADEN

[PANICKED, STUTTERING] Because I’m panicking, alright? Look, ever, ever since the mold incident, I’ve been so scared constantly of everything. Every tiny thing that happens feels like it’s the end of the world, especially because that dude’s van went missing and it’s like you guys are just constantly waiting for the police to just show up at your door—

IRENE

[HER TONE SOFTENS, GROWING SYMPATHETIC] Oh, Aden—

ADEN

[CONT.] —and you and Carol almost died, and I did nothing. Okay? I sat in my office and talked to the knitted cat on my desk while I had a panic attack and did nothing.

I just want to find some way to, to do good, to fix something, but instead I think I ruined the fax machine and now I’m just failing you and Carol, again.

IRENE

[CHOOSING HER WORDS CAREFULLY] Hey. Look, I—I’m sorry I snapped. It’s not…it’s not that big of a deal.

ADEN

[COMING DOWN, GUILTILY] No, no, you’re right. I shouldn’t have called you on your day off.

IRENE

It’s fine. Seriously, don’t worry about it. Do you need me to go down there and look at it?

ADEN

No, don’t. I’m kinda starting to calm down, and I think if I can’t find the manual, I’ll just wait until Carol gets off the phone.

IRENE

That’s a good idea.

[A BEAT.] Um, if you need a distraction or anything, we can still talk for a bit. I know how anxiety can be.

ADEN

[SINCERE] That means a lot, Irene. Thank you.

IRENE

Of course.

Is there anything in particular you want to talk about?

ADEN

[A BEAT, THEN, HESITANT] I actually have a question. I’ve been thinking about it for a bit, but if it’s too personal, you don’t have to answer.

IRENE

I mean, I think you’ve already seen me at some pretty low points, so…

ADEN

[HE CHUCKLES.] Alright.

[CAREFULLY] You said you had a girlfriend who went missing.

IRENE

[A BEAT.] Yup.

ADEN

What was her name?

IRENE

[A HESITANT BEAT.] Rose. Er, you may have seen the name Rosemary Quinn at some point, but it was years ago.

ADEN

Yeah, I don’t remember. Sorry.

IRENE

It’s fine.

ADEN

What happened to her?

[THERE’S A PAUSE.]

IRENE

[GRIM] We never found out.

For a long time, I’ve thought that she just decided she was sick of her life as it was. Ran away to start a new one without telling anyone where she went. It would have made sense—she had planned on doing it for a while. Even took cash from her savings out in chunks so nobody would be able to track her card when she did. Her mother simply wrote this off as poorly thought-out impulse purchases.

We had planned our entire future together, though, and for her to just throw it out didn’t make sense, it—well… [SHE TRAILS OFF.]

ADEN

I’m sorry.

IRENE

I thought it was her mom at first, though. Grace Quinn. [SHE SAYS THE NAME WITH VENOM.]

They investigated Grace for domestic abuse. Believed Rose ran away to escape a dangerous situation. Upon Rose not answering her bedroom door, Grace, well…broke it down. Rose had locked it before she went out the window, and her mother just—decimated the doorknob to get in. At least, that’s what the police report says.

ADEN

Jeez.

IRENE

Without the child there, however, it was difficult to prove any abuse. I had some texts. Her aunts had a couple of anecdotes. That was all, though. Grace refused to admit to anything, of course.

ADEN

[HESITANT] Was there? Um, was there abuse?

IRENE

[A BEAT.] Yeah.

ADEN

I’m so sorry.

IRENE

It was rarely ever physical, but it definitely happened.

ADEN

I mean, if Rose was trying to escape something, I hope she was safe in the end.

IRENE

[PAUSE, THEN, SOFTLY, ALMOST SAD] I do, too.

[A BEAT.] That wasn’t all, though. Grace acted really strange afterwards. When police asked what had happened the night before, she said she couldn’t remember. Seriously, she didn’t have any concrete details. She said she had just woken up that morning and Rose was gone, but her story kept changing in little ways. It was disorienting.

She seemed…paranoid. Jumpy. Confused, even. Angry, but her anger wasn’t directed anywhere. I might have felt bad for her if just the thought of her hadn’t made my blood boil. I mean, I imagine your daughter going missing has gotta have some sort of effect on you, even if you’re not on good terms with her.

Grace wasn’t entirely there, though. Looking back, it’s a lot more clear. I…know some things, I didn’t know back then. I just, I wonder what was really wrong with her. I haven’t talked to her in years. Certainly not about to start now.

ADEN

I mean, I kinda sympathize with her, but also, she doesn’t sound like a great person.

IRENE

Oh no, she’s horrible. I know I should feel some remorse for all the awful things I’ve said about her, but I don’t. Not really.

When Rose first went missing, I became blinded by rage. I screamed at Grace when I saw her. Cursed in her face. Said it was all her fault, because I was—well, I was scared, and I had no other explanation. My dad had to drag me away before I attacked her.

ADEN

Jeez, Irene.

IRENE

I’m obviously better about my anger management now. Therapy at least did that for me.

ADEN

I mean, I get it. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you.

IRENE

Yeah. Um, yeah. [IT SOUNDS LIKE THERE’S SOMETHING ELSE SHE WANTS TO SAY.]

Thanks, Aden.

ADEN

Of course. If you…I mean, I know it’s been a while, but you can always talk to me about it. I’ve said that before, but, y’know.

IRENE

I appreciate it.

[A PAUSE.]

ADEN

I think Carol’s call ended.

IRENE

[TEASING] And did the fax machine catch on fire?

ADEN

[HE LAUGHS.] No. No, it did not.

[IRENE LAUGHS. ANOTHER PAUSE.]

IRENE

[MORE SERIOUS] Aden?

ADEN

Yeah?

IRENE

I’m…I’m working on something. It’s a personal project.

ADEN

[CAUGHT OFF GUARD] Oh. Okay.

IRENE

I don’t think I can tell you what it’s about, but…just so you know. I mean, I trust you, so.

ADEN

That’s—um, that’s fine. Uh, let me know if I can help at all?

IRENE

Sure. I’ll talk to you later.

[AS THEY SPEAK, THERE’S APPROACHING FOOTSTEPS ON ADEN’S END OF THE LINE.]

ADEN

You, too. Thank you again for talking.

IRENE

Not a problem. Bye.

ADEN

Talk to you soon!

CAROL

[IN THE DISTANCE] What did you do to the damn—?

[PHONE BEEP AS ADEN HANGS UP. IRENE SIGHS.]

IRENE

[CONFUSED] Oh, uh. Didn’t realize my phone was recording. [MUTTERS] When did that start? Guess I turned it on at some point.

[A BEAT.] Well, Rose. I’m talking to you now. Not just some figment of you in my head, but, you.

I know you’re going to hear these. I don’t know when, but you will. Of course you will.

[A BEAT.] Only problem is, I’m kind of at a dead end. My only lead so far is a mysterious recording that popped up on my laptop with no explanation. I have no idea how any of those files got there. Do I just have to wait until whatever weird force that gives them to me decides to throw one my way?

It’s like gambling at that point. I don’t know when I’ll get something or if what I find will be helpful or not. I mean, hell, I could get a new file on my computer and it’ll just be some voicemail I sent you sophomore year about baking brownies. Who knows what I’ll find or when I’ll find it?

I have to figure out something more reliable. Maybe figure out where the recordings are coming from, and if I can use whatever it is to my advantage. Or, I don’t know, Phoebe is coming over at some point to look in my attic. Maybe I should just—

[THERE’S A KNOCK AT THE FRONT DOOR.]

IRENE

…huh. Wasn’t expecting anyone.

[IRENE IS HEARD GETTING UP AND WALKING TOWARDS THE DOOR. AS SHE APPROACHES, THE AGENT'S MUFFLED ARGUING IS HEARD, GROWING LOUDER AS SHE GROWS NEAR.]

AGENT JUNE

[MUFFLED] I'm just saying, it could be pretty cool, you know? I'm all like, "Ooh, ahh, no, tell us what we wanna know, and you're like—"

AGENT MAY

[MUFFLED, OVERLAPPING ] June, you're too impressionable by all of these movies that you watch.

[IRENE OPENS THE DOOR, BUT THEY CONTINUE AS IF SHE ISN'T THERE.]

AGENT JUNE

[CONT.] No, no, listen. It could be great, it could be great! We could like, stand back to back, and like, ooh, finger guns—

AGENT MAY

No, I'm not doing finger guns!

IRENE

[OVERLAPPING] Um, can I help you?

AGENT JUNE

[TO AGENT MAY] Okay, but just try it—

AGENT MAY

[HARSHLY CUTTING HIM OFF.] Yes, actually. Is this the residence of Irene Gray?

IRENE

[SKEPTICAL] Who’s asking?

[AGENT MAY IS HEARD FLASHING HIS BADGE.]

AGENT MAY

We’re Agents May and June of The Harper Foundation. We’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.

IRENE

The hell is that?

AGENT JUNE

Ah, see, that’s the point: you’re not supposed to know. [A BEAT.] I mean, well, we do leave kind of cryptic ads in the local paper sometimes, but, still.

AGENT MAY

[UNDER HIS BREATH] Agent June.

AGENT JUNE

What? I don’t choose to put those weird ads there!

IRENE

[UNIMPRESSED] …so, what, you’re secret agents?

AGENT MAY

If you’d like to call us that. May we come in?

IRENE

Why?

AGENT MAY

We just need to ask you about a few things. I promise it won’t be long.

IRENE

…are you going to, what, search my house?

AGENT JUNE

You got something to hide?

IRENE

[DEFENSIVE] No! I’m sorry that I value my privacy.

AGENT MAY

We’re not searching your house right now. This will be much easier for all of us if you comply, Ms. Gray.

IRENE

[SHE THINKS FOR A MOMENT, THEN, DISGRUNTLED] Fine.

AGENT MAY

Thank you.

[IRENE IS HEARD LEADING THE AGENTS INTO HER HOUSE, CLOSING THE DOOR BEHIND THEM. THEIR FOOTSTEPS ARE HEARD AS THEY ENTER.]

AGENT JUNE

It’s a nice place you got here. Oh, wow, did you paint that yourself?

IRENE

It was a gift.

AGENT JUNE

Ah, gotcha, gotcha.

[THERE’S A PAUSE AS THEY STOP WALKING.]

IRENE

Well? Take a seat. Be my guest.

[AGENTS MAY AND JUNE ARE HEARD SITTING AT THE TABLE. THERE ARE TWO LOUD THUNKING NOISES, AS IF SOMEONE IS HITTING THE TABLE.]

AGENT MAY

Agent June, take your feet off the table.

AGENT JUNE

Sorry, sorry.

[SHUFFLING NOISES AS AGENT JUNE MOVES HIS FEET.]

IRENE

Can I get you both anything to drink?

AGENT JUNE

There are your manners!

AGENT MAY

[UNDER HIS BREATH] You’re one to talk.

AGENT JUNE

Whatcha got?

IRENE

Um, water? I could make coffee? I also have lemonade in the fridge, but that’s for emergencies.

[A PAUSE.]

AGENT JUNE

I think I’m in the mood for an emergency lemonade. You, Agent May?

AGENT MAY

I’m fine, thanks.

[AS THEY CONTINUE THE CONVERSATION, IRENE IS HEARD GRABBING THE LEMONADE OUT OF THE FRIDGE, TAKING A GLASS FROM THE CUPBOARD, AND POURING JUNE'S DRINK.]

AGENT MAY

How long have you lived here, Ms. Gray?

IRENE

Not long. I moved here for work.

AGENT MAY

And what do you do?

IRENE

[HASTILY] I’m an engineer.

AGENT JUNE

Mm! Enjoying the area so far?

IRENE

It’s nice. The people are friendly.

[SHE SETS AGENT JUNE’S LEMONADE DOWN ON THE TABLE.]

AGENT JUNE

Much obliged.

[HE TAKES A DRINK LOUDLY. IRENE SITS DOWN ACROSS FROM THE TWO OF THEM.]

IRENE

…well? You said you had questions.

AGENT MAY

We’re here to ask you about a missing person.

[A TENSE PAUSE.]

IRENE

Which one?

AGENT MAY

Which one are you thinking of?

IRENE

[SHE PAUSES.] Are you talking about Rosemary Quinn?

AGENT MAY

[A TENTATIVE PAUSE.] You and Rosemary were close, correct?

IRENE

Why do you care?

AGENT MAY

I’m asking a question. An answer would be nice.

IRENE

[HESITANT] I knew Rose, yeah.

AGENT MAY

When was the last time you saw her?

IRENE

Um, it was two days before her disappearance, I believe?

Look, this should all be on her file. I don’t see the need to recount this all to you unless they’ve opened the case again. Hell, you’re not even cops, are you?

AGENT JUNE

Oh, don’t be that way, Irene. I know this case isn’t as recent as the other one you’re involved with, but you should be able to remember, right?

IRENE

The—

[THERE'S A LOW, EERIE INSTRUMENTAL AS IRENE'S BLOOD RUNS COLD.]

IRENE

[BLUFFING] What other case?

[AGENT MAY SLIDES A PIECE OF PAPER ACROSS THE TABLE.]

AGENT MAY

You were the last person to see this man, correct?

IRENE

I, um, I don’t know him, no.

AGENT JUNE

You’re not as good at lying as you think you are, you know.

[HE'S HEARD FLIPPING OVER A PIECE OF PAPER TO EXAMINE IT.]

AGENT JUNE

[CONT.] I mean, why lie to us about your job, anyways? There’s no shame in being a forestry aid. I’m sure it’s a lovely profession.

IRENE

Who the hell are you people?

AGENT MAY

Relax, Irene. The Harper Foundation has already taken care of his vehicle and rerouted the case so it doesn’t trace back to you. Investigators will come up with a dead-end soon enough, and nobody will know what you did.

AGENT JUNE

You’re welcome for that.

IRENE

I— [THEN, GUILTILY] I didn’t kill him.

AGENT MAY

I’m sure you didn’t. That’s not important right now. We’re just trying to give you a nudge in the right direction so maybe then you’ll be inclined to tell us the truth.

IRENE

Why? What do you want from me?

AGENT MAY

If you’d give me a moment to speak, then I can explain.

[IRENE HUFFS A SIGH, BUT LETS AGENT MAY SPEAK. HE FLIPS OPEN A FOLDER.]

AGENT MAY

Are you aware of this house’s previous tenant?

IRENE

You mean Bernard Kelly Valencia? His reputation precedes him, but I never knew the guy.

AGENT MAY

That’s correct. We believe he left something behind after he died, however. Something that could be incredibly beneficial for the Foundation. Have you found anything like that?

[IRENE STAYS SILENT.]

AGENT JUNE

[WHISPERS TO AGENT MAY] I think she’s trying to plead the fifth.

AGENT MAY

We expected such stubbornness. We’re not asking you for this for free, you know. We believe we may also have something that would be beneficial for you.

IRENE

And, what is that, exactly?

AGENT MAY

I’m glad you asked.

[HE'S HEARD HANDING A PAPER TO IRENE. MYSTERIOUS MUSIC BEGINS PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND.]

AGENT MAY

Sometime in July, the same year Rosemary Quinn disappeared, a dusty yellow bicycle was found in the middle of nowhere in Oregon. It appeared to have had a broken piece in the front where a basket was supposed to be attached. It was never brought to the police, so unfortunately, it could never be examined as possible evidence.

AGENT JUNE

Hiker who found it posted about it on Twitter, though. The guy didn’t have many followers, so it never got traction.

AGENT MAY

This photo was taken not too far from Bent. If this is Rosemary’s bicycle, it could mean that we have a possible travel path for her after her disappearance.

[A TENSE PAUSE.]

AGENT JUNE

Oh, that was quite the shift in your expression, Irene. Have we struck a nerve? [MELODRAMATIC] I guess young love tends to leave such sore, open wounds, doesn’t it?

AGENT MAY

If you let us look at whatever it is Mr. Valencia left behind, we can help you find Rosemary Quinn. It may take some time, but we believe we can determine what happened to her. We just need your help.

[THE MUSIC STOPS. THERE'S A LONG PAUSE.]

IRENE

Get out.

[SHE'S HEARD GETTING OUT OF HER CHAIR.]

AGENT JUNE

Wh—hey!

IRENE

[GROWING MORE UPSET] Get out, I said. Get out!

[AS SHE SPEAKS, SHE'S HEARD PHYSICALLY GRABBING THE AGENTS AND PUSHING THEM OUT OF HER HOUSE. WHILE SHE'S AT IT, SHE GRABS THEIR FOLDERS AS WELL, THOUGH ONE PAPER STAYS BEHIND.]

AGENT JUNE

Hey, no, stop! You can't just grab our things like that! Please.

AGENT MAY

[OVERLAPPING, STUTTERING] Hey—!

[BOTH AGENTS STUMBLE OUTSIDE. IRENE IS HEARD THROWING THEIR PAPERS OUT THE DOOR.]

AGENT JUNE

Woah!

AGENT MAY

That's confidential information, you can't keep that in your house—

[SHE CUTS HIM OFF BY SLAMMING THE DOOR. THERE'S A PAUSE AS SHE BEGINS PACING THE FLOOR.]

IRENE

Who the hell do they think they are? Do they think I’m just some sort of—some sort of tool for them to use? Do they think they can dangle Rose over my head like I’m a dog with a bone, all over some—

[SHE PICKS THE PICTURE UP OFF THE TABLE, STOPPING HER PACING]

IRENE

Some picture of a bicycle?

[THERE’S A PAUSE AS IRENE STARES AT THE PHOTO, BEGINNING TO CALM DOWN.]

IRENE

[CAUTIOUS HOPE.] Is this really your bike, Rose? Why would you tear the basket off? You loved that basket. [WANDERING INTO DAYDREAM TERRITORY] You’d put flowers I got you in it and then ride around your block. Said it made you feel like you were in a painting.

[A BEAT.] Maybe I shouldn’t have kicked them—

[THERE’S ANOTHER KNOCK AT THE DOOR. IRENE STORMS BACK OVER TO IT.]

IRENE

[YELLING] I told you to get out! I’m not some stupid—

[SHE OPENS THE DOOR, AND REALIZES IT'S NOT THE AGENTS.]

IRENE

[EMBARRASSED] …dog.

TEEN

Well, I sure hope you’re not.

IRENE

[AWKWARDLY] Um, hi. Sorry, it’s just, someone else was just over and—

TEEN

Those two dudes? Yeah, they didn’t look very happy. That one guy, the one who had his tie undone for some reason, he had to chase one of the papers down the street. It was really funny.

IRENE

You were watching?

TEEN

Well, I didn’t realize you had a line going out your door of people waiting to talk to you.

IRENE

[DEADPAN] I’m new to the famous life.

TEEN

You’ll get used to it, I’m sure.

IRENE

Well, are you here to interview me and talk about my darkest secrets?

TEEN

That would be cool, wouldn’t it?

IRENE

[DISGRUNTLED] Not after the day I’ve had.

TEEN

Well, you see, I’ve actually been dying to meet you. My mom told me about you, said she met you at the store. I don’t know if you remember her, but from what she told me, it sounds like maybe you could use a bit of help.

IRENE

Your m— [IN SHOCKED AWE] Oh my god, are you the meat lady’s kid?

AVERY

Actually, my name is Avery.

Wanna grab lunch sometime?

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

Today's quote is: "Most of the people are homesick anyway, and a little lonely, and they hide themselves in their hair and are turned into flowers."

Tove Jansson in Sculptor's Daughter, 1968.

[A PAUSE AS A HOLLOW NOISE BEGINS TO GROW IN THE BACKGROUND, FOLLOWED BY STATIC.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

[SLOWLY, AS IF STRAINED] Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can feel it—

[THE VOICE IS CUT OFF BY STATIC.]

[OUTRO MUSIC & CREDITS PLAY.]

[AN EXTENDED PIANO VERSION OF THE NIGHT POST’S OPENING THEME PLAYS IN THE BACKGROUND.]

NIGHT POST PROMO

Hello there, citizen. You’ve lived in Gilt City for a while now. Maybe you’ve wondered, when you wake in the morning and retrieve the letters tucked neatly into your postbox, just where your mail comes from. It comes from the Night Post, of course. Those faithful couriers deliver it while you’re sleeping--all the better that they stay out of sight, and keep the unseemly strangeness that follows them out of our city, in the Skelter, where it belongs.

Ahem. If, for some reason, you’d like to know more about Gilt City’s conscripted couriers and the burden that chose them, their secret hopes and fears, the ancient, untamed threats that hound them on their nocturnal journeys--you have only to listen. The Night Post is a supernatural audio drama by an all-LGBT team, delivered weekly, in dead of night, to wherever you listen to podcasts.

Find answers at nightpostpod.com.

[soyouareandrewdobson]

There must be something in the water...

This comic by Dobson, is in my opinion one that really serves as one of the biggest self owns in his history, once you know a few things about the quote and are familiar with the work of the person who said it AND Dobson’s output .

See, the quote “My books are like water; those of the great geniuses are wine. Everybody drinks water.“ is alluded to none other than one of America’s greatest writers in the 19th century. Samuel L. Clemens. Or as he is known to many people worldwide, Mark Twain.

Now let me admit, I have not really read much of Clemen’s work in my life, but I have read articles about him, saw quotes of him, read up on his life as well as his social opinions and thanks to popculture osmosis I am aware of the plot outlines of works like “The Prince and the Pauper” and “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer”. I say plot outlines, cause lets face it, those movie adaptations we all know and love obviously miss the point of Clemens social satire he either hid well in his work or was as subtle as a sledgehammer to the head about.

Clemens in a way was an anti-Dobson. He came from a privileged upbringing, but took on a rather “low class” job in his youth before becoming famous through his writing. Similar to Dobson he hated racism, was obviously against conservative Christianity and for his time a “woke” fellow. But unlike Dobson, I think he did not just do it for virtue signaling, he genuinely believed in the cause and if he felt he went too far, he also apologized. Like his takes on Christianity certainly became more mellow later on in life (at least as far as I know)

 Additionally, Clemens was funny. He was critical of society and literature (I highly recommend you to read Fenimore Cooper’s Literary Offences to get just how brilliantly this man could dissect the work of others. Here is a link to it https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Literature/FenimoreCoopersLiteraryOffences )

Both in a way he would use snark to mock them, but also get a valid point across.

And the water line up there? In a way it is both the greatest ego boost, but also self deprecation he could go for.

See, the line actually goes like this

„My books are like water; those of the great geniuses are wine. (Fortunately) everybody drinks water.“

 The boost comes from the fact that he is essentially saying “everybody reads my books”. Which lets face it, was true. Clemens was read by many people, both scholars and people from the general public. He was legitimately popular, to the point that even 110 years after he died he is still well known. Not only his works, but the person himself has become an iconic figure in our cultural conscious. Or to focus on what was really important: Clemens: I make money through my writing, bitch!

Okay, he wouldn’t have said it like that, but he would have at least acknowledged that making good money through his work was a nice benefit.

But in the same way, the line is a bit of self deprecation and slightly humble. See, he says his books are water. Something basic, something not everyone can afford. While the books of great masters are like wine. Something not everyone can afford, but which is in a way “sophisticated” and will live on too, even in higher regards.

I bet that at times Clemens could be full of himself, but we have to understand, this was a man who could take criticism and give it. A man who understood also something about literature and had certain insights others did not have at his time. A deadpan snarker who when he got a positive review allegedly told one of his first critics something along the line of “You made me as happy as the white slave owner chick who realizes her kid was going to be white after all”.

So what I believe is that he was humble enough to see that there were also people better/more sophisticated than him, which he even looked up too and whose work he compared with wine. People by whom he as a creator was like water in comparison. But thankfully (or rather, fortunately) everyone drinks waters aka “reads” the stuff he writes and therefore guarantees his career.

Which honestly, I consider also something of a truth some content creator should go for. Look, I am not saying that we should stop trying to go for something meaningful when we create art or tell stories, but in a way if Clemens was alive today, he would consider his water statement just further confirmed in the way a lot of popcultur works nowadays. Best example, Marvel movies. Marvel movies, as entertaining as they are, are basically just water (or soda), compared to genuine artistic movies or movies with deeper social issues in them. And yet, those movies make money and seem to connect with people at times better than something more “sophisticated”. Go figure.

 But, back to Dobson for a bit, okay?

See, for Clemens the water line made sense, because again, his works were popular and understandable for everyone, making them as accessible as water. But for Dobson? Oh boy… For starters, if we compare their achievements in life so far Clemens already wins. Cause by the time he was 39 (Dobson’s current age at the time this post is written) Clemens was successful under his pseudonym by writing multiple articles and short stories, including The Innocent Abroad, Roughin It and Tom Sawyer. He was also married and was involved in multiple businesses. Dobson meanwhile had attempted to create the following comic series Patti, Formera, Percy Phillips, Legens/Alex ze Pirate, Danny & Spots, Brentalfloss Comics and they all sunk faster than the Titanic. Okay, not the Brental Floss Comcis, those just ended because Brentalfloss thought it was time to end it, but still.

Four major stories he supposedly wanted to write abandoned because they did not earn him the reputation he wanted and one unpopular out of touch gaming comic strips where the punchline was that a rejected clone of Cubitus with the Marsupilami (go look them up) liked the Wii, while its owner/friend was a hardcore PS3 gamer who obviously always needed to be in the wrong because after all, only troglodytes play non nintento consoles.

All his major books got rejected by the public, because the writing was either not good or the artwork was at best mediocre at worst something people on manag forums could draw better when doing fanart.

And yet here we have Dobson, using another ones famous and funny line claiming “his books are like water. Everybody drinks water” indicating amongst other things “everyone reads my books and they are easily accessible”.

No, that is a freaking lie. No one read your books, most of them are not accessible to anyone because they are either out of print or you could not see them anywhere if you dig up as deep as possible online (see my paywall post earlier this week). And when people read your books common criticisms included how unoriginal and aimless your stories would feel (Formera), how derivative characters were from other fictional characters (Alex ze Pirate is e.g. just Lina from Slayers but with the bitchy temper of a Rumiko Takahashi character) and how unlikable most characters would just be (see everyone in Alex ze Pirate except the Ninja Girl and Sam).

 Or to put it in Clemen’s work when describing the sins of Cooper’s Deerslayer, your works tend to break among other things the following rules:

- … A tale shall accomplish something and arrive somewhere. But the Deerslayer tale accomplishes nothing and arrives in the air.

- They require that the episodes of a tale shall be necessary parts of the tale, and shall help to develop it. But as the Deerslayer tale is not a tale, and accomplishes nothing and arrives nowhere, the episodes have no rightful place in the work, since there was nothing for them to develop.

- They require that when the personages of a tale deal in conversation, the talk shall sound like human talk, and be talk such as human beings would be likely to talk in the given circumstances, and have a discoverable meaning, also a discoverable purpose, and a show of relevancy, and remain in the neighborhood of the subject in hand, and be interesting to the reader, and help out the tale, and stop when the people cannot think of anything more to say. But this requirement has been ignored from the beginning of the Deerslayer tale to the end of it.

- They require that crass stupidities shall not be played upon the reader as "the craft of the woodsman, the delicate art of the forest," by either the author or the people in the tale. But this rule is persistently violated in the Deerslayer tale.

- They require that the personages of a tale shall confine themselves to possibilities and let miracles alone; or, if they venture a miracle, the author must so plausibly set it forth as to make it look possible and reasonable. But these rules are not respected in the Deerslayer tale.

- They require that the author shall make the reader feel a deep interest in the personages of his tale and in their fate; and that he shall make the reader love the good people in the tale and hate the bad ones. But the reader of the Deerslayer tale dislikes the good people in it, is indifferent to the others, and wishes they would all get drowned together.

And now replace the Deerslayer tale with Alex ze Pirate/Formera and tell me those rules are not broken.

I am sorry, I get Dobson just wanted to be more sophisticated and give himself a slight ego boost and trick his readers into thinking he is deeper in his thinking than he really is. But if Dobson’s books are like water, said water is somewhere in the desert in an almost empty well that has also been poisoned. Either it gets detoxed and filtrated for consumption or you are better off drinking your own piss. Which is Clemens code for “write fanfiction”.

[greyias]

OC Asks 3. How did you choose their name?

Also asked by @captainderyn​

Hahahahaha… okay, the short answer?: I’m an idiot. I didn’t realize I was going to love this game or this character as much as I did.

The long answer, well, I’ve alluded to it once or twice in the past, but I guess I should actually delve into it for real. But under a cut, because it’s probably going to get long.

I’m not sure if this should come with any kind of warning, but it’s kind of long and does delve into some personal stuff. So hopefully that doesn’t bother anyone!

Okay, so, when I first heard about this game in 2011, I had been out of fandom for several years, and had played a few MMOs here and there, but never really got into them for very long, mostly because I got bored very quickly with how repetitive they were. And then I read about this supposedly story and character-driven MMO, and I was intrigued. I was talking to my sister-in-law at the time about it, and ultimately realized I’d never be able to play because I didn’t have a PC capable of running it, and I was heavily into debt because of medical issues, to the point where I was having a difficult time affording my car payment, mortgage, and groceries.

So then Christmas rolls around, and my family has just about finished all of the presents when my brother and his wife go and bring in a special gift they’d been working on for several months: a frankensteined gaming PC that had one game installed on it, with several months of a subscription pre-paid: Star Wars the Old Republic

Needless to say, I was kind of bawling because no one had ever done something that nice to me before. And like? It’s kind of hard to describe what that previous year had been like without having a long, long side story but… it was difficult. It kind of sounds melodramatic to say it was hellish, but looking back on it? It kind of was. I was barely doing anything besides surviving, much less having fun. And here my sister-in-law had actually listened to a one-off conversation about how I was interested in this game but probably would never be able to play it, and like… took it upon herself to make that happen.

So of course the first thing I do is hook up my brand FrankenPC, load up the only game on it, and create a character! But it’s a MMO – and even though it’s billed on being story and character-based, I kind of don’t really believe it? Or at least don’t think my character is going to matter. So I do what I did with every other MMO, I used my online nickname to make a character (Greyias) so my friends can recognize me if they’re in-game, create a character that vaguely looks like me, and get to adventuring! 

The last name came when they rolled out legacies, and hey, I used “Highwind” for my short-lived Pirates of the Caribbean MMO toon. It’s also the last name for one of the main characters in my abandoned steampunk novel series, but that’s another story for another time.

(And then after about three days of learning the mechancis, re-roll said character on a different server, because OOPS! That wasn’t the server my brother and sister-in-law had started their guild on. She looked a little less like me this time. Probably should have changed the name, but I just wanted to see how the story turned out and eventually quest with my fam)

I realized my mistake around Coruscant when Kira joined up as a companion and I went “…uh oh.”

Because I’ve started to recognize I get a certain feeling when I like something, really like something to the point when I get… ideas. Story ideas. Character conversations and wondering “what if”. Of course, this is still in the open beta period, the game hasn’t even launched yet, there’s still long queues to log in and the grind is real, and I just want to see where this story is going and what Darth Angral is going to do, and why is this character so damn sincere and genuine and I don’t like characters that are the literal embodiment of sunshine, I like snarky snarksters and–oh. No I actually do like the Sunshine Jedi. A lot.

Now, a few of you may be like “I really don’t see what the problem is” – this is kind of an old school thing, and something that seems to have thankfully gotten a lot of pushback in the time since I had left fandom and the time since I rejoined it, and that is: The Dreaded Mary Sue

From about the time I had started writing fic when I was in my early teens and onwards it had been drilled into my head that Mary Sues were a bad thing. And self-inserts were worse. Especially if they were *gasp* FEMALE CHARACTERS. (We can’t have those girls having characters they identify with now, can we?) And like, those very relevant discussions aside, I was kind of… ashamed? That I had made a self-insert without realizing it? Despite the fact that like, the character that resulted from my playthrough was very much not me. Like, a significantly different person.

But I was starting to get story ideas and snatches of character bits, and like, I hadn’t written in so long, I hadn’t been inspired in so long. And honestly I just loved this little do-gooder goober, in all of her naive, happy-go-lucky glory. As well as her red-headed sidekick and this amazing dynamic that I had only really seen depicted between male characters previously. And so I promised myself if I got a story idea, I’d write it out and… just change Grey’s name to something else. So no one would know my secret crime, and I would be free, freeeee to scribble in the margins of canon.

It was a great plan, except, I had been playing with subtitles for the game on, so every time Grey would speak, her name would appear above it. And wouldn’t you know? I associated that name with that face, and well, I didn’t get that story idea yet, so it was. Fine I tell you. FINE.

I kept playing the game. In fact, I played the game a lot in the middle part of 2012, because wouldn’t you know? I had another round of medical issues that put me on short term disability and I actually had to retrain my body to sit in a chair for long periods of time (look, it’s a really long story, and this post is long enough as it is). So let’s just say… I got really attached to my little Sunshine Jedi who could go out and save the galaxy when I could barely walk a hundred feet.

And continued to play it off and on over the following years, until finally, finally the devs removed the grind wall in preparation for KotFE, and I was able to finish the Jedi Knight storyline and see where her story ended up. Then I played the next expansion on Makeb. Which was fun. Then I made the mistake that we all know I was eventually going to make: I played Shadow of Revan.

And met Theron fucking Shan. And my perfect little Jedi suddenly fell in love and oh crap. I’m escaping out of cutscenes to rewatch them. Like rewatching them an absurd amount of times. And as I’m going to sleep I’m like, getting entire bits of narration and brand new scenes and fic ideas in my head, and oh god. It finally happened. I try and resist the pull, but I play up through KotFE and I have no more story to stall any more. And the snippets just keep lulling me to sleep every night and… okay.

I probably need to rename this character now. Like, there’s an actual ability to do that in-game so I should get to it. Chop chop.

Nothing works. Nothing at all works. This should not be that hard, she can have any name, no one will know. Why can’t I think of a different name? I go to every single name site known to man, and none of them are her. Besides the fact, that’s her name, and I’m starting to feel kind of guilty for taking it away from her. Poor girl has been through so much in canon and now I’m taking away her name? What kind of monster am I? Okay, fine. I roll up a different Knight during the Dark vs Light event, gave that one an actual name that was not my online writer name just to see if I could trick my brain into writing about them.

Nope.

Maybe I’ll change my online name? “Let her keep the name Grey and I can just have a different name and…” – at this point I’m starting to realize I might be getting slightly neurotic over this whole thing.

Completely annoyed with myself for spending nearly a year trying to come up with a new name I’m starting to get desperate, thinking up ways to maybe just… write around it and not let people know her name until they maybe fall in love with her and hopefully just forget how it’s weird. That can work right? Okay, whatever at least I’m writing and it’s shutting these two up, and it’s all going good for several stories in and then suddenly I get to a scene that has more than one female character and I’m like “Shit… the jig is up.”

Meanwhile, I’ve started up a Dragon Age Origins playthrough, and like a dumbass, DO THE EXACT SAME THING with a female Cousland, and start whining to poor @for-the-flail on Twitter, on my fainting couch about how I can never write this character’s name because I named her after myself, and, bless her heart, she’s just like: “…um. Why?”

And I’m like “Because… we share a name… and that’s weird for people…?”

She goes “It’s not that weird. Why don’t you just write your stories? People will like them or not.”

And sheepishly, I realized she was right, and stopped being so diligent about hiding poor Grey’s name, and eventually, because you are all such lovely and encouraging people, eventually embraced it. (Come to think of it, I never did wind up writing about poor Cousland!Grey. Oops.)

So! That’s the long and ramble story of how she got her name and why it never changed despite my best efforts.

In summary: I’m an idiot 🤷‍♀️ but I think you guys love me anyway?

[derkastellan]

Review & Playtest: Creep, Skrag, Creep! (DCC)

I have a comparatively long history with the Dungeon Crawl Classics (DCC) RPG, and when I wanted to ease my GM-ing burden recently, I convinced my group to dedicate half our sessions to playing premade modules for this game. The reasons were simple - hardly any publisher I know makes so many good, fun modules consistently as Goodman Games does, the system is also simple, and one of my players owned the core book without ever having played it.

I personally tend to believe that fantasy is best seen from a horror angle. I mean, look at the content of a typical monster manual! And the flavor text is probably the only thing worse than the pictures, usually adding gruesome details awaiting those tricked or bested by those critters. So I was happy when M. found me a funnel made by Goodman Games that I not only already owned, but that was designated as part of their new horror line.

I emphasize found, because navigating the online store I had relied on tags and not come over this one. Better clean that one up, Dark Lord... But the search did do its job. Another oddity is that Creep is apparently #5 in the new DCC Horror line, but the only other adventure I saw was Sinister of the Sempstress which supposedly #2. It seems the Halloween line has been rebranded, but I guess this rebranding will be only complete when the other modules in it will be reprinted. 

If this gives them a reason to release more of them than just once per year I’m all for it. Sadly, Creep is an ambitious module with many flaws, not living up to its potential... 

Lists for lists’ sake

What does this adventure have aplenty? Tables to roll on. Kinda pointless tables. Features that lead nowhere. Ill-designed tables.

Example #1: Rumor table. There are 12 rumors, so of course you roll a d12... per player character. This is a funnel! If you have, as intended, 12-16 PCs you get a good chance that most rumors are known. Just drop the exposition already - or is there value in not knowing this? A good share of the foreshadowing and telegraphing of upcoming down in this module is lost if nobody gets the ill or good omens from the rumor table...

Example #2: Quirky Personality Traits table. 14 entries, roll a d14... these vary between “annoying” (refuses to cooperate with a given other PC, being a smartass), game-impairing (fear of heights, fire, the dark, open water??), or actually seemingly useful (except not really). If you have 3-4 PCs, try keeping track of these. Funnels aren’t great role-playing opportunities - it’s hard enough to get players to name all of their PCs at times. Now you have suddenly 3 people in the group afraid of something rather common... the only positive impact on the game this typically has is probably that it sorts out “who does what” - a typical cause of delay in funnels since players have to chose who takes part in any action or who goes where. PCs afraid of heights probably don’t go into the crow’s nest. But most likely of all, this adds nothing to a good share of games.

Example #3: Ship’s Ledger. Lists crew manifest. Unfortunately unsuitable as a handout because it contains info the players don’t have, but is indicated to the judge to refer to when the PCs read the ledger in-game. (And not all NPCs have names. Great list.)

Example #4: Sailor Tattoos. You need to make a Luck check to determine whether you successfully render the tattoo in such quality that it conveys a positive effect in the adventure. No tattoo has an effect that has in-game use! No mechanics, zilch.This is the reward for wasting a turn in a game where every three turns a monster attack of increasing difficulty happens! Plus one tattoo makes no sense at all: “Black Dragon: Symbolizes that the sailor has sailed to the Black Sea of the Aghartan Underworld.” This sounds cool, but if you look at the “Journey to the Center of Aereth” adventures this is not only nigh-impossible to do, but also even harder to return from. A DCC-ism: It sounds metal badass, but signifies nothing.

Example #5: The Tacuinum Sanitates. This one takes the cake. It gives you a list of unspecific effects some ingredients have, assigns some of these effects spell equivalents, then leaves it to the Judge to decide what to actually do with it. No mechanics - except for the two (actually identical) applications of direct use in the adventure. A rather typical one for this adventure - a decent idea, poor execution. Decent because it adds some mildly magical treasure without making the PCs OP (as they likely will have to burn Luck to cast anything at all), but mostly just confusing, and if there are spell effects, the spells have no bearing on the adventure.

By the time I had read the adventure in full, I had gotten pretty annoyed with the misleading nature of all these lists crammed into the adventure.

Interesting story mechanic, partially broken

Creep, Skrag, Creep! is basically turning the story of the movie Alien into something suitable for a fantasy RPG. You have a creature you cannot truly beat or trap (which makes it less fair than the setup of Alien 3, thinking of it...). The creature will come at you every half hour of in-game time, try to take out two PCs, make off with their livers if it can, and come back again.

The time-tracking element works. But it conflicts with another element. Each room in the game has a description whether the beast will attack there. Some say it will not attack in that place. Some say it always will. It seemed intriguing enough when reading it, but fell apart in play.

My players went down first. None of the bottom half of the ship has a monster attack in it. Nor has the main deck or the crow’s nest. This limits the beasts’ attacks to the forecastle, poop deck, and 4 out 5 rooms accessible from main - and a timed attack in the rigging. My players basically had no chance encountering the creature as their given course through the decks took them a long time until finally somebody went into the crow’s nest.

Best part? The description of how the creature attacks the person in the rigging kind of violates DCC’s basic movement rules: "[T]he Creature will emerge from underwater, scale the hull, and then drag itself over the bulwark into the forecastle (area F-1). From there, the Creature will nimbly climb across the ropes to attack the PC clinging to the rigging.” Try adding all of that together and the creature travels a couple hundred feet - in what time? It moves 30′ and climbs 20′. Unless this was meant to be fair to the PC as it gives time to escape, it would be hard to run without violating the rules of movement.

So, many times no attack happens. Or it contradicts some other part. The creature is not terribly hard to fight - unless you insist on blocking players from taking part because there are not enough 5′ squares. But with minimal losses they dispatched it multiple times. It was more annoyance than horror. A few lucky rolls from the demonic pigs killed more PCs than the creature almost. So, in order to make it challenging putting the whole thing on the map with minis is probably your best bet. (Except the map accompanying the game is not suitable to be player-facing or to be a direct reference for drawing many areas of the ship. DCC maps look awesome but usually aren’t the most usable.)

The thing never got to harvest a liver through regular combat. It didn’t live long enough to do two PCs in and escape. But in one other (”scripted”) occasion it actually is enormously strong and hard to beat without burning Luck - it has a +6 Strength bonus in a comparative roll leading directly to death on failure. Essentially an undeclared trap. So, this was the time it was most threatening - basically a scripted thing, not combat. The story would have benefited (as a horror story) from crafting more such moments. Alas, there are none.

Instead the creature usually seemed not-so-threatening, a real problem for a horror story. Besides, the players vanquished it several times without truly making the connection it was the same creature after all. Also, some “creature ambush” notes are useless because they assume all PCs enter a place together. Some of these places do not have enough squares for all PCs to fit in there even if you ignore all the furniture in the flavor text. I know PCs consume less space outside of combat, but still this makes little sense. Seldom was the whole party in one location, half of it was on the main deck usually - rendering the ambush setups half-moot.

Ignoring the red flag

“This removes any doubt as to whether the players should attempt to flag down the pirates—a frequent source of playtester debate often ending in TPKs.“

My players, like apparently some playtesters, chose to get away from the pirates which would make the adventure unwinnable but good sense. Luckily for me (and them) they cast “dispel magic” on the creature and burnt enough luck to banish it (one of the described effects), ending the adventure in an unexpected, almost anti-climactic way. But hey, this was indeed a DCC thing to do. Burn through your luck and live by a crazy feat of daring.

If the adventure designer plans the solution to depend on a really desperate move he better foreshadow it accordingly. But every scrap the players read or hear in rumor makes them want to avoid the pirates. Why is it up to the GM running this one to make up for this problematic adventure design?

Conclusion

This is hardly the only thing that should have been cleaned up before publishing this one. Many things were poorly described which made me wonder if this was run by the author mostly - surely someone who knew how things are supposed to work and might have missed on spelling it all out. This leaves a lot of things for the person running the adventure to work out. Something I do not want in a published adventure. This should have been fixed in editing and playtesting, so I’m surprised that this never got caught.

What am I left with is the impression of an ambitious idea for a tightly run funnel poorly executed. Not devastatingly bad, but not up to what I expect of the series or its authors. Compare “Sour Spring Hollow”, a nasty little horror romp by Michael Curtis who resulted in my first funnel TPK. I’ve run it twice and played it once before that, and it always was a real meatgrinder that kept players urgently scrambling for a solution to their predicament. Both funnels share that they are confined to a tight location with the purpose of survival, with periodic events. 

Creep tried to give the feel of being stalked like in Alien but its written mechanics fail to do achieve that. It is probably much more exciting when experienced run directly by the author - or any judge who ignores how it is written and just goes with whatever feels right in a given situation. It goes without saying that no written mechanic can replace the intuition of a good GM, but it should run well enough as written to deliver a decent result, and if it can’t do that should give the GM guidelines how to run the monster in a convincing way instead. You don’t run Strahd in Ravenloft by mechanics, you get into how he rolls and the location. If the game had been written around ambushes and splitting the party, that would have probably worked a lot better, too.

As it stand this was my weakest funnel. I’ve run The Portal Under The Stars, Sour Spring Hollow, Sailors on the Starless Sea (adapted as funnel), Nebin Pendlebrook's Perilous Pantry, and Hole in the Sky, and this one seemed to be a letdown in comparison. I had higher expectations and wouldn’t recommend running it in its current form.

[mirandalinportfolio]

VICE: Face Shapes and Blood Types: Wading into the World of Online Dating in China

The Mandarin term shengnu literally means “leftover woman.” It was coined to describe China’s growing crop of middle-class women who, thanks to new educational and economic opportunities, have been able to rise to unprecedented ranks within Chinese society—at the expense of their love lives. Nearing (or, heaven forbid, passing) the age of 30, these women find themselves materially successful but romantically unattached.

As a female in her mid-20s, living in China with a graduate degree and no significant other, I’ve been particularly sensitive to the term’s use. But while local media and gossipy mothers often use it derisively, my leftover sisters and I have come to embrace it as a badge of honor worn by independent women who know what they want and are unwilling to settle.

We shengnu are in dual position of being supposedly desperate, but in actuality having all kinds of men to choose from. In 2003, Gong Haiyan, a single coed from Shanghai, started the online date site Jiayuan.com (“Beautiful Destiny”) because she was frustrated by the lack of legitimate dating options she found around her. The bare-bones website she initially sketched out has since grown into China’s largest online-dating website, with over 56 million registered users, more than OKCupid and PlentyOfFish combined.

Like Gong Haiyan, I have, in my years in China, had little luck on the traditional meat market, so I decided to see if her internet service, and a few others like it, could be a better matchmaker for me.

Signing up for an account on Jiayuan or any of China’s other big-three dating services starts like most sites: cheesy screenname, recently created email account, vaguely accurate description of age and looks. But just like democracy, dating in China has developed distinct Asian characteristics. Your blood type, face shape, and willingness to have your future in-laws live with you are treated as basic information (O-positive, duck-egg-shaped, to be discussed when the time comes, for the record).

My profile photo also proved to be a sticking point. It was rejected three times, initially because I chose some abstract avatar, then because not enough of my face was visible. “Show the world who you really are,” the site moderator urged. Although that struck me as contrary to everything the internet stands for, I submitted my passport photo and was passed to the next phase.

While most of your profile’s essentials can be filled out with the help of a drop-down menu, the final stage requires a personalized self-introduction. A provided example on Zhenai.com (“Precious Love”) is instructive as to what kind of women the service is appealing to:

Before, in order to focus on my studies, my mom didn’t let me date. Now, because of work, I don’t have time to date. As time passed, I suddenly discovered I’d already become one of the “shengnu.”Actually my demands for my other half aren’t that high. He doesn’t have to be that handsome, or that wealthy, but he must be motivated, responsible, obedient, and that’s about all. I have great hopes and visions for my future, but I hope to accomplish them with the person I love….

It was flattering but not altogether too surprising that within minutes of activating my profile, my inbox was flooded with messages. The first came from a 26-year-old, O-type (hurray our children, or rather our child, will be a universal donor!), triangle-faced man named “Poisonsc…” But as I browsed through his profile, alarm bells quickly went off. He was a private entrepreneur. He listed his monthly income as 3-5,000 renmindi per month (equal to about $480-800 dollars, an average white-collar salary). He didn’t own a car or a house yet. No wonder he was single.

With the growing numerical disparity and social parity between sexes, women know that not just anyone will do anymore. Owning a car and home are standard expectations before marriage. A candidate’s appeal rises if he has a five-figure monthly salary and stable career (state-owned corporations are best), but falls if that means he has to work overtime and thus won’t be around to whisk his partner off on romantic dates. Modern China’s romance with materialism was epitomized on the popular TV dating game show “Are You The One”, when one contestant famously claimed she’d rather cry in the back of a BMW than smile on a bicycle.

Baihe.com (meaning “Lily”, but also literally “Hundred Matches”) makes it easy to weed out the scrubs. Users can sort users by age, height, education, and income. Though IRL I’d like to think I’ve never judged any person by such narrow criteria, I decided if I was going to date in China, I had to do it with a Chinese mindset. So clicking the obvious choice, I browsed on.

The top hit was a block-headed 30-year-old with a lush head of hair named Heavy. The self-described “Chairman-looking” home-owner had posted half a dozen photos of him frolicking on an exotic beach. He clearly had the right salary-to-free-time ratio.

Like nearly every male profile I browsed, though, Heavy had almost no demands of his partner. He wanted someone between 24-28 years old, 140-175 cm tall, preferably ethnically Han. But income, education, and housing situation—factors that can make or break a man's prospects—were all listed as “no preference.”

Despite the cold rationalism that seems to surround these sites, all these sites still cling to the sweet romantic notions. It's about finding your other half. Each user, before finalizing their profile, must check off a box affirming their good moral character and honest intention to search for a spouse on the site, NOT a one-night stand. Bang With Friends, this most certainly is not.

But while sites try to ensure pureness of heart, there's no escaping the internet's inherent ability to con, especially in a country that trades on its ability to mass produce fake Chanel purses and pirated DVDs.

When I began my online search, the Chinese Lunar New Year was fast approaching. It’s a time when virtually everyone in the country returns home, gathers with their loved ones, and is ruthlessly interrogated about their personal lives. Accordingly, internet message boards light up with ads seeking and offering rental girlfriends and boyfriends. Taobao, China’s version of eBay, for a while banned the search term altogether.

“Busy at work, no time to consider relationships,” reads a typical message. “Can anyone help me cope with the parental pressure?”

Though joke and scam posts are rampant, I decided to respond to one that at least sounded thorough. User 19760923b was a 32-year-old male, Master’s degree, 180 cm, 75 kg, “probably considered good looking” seeking a 25- to 30-year-old female for an eight day "rental" to northeastern China.

“I’m just a regular office worker, not anyone rich, so anyone looking to get rich or become a mistress please don’t apply. If you’re too ugly or too fat, it will tip my parents off, so sorry, you won’t be considered.” What a charmer.

19760923b promised the rental wouldn’t be required to sleep in the same room or perform any kissing and fondling, though she “must be willing to hold hands.” He offered 300-800 Renminbi per day, negotiable. The deal also included train tickets to and from Beijing. If necessary, he’d be willing to also accompany his rental girlfriend to her hometown.

Using a mix of my latent Chinese class skills and Google Translate, I wrote a brief note expressing my desire to fake it. Within a couple of hours, I received an email: “Thank you for your reply, but I don’t think you will be a good match to bring home.” Even to play a sham girlfriend, the rejection felt real.

But my heartbreak was soon eased. A bounty of new "flirts" and "winks" were waiting in my inbox. One man in particular, using the name “Single-Minded,” had sent 13 messages in a span of 35 minutes. Though back home such over-eagerness would be ruthlessly mocked over a round of drinks with girlfriends, in China, it felt reassuringly sincere.

“Your subtle smile makes my heart jump,” cooed his first message. “I love to smile too. I hope we can smile together. Can I get to know you more?”

Mousing through his profile, I learned he was university educated, a car and home owner, and employed in finance by a Fortune 500 company. I was already imagining my mother’s approving nod.

In his next note, he waxed even more poetic: “In the whole world, who knows how many millions of people pass us by, but fate made me stop and look at your photo. I hope you will look back at me.”

His clear, unobstructed profile photo showed an athletically built man in his early 30s, with hair gelled into the snow cone swirl common among aspiring C-Pop stars. He was also wearing what looked like a lumpy holiday sweater knit by his grandmother. A sign of filial piety, I hoped.

As I clicked to respond, a screen flashed open offering me a series of ready-made responses. There was the generic, “Thank you for your interest. Please tell me more: ^.^” Or the flirtier, “If you read my message, write back so I know you reciprocate O(n_n)O.” Or the straightforward rejection: “Thank you for your interest. I don’t think our circumstances are a fit. Good luck, hope you find your soulmate.” I wondered if 19760923b had copied his response from here.

But as I considered what level of emoticon flirtation to use, I realized Single-Minded’s messages had also been computer generated. A row of tabs suggested dozens of opening lines, categorized from "funny" to "cute." Worst of all, my Single-Minded suitor had chosen from the "standard" section. He didn’t even use a creative scripted response!

Outraged, I aired my sense of betrayal to a male Chinese friend. Far from sharing my indignation, though, he bashfully confessed that at the age of 25 and just entering his first official relationship, he too had used a move learned from an American teen soap. How else, he asked, were young people, sheltered by overprotective parents since birth and often right through their adult lives, supposed to know how to hit on girls?

If, as they say, Chariman Mao abolished arranged marriages in 1951 after his own unhappy experience with the practice during his first marriage, the system that’s replaced it hasn’t made finding a genuine connection any easier for Chinese men and women. In the end, I got rejected for the role of a rental girlfriend, used an algorithm to pick out men by their income and blood type (which I later discovered in Asia is associated with certain personality types similar to zodiac signs; type-Os are ambitious, self-confident, and recommended to eat extra poultry and fish), got wooed by a succession of swirly-haired men with scripts, and continue to be harassed by all three dating companies trying to sell me additional matchmaking services. But I am still no closer than before to finding my soulmate.

And probably even further from finding a one-night stand.

https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/yv5987/face-shapes-and-blood-types-wading-into-the-world-of-online-dating-in-china

[godrive]

With everyone and their grandmas getting their hands on a keyboard and the internet, we tend to encounter typographical errors in social media on a regular basis. While this is generally harmless, it may cause ridicule and misunderstanding among peers – clearly something we don't want to happen. And when it comes to automotive jargon – language that is pretty much complicated on its own – getting technical terms wrong can mean getting the wrong part altogether.

For this feature we'll break down some common typographical errors we've encountered throughout years of trawling the internet. While you may find some of these quite laughable, you'd be surprised as to how many folks still tend to say them the wrong way. Our purpose for laying all of these out is to educate and hopefully correct anyone who may end up using these terms in the near future. So let's begin:

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EXHIBIT A: BREAKS vs. BRAKES

Wrong: What is the best brand of break pads?

Correct: What is the best brand of brake pads?

Usage: Referring to the system (or parts of the system) that stops the car or the pedal that activates the system

How: Brake > Break

When you're looking for pads for the system that stops your car, you won't want to tell the shop that you want a pad to destroy your car, right? Writing you want a 'Break Pad' may just mean something as absurd as that to another person – we just don't know if anyone's willing to supply you with one. That said, a 'Brake Pad' is the friction material that brings the rotors connected to your wheels to a stop. Your Brake System is a key component of your vehicle and your safety, so it's only appropriate to do it justice by spelling it correctly. The word ‘brake’ can also be used to refer to the pedal that activates the system. This error may have surfaced because both words sound exactly the same – and most may think that they’re spelled only one way.

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EXHIBIT B: THIN CAN BODY vs. TIN CAN BODY

Wrong: Lady driven, casa-maintained, thin can body.

Correct (ish): Lady driven, casa-maintained, tin can body.

Usage: Used in car ads to say vehicle has no body putty from previous accident repairs

How: Lata > Tin > Thin

The word 'lata' in Filipino pertains to a positive trait of a car's body. This means it is still made straight out of metal without any imperfections corrected by body filler (that's 'masilya', folks). This usually means a vehicle has not been involved in any collision whatsoever throughout its history – and is a word you'll frequently see on second-hand car ads. That said, the term 'lata' can be translated to english as having a 'Tin Can Body' and can be interchangeably used. You know how some folks add an ‘h’ to a child’ name to give it an extra twist? Yeah, the likely cause of Thin Can could be similar to that. You don't want to buy a car that's described to be a slim cylindrical piece of metal, do you? Then don't sell one describing it as a Thin Can.

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EXHIBIT C: SCUB vs. SCAV(ENGER)

Wrong: "My EK now runs with a scub, bro."

Correct: "My EK now runs with a scav, bro."

Usage: Indicates muffler was removed from original position, leaving just the scavenger pipe underneath the chassis

How: Scavenger Pipe > Scav > Scub

You hear a noisy Honda drive past, and out of curiosity you look behind it to see what exhaust it's running – only to find nothing there. Chances are the car you saw was running something that is called a 'Scavenger Pipe' or 'Scav' for short. The idea behind using a scav is to improve the efficiency of exhaust scavenging in the engine by shortening the exhaust. Considering the muffler is now right underneath the car, supposedly the engine becomes more efficient at ridding exhaust gasses – thereby producing more power. A Scub is... well... we'll let Urban Dictionary answer that one. A possible cause for this error is the average Filipino’s lack of usage of the letter ‘V’ in our vocabulary. ‘V’ sounds are often mis-pronounced as ‘B’, thereby giving root to this particular error.

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EXHIBIT C: ROCK vs. RACK (AND PINION)

Wrong: "Where can I find a rock and pinion for my car?"

Correct: "Where can I find a rack and pinion for my car?"

Usage: Referring to the steering mechanism of a car

How: Rack and Pinion > Rock and Pinion

If you drive a compact sedan chances are your car is running a Rack and Pinion steering configuration. The idea behind a Rack and Pinion is your steering wheel is connected to a shaft with a pinion gear at the end. The pinion turns a long rack perpendicular to the pinion with matching teeth to push the corresponding wheels towards the direction put into the steering wheel. That said your Pinion gear is not connected to a Rock that magically turns your wheels towards the right direction. We can’t think of a properly decent explanation for this particular error, perhaps some people tend to interchange ‘A’ sounds with ‘O’ to produce this mistake?

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EXHIBIT D: TIRE BULB vs. TIRE VALVE

Wrong: "I need to replace the tire bulbs on my car"

Correct: "I need to replace the tire valves on my car"

Usage: Pertaining to the device that holds and fills your tires with air

How: Tire Valve > ‘Barbula’ > Bulb

Your wheels and tires do not magically trap air inside after being filled and mounted. In order to control the amount of air that is in there, a Tire Valve is in place to keep everything in check. A bulb will be of no use when keeping air inside your tires, heck it won't even light up since there's no electricity in it. One possible cause for this error may be the Filipino word for ‘Valve’ – ‘Barbula’. Barbula seems phonetically closer to ‘Bulb’ than it is to ‘Valve’, hence likely causing this error. That said, it can simply be a ‘V’ to ‘B’ error much like Scav vs. Scub.

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EXHIBIT E: THREAD vs. TREAD

Wrong: Used tires. 80% thread life.

Correct: Used tires. 80% tread life.

Usage: Ads or posts selling second hand tires to estimate how used a tire is

How: Tread life > Thread life

Speaking of tires, their lifespan is commonly (but incorrectly) measured via getting the amount of chunk that is left on the tire versus its water channels. These symmetrically lined chunks form your tire's Tread Pattern – and subsequently its life is commonly referred to as 'Tread Life'. Tread is the tracks that your tire imprints on the road, and no string can replicate such patterns. Still, the only correct way to estimate a tires life is the actual condition and, of course, the production date. Another case of adding an ‘H’ to a word to give it a twist, we suppose.

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EXHIBIT F: DEATHMATCH vs. DEAD MATCH

Wrong: “Momo steering wheel, deathmatch copy.”

Correct(ish): “Momo steering wheel, dead match copy.”

Usage: For pirated products, unfortunately

How: Dead match > Deathmatch

While we certainly do not patronize the purchase of pirated products, the sad reality is there will be many folks selling such items in the market today. What’s worse is these sellers can spell just as bad as their business practices. Saying something is a ‘Dead Match Copy’ of an original item means it is as close as you’ll get to the real thing. A ‘Deathmatch’ is, well, a battle to the death. Considering we only have one life, that is clearly something one cannot copy. Again, we can only attribute this error to another case of adding an ‘H’ sound to make something sound different.

Surely the examples we’ve mentioned above aren’t the only typographical errors around the online automotive market. While we can probably write another article later on documenting other errors, our brain cells aren’t up to the task of being drained with more silly terms just yet. We hope that by reading these you can do your share in keeping your fellow shoppers intelligent by spelling these items correctly.

[asckj1]

---About anime, manga, drama sharing on the internet---

Writing this post to share my thoughts about the topic in the title. I have no idea if these thoughts will reach the appropriate people, but still...

I’ve been downloading and uploading anime, manga and drama for a long time now. I know it is completely illegal. I try to buy as many manga as I can. I’ve already got three huge book shelves overflowing with manga. Still, I too, like most of you can’t resist downloading stuff for free on the internet. This brings me to a few complaints I have to make.

In the case of english translated manga, most scanlation groups do us a favour by making their hard work of translating available to us without any silly rules like you have to become a forum member and then need to have x no. of replies before you can access the downloads, etc. But some scanlation groups think otherwise, it seems. They do make such absurd rules. And the funny part I find is that most people follow them without even asking once or thinking through whether them doing this is really okay!! In the first place the moment you share something on the internet which is copyrighted, and actually everything you see on the internet is copyrighted except for fanarts and self made music and videos, etc., you are already committing a crime! Every single page of any manga, every single frame of a video and every single sound of the music belongs to their creators! It’s not yours!! The respective Mangaka, Anime productions and their huge teams created them!! But people make stupid rules and try to dictate who can access stuff they themselves pirate and share on the internet. I personally find this extremely irritating!! If you are sharing illegally anyway, why are you trying to dictate how others should access stuff!!?

I fully understand from a few discussions on forums that some very thankless leechers download their stuff and remove credits and put their names instead while sharing this stuff. But do the scanlation teams have any handle on theses? Do they have any means of catching such people, lets say, by tracking their IPs, etc?  The answer is mostly NO. Then why create such rules which make the stuff you shared difficult to fetch for others?

The second one is related to anime and drama sharing-

Let me be very honest. I started the Junjou Romantica S2 releases largely because I hated the fact that even though there were top quality BD raw files for the show there were no english translations subtitle files available in soft format. Why do some groups have to hard sub them!? Surely I know that “being able to view them on TV” is not the only answer for this. The same goes for releases that are translated in languages in other than english. Most such releases have good quality video files, but since they hardsub the subtitle files, these releases can’t be taken by a larger audience. Why do they have to do that!!? Following the same argument as manga, the anime too is not your possession to begin with. They are the copyrighted stuff of their respective creation teams. Why can’t these releases be made easier for all people to fetch?

Drama sharing is the same story as anime mostly. And people of this community are the rudest I feel sometimes. All the high quality videos are shared privately on a website where you can’t even register! What makes all these people think that they they can force such things!? Anyway, from what I can vaguely make out, some of the registered users end up sharing all the HQ videos, secretly shared among this extremely supposedly high class sites, on sites like nyaa which are very leecher friendly. What’s the point of doing all this? Is all of this for the want of some virtual celebrity status?

So in short this is a request-

To scanlators and uploaders- Please share without restrictions and rules !!! Putting thousand of rules too isn’t going to help you in restricting your stuff” on from streaming and online manga reading websites, due to leechers uploading it there. In fact, no matter what you do, some of the leechers who are following your rules end up sharing this stuff exactly where you don’t what them to share.

To leechers- Please show some respect towards other people’s hard work and don’t do something like removing credits from the subtitle files and adding your names instead. Please be thankful that someone has wasted their time in doing the hard work and providing you with easy access to videos which you would otherwise not get a hold of.

To anime/drama translation and fansub groups- Please share soft subbed version of the anime! I’m sure that if you do, people would definitely be very happy too. I would request this of releases from groups translating in other than english too.

[oursexualexperiencesarewith-blog]

The Dark Side To Sex Work

I think we can all agree that free things are a major plus!? The word “free” has this positive connotation to it and most people love to hear the word. However, free isn’t always a good thing. What if something being free could do more harm than good? 

This weeks content helped me come up with the topic of this blog post. More specifically the two videos from Hasan Minhaj’s Patriot Act, Sarah Jaffe’s article on The Rise of the Digital Proletariat, and the readings on piracy..Hasan discussing how companies take advantage of talented workers and then disregard them when the work was finished sounded very familiar to me. In a Vox article on the damaging effects that free porn has on the industry has been very eye opening in the matter. “More specifically, The Butterfly Effect is a four-hour, seven-part exploration of the impact of the tech industry on the porn industry. It’s about the way free porn sites, notably PornHub, have made it very hard for porn workers to make a living.” (Bisley)

“So a lot of people are making a lot less money and are working much, much longer hours to make that money. That’s happening a lot. Whereas the people in charge of PornHub are making so much money they don’t know what to do with it.” (Ronson)

It’s easy for people to say “Well, having their content on such a popular porn site would help their career!” Let’s think about it for a minute. When you have the option of getting the same/similar content for free, why pay for it? I am sure they get a few people who end up buying content directly from the workers or actually clicking on their name and trying to interact with them directly without the porn site, but it rarely ever leads to much more financial gain for them. Especially when these sites offer unlimited free content on anything you can imagine. This reminds me of the music industry (I am studying Music Business so this is something I can really relate to) and how they suffer through similar things. 

“The music industry has gone through similar upheaval, but musicians get more sympathy than porn actors (and can make money doing live gigs), Ronson says.” (Bisely)

With streaming sites like Spotify, Apple Music, Youtube, Google Play, Amazon Prime, and Soundcloud to name a few where they offer a subscription based plan which is cheaper than buying a song or album every-time you want to listen to new music. However, why buy music if you can get it for cheaper or free? It’s not completely identical to what the porn industry is going through like Ronson mentioned. Bands have touring and merch to help them aside from the revenue of music streaming. 

“David Simon, creator of the sex work–themed television show The Deuce, believes a big problem with porn and sex work is poor labor rights.” (Bisely)  

This reminds me of the Video Game episode of Patriot Act when Hasan begins to talk about how they are starting to unionize the workers which is a huge win for those making the games. Would a union help sex workers in the porn industry? That might lead to less free porn which would be a huge win for sex workers, but what’s in it for the consumers? Better porn! When people are put in better work conditions, better safety measures in place, have more money to make a better production, and consists of happier workers can make a huge difference for both producers and consumers. 

Piracy is something that plagues the sex worker community and is something that can cause severe damage to ones career. By having your content stolen and posted elsewhere can put the sex worker(s) safety and anonymity at risk. Of course, you know going into this line of work that this is a downside but you rarely ever believe it will happen to you. 

As a person who works for themselves or an agency that gives you a lot of freedom, you set your own hours, rates, etc. you hold all the power and freedom. However, if someone uses your own work against you, you lose your power. You can choose to post to forums and sites that you trust but piracy takes this same content to places you may be unfamiliar with and the repercussions could be massive. Someone you don’t want knowing could find out. 

This leads me to internet trolling and harassment within the sex worker industry. With technological advances as well as being bold due to hiding behind a screen this has become a huge issue within the industry. Scarier than a STI/STD for some. 

Trolling/ internet harassment within the sex worker industry is exactly what it sounds like and is malicious in all forms. It is usually a person who sets out to find and leak all information about a sex worker. There are people out there whose only mission is to find out your legal name or personal info and then leak your work to future employers. Some have gone as far as to send your family members proof of your work. A lot of people who get in this line of work keep it a secret from their friends and loved ones due to the stigmas attached to it. Having them find out that way would be extremely traumatic and detrimental for a lot of them.

“There was this hope that you could be anyone you wanted to be online. That you could pick an avatar and be totally liberated from your offline self. That was a real animating fantasy. That, too, was really misleading. Minority groups and women are often forced back into their real bodies, so to speak. They're not given equal access to the supposedly open space of the Internet.” (Jaffe)

Astra Taylor made a really great point when she said that. I think it can be related back to the porn industry. Minority groups and women are are often pushed to the side or shown as a stereotype in the industry. The porn industry thrives on keeping with the backwards thinking and stereotype. When you search porn you will mostly see a ton of content from blonde, skinny, tall, and fair looking girls. You will see them with a tall, buff, tan, white male. Representation in this industry is slowly (like turtle speed) getting better.

https://www.vox.com/conversations/2017/10/6/16435742/jon-ronson-butterfly-effect-internet-free-porn

https://longreads.com/2015/03/16/why-the-porn-industry-cant-beat-the-pirates/

https://abovethelaw.com/2017/12/porn-piracy-forbidden-to-settle/

[ciathyzareposts]

The Mortgaging of Sierra Online

The Sierra Online of the 1980s and very early 1990s excelled at customer relations perhaps more than anything else. Through the tours of their offices (which they offered to anyone who cared to make the trip to rural Oakhurst, California), the newsletter they published (which always opened with a folksy editorial from their founder and leader Ken Williams), and their habit of grouping their games into well-delineated series with predictable content, they fostered a sense of loyalty and even community which other game makers, not least their arch-rivals over at LucasArts, couldn’t touch — this even though the actual games of LucasArts tended to be much better in design terms. Here we see some of the entrants in a Leisure Suit Larry lookalike contest sponsored by Sierra. (Yes, two of the contestants do seem suspiciously young to have played a series officially targeted at those 18 and older.) Sadly, community-building exercise like these would become increasingly rare as the 1990s wore on and Sierra took on a different, more impersonal air. This article will chronicle the beginning of those changes.

“The computer-game industry has become the interactive-entertainment industry.”

— Ken Williams, 1992

Another even-numbered year, another King’s Quest game. Such had been the guiding rhythm of life at Sierra Online since 1986, and 1992 was to be no exception. Why should it be? Each of the last several King’s Quest installments had sold better than the one before, as the series had cultivated a reputation as the premier showcase of bleeding-edge computer entertainment. Once again, then, Sierra was prepared to pull out all the stops for King’s Quest VI, prepared to push its development budget to $1 million and beyond.

This time around, however, there were some new and worrisome tensions. Roberta Williams, Sierra’s star designer, whose name was inseparable from that of King’s Quest itself in the minds of the public, was getting a little tired of playing the Queen of Daventry for the nation’s schoolchildren. She had another, entirely different game she wanted to make, a sequel to her 1989 mystery starring the 1920s girl detective Laura Bow. So, a compromise was reached. Roberta would do Laura Bow in… The Dagger of Amon Ra and King’s Quest VI simultaneously by taking a sort of “executive designer” role on both projects, turning over the nitty-gritty details to assistant designers.

Thus for the all-important King’s Quest VI, Sierra brought over Jane Jenson, who was fresh off the task of co-designing the rather delightful educational adventure EcoQuest: The Search for Cetus with Gano Haine. Roberta Williams described her working relationship with her new partner in a contemporary interview, striking a tone that was perhaps a bit more condescending than it really needed to be in light of Jenson’s previous experience, and that was oddly disparaging toward Sierra’s other designers to boot:

I took on a co-designer for a couple of reasons: I wanted to train Jane because I didn’t want Sierra to be dependent on me. Someone else needs to know how to do a “proper” adventure game. We’re all doing a good job from a technology standpoint, but not on design. In my opinion, the best way to learn it properly is side by side. Overall, it was a positive experience, and it was very good for the series because Jane brought in some new ideas. She learned a lot, too, and can take what she’s learned to help create her new games.

There’s something of a consensus among fans today that the result of this collaboration is the best overall King’s Quest of them all. This strikes me as a fair judgment. While it’s not a great adventure game by any means, King’s Quest VI: Heir Today, Gone Tomorrow isn’t an outright poor one either in terms of writing or design, and this is sufficient for it to clear the low bar of the previous games in the series. The plot is still reliant on fairy-tale clichés: a princess imprisoned in a tower, a prince who sets out to rescue her, a kingdom in turmoil around them. Yet the writing itself is more textured and coherent this time around, the implementation is far more complete (most conceivable actions yield custom messages of some sort in response), the puzzles are generally more reasonable, and it’s considerably more difficult than it was in the earlier games to wander into a walking-dead situation without knowing it. Evincing a spirit of mercy toward its players of a sort that Sierra wasn’t usually known for, it even has a branching point where you can choose from an easier or a harder pathway to the end of the game. And when you do get to the final scene, there are over a dozen possible variants of the ending movie, depending on the choices you’ve made along the way. Again, this degree of design ambition — as opposed to audiovisual ambition — was new to the series at the time.

The fans often credit this relative improvement completely to Jenson’s involvement. And this judgment as well, unkind though it is toward Roberta Williams, is not entirely unfounded, even if it should be tempered by the awareness that Jenson’s own later games for Sierra would all have significant design issues of their own. Many of the flaws that so constantly dogged Roberta’s games in particular were down to her insistence on working at a remove from the rest of the people making them. Her habit was to type up a design document on her computer at home, then give it to the development team with instructions to “call if you have any questions.” For all practical purposes, she had thus been working as an “executive designer” long before she officially took on that role with King’s Quest VI. This method of working tended to result in confusion and ultimately in far too much improvisation on the part of her teams. Combined with Sierra’s overarching disinterest in seeking substantive feedback from players during the development process, it was disastrous more often than not to the finished product. But when the time came for King’s Quest VI, Jane Jenson was able to alleviate at least some of the problems simply by being in the same room with the rest of the team every day. It may seem unbelievable that this alone was sufficient to deliver a King’s Quest that was so markedly better than any of the others — but, again, it just wasn’t a very high bar to clear.

For all that it represented a welcome uptick in terms of design, Sierra’s real priority for King’s Quest VI was, as always for the series, to make it look and sound better than any game before. They were especially proud of the opening movie, which they outsourced to a real Hollywood animation studio to create on cutting-edge graphics workstations. When it was delivered to Sierra’s offices, the ten-minute sequence filled a well-nigh incomprehensible 1.2 GB on disk. It would have to be cut down to two minutes and 6 MB for the floppy-disk-based release of the game. (It would grow again to six minutes and 60 MB for the later CD-ROM release.) A real showstopper in its day, it serves today to illustrate how Sierra’s ambitions to be a major media player were outrunning their aesthetic competencies; even the two-minute version manages to come off as muddled and overlong, poorly framed and poorly written. In its its time, though, it doubtless served its purpose as a graphics-and-sound showcase, as did the game that followed it.

My favorite part of the much-vaunted King’s Quest VI introductory movie are the sailors that accompany Prince Alexander on his quest to rescue Princess Cassima. All sailors look like pirates, right?

A more amusing example of the company’s media naiveté is the saga of the King’s Quest VI theme song. Sierra head Ken Williams, who like many gaming executives of the period relished any and all linkages between games and movies, came up with the idea of including a pop song in the game that could become a hit on the radio, a “Glory of Love” or “I Will Always Love You” for his industry. Sierra’s in-house music man Mark Seibert duly delivered a hook-less dirge of a “love theme” with the distressingly literal title of “Girl in the Tower,” then hired an ersatz Michael Bolton and Celine Dion to over-emote it wildly. Then, Sierra proceeded to carpet-bomb the nation’s radio stations with CD singles of the song, whilst including an eight-page pamphlet in every copy of the game with the phone numbers for all of the major radio stations and a plea to call in and request it. Enough of Sierra’s loyal young fans did so that many a program director called Ken in turn to complain about his supremely artificial “grass-roots” marketing strategy. His song was terrible, they told him (correctly), and sometimes issued vague legal threats regarding obscure Federal Communications Commission laws he was supposedly violating. Finally, Ken agreed to pull the pamphlet from future King’s Quest VI boxes and accept that he wasn’t going to become a music as well as games impresario. Good Taste 1, Sierra 0. Rather hilariously, he was still grousing about the whole episode years later: “In my opinion, the radio stations were the criminals for ignoring their customers, something I believe no business should ever do. Oh, well… the song was great.”

The girl in the tower. Pray she doesn’t start singing…

While King’s Quest VI didn’t spawn a hit single, it did become a massive hit in its own right by the more modest sales standards of the computer-games industry. In fact, it became the first computer game in history to be certified gold by the Software Publishers Association — 100,000 copies sold — before it had even shipped, thanks to a huge number of pre-orders. Released in mid-October of 1992, it was by far the hottest game in the industry that Christmas, with Sierra struggling just to keep up with demand. Estimates of its total sales vary widely, but it seems likely that it sold 300,000 copies in all at a minimum, and quite possibly as many as 500,000 copies.

But for all its immediate success, King’s Quest VI was a mildly frustrating project for Sierra in at least one way. Everyone there agreed that this game, more so than any of the others they had made before, was crying out for CD-ROM, but too few consumers had CD-ROM drives in their computers in 1992 to make it worthwhile to ship the game first in that format. So, it initially shipped on nine floppy disks instead. Once decompressed onto a player’s hard drive, it filled over 17 MB — this at a time when 40 MB was still a fairly typical hard-disk size even on brand-new computers. Sierra recommended that players delete the 6 MB opening movie from their hard disks after watching it a few times just to free up some space. With stopgap solutions like this in play, there was a developing sense that something had to give, and soon. Peter Spears, author of an official guide to the entire King’s Quest series, summed up the situation thusly:

King’s Quest VI represents a fin de siecle, the end of an era. It is a game that should have been — needed to be — first published on CD-ROM. For all of its strengths and gloss, it is ill-served being played from a hard drive. If only because of its prominence in the world of computer entertainment, King’s Quest VI is proof that the era of CD playing is upon us.

Why? It is because imagination has no limits, and current hardware does. There are other games proving this point today, but King’s Quest has always been the benchmark. It is the end of one era, and when it is released on CD near the beginning of next year, it should be the beginning of another. Kill your hard drives!

Sierra had been evangelizing for CD-ROM for some time by this point, just as they earlier had for the graphics cards and sound cards that had transformed MS-DOS computers from dull things suitable only for running boring business applications into the only game-playing computers that really mattered in the United States. But, as with those earlier technologies, consumer uptake of CD-ROM had been slower than Sierra, chomping at the bit to use it, would have liked.

Thankfully, then, 1993 was the year when CD-ROM, a technology which had been around for almost a decade by that point, finally broke through; this was the year when the hardware became cheap enough and the selection of software compelling enough to power a new wave of multimedia excitement which swept across the world of computing. As with those graphics cards and sound cards earlier on, Sierra’s relentless prodding doubtless played a significant role in this newfound consumer acceptance of CD-ROM. And not least among the prods was the CD-ROM version of King’s Quest VI, which boasted lusher graphics in many places and voices replacing text absolutely everywhere. The voice acting marked a welcome improvement over the talkie version of King’s Quest V, the only previous game in the series to get a release on CD-ROM. The fifth game had apparently been voiced by whoever happened to be hanging around the office that day, with results that were almost unlistenably atrocious. King’s Quest VI, on the other hand, got a professional cast, headed by Robby Benson, who had just played the Beast in the hit Disney cartoon of Beauty and the Beast, in the role of Prince Alexander, the protagonist. Although Sierra could all too often still seem like babes in the woods when it came to media aesthetics, they were slowly learning on at least some fronts.

In the meantime, they could look to the bottom line of CD-ROM uptake with satisfaction. They shipped just 13 percent of their products on CD-ROM in 1992; in 1993, that number rose to 36 percent. Already by the end of that year, they had initiated their first projects that were earmarked only for CD-ROM. The dam had burst; the floppy disk was soon to be a thing of the past as a delivery medium for games.

This ought to have been a moment of unabashed triumph for Sierra in more ways than one. Back in the mid-1980s, when the company had come within a whisker of being pulled under by the Great Home Computer Crash, Ken Williams had decided, against the conventional wisdom of the time, that the long-term future of consumer computing lay with the operating systems of Microsoft and the open hardware architecture inadvertently spawned by the original IBM PC. He’d stuck to his guns ever since; while Sierra did release some of their games for other computer platforms, they were always afterthoughts, mere ways to earn a little extra money while waiting for the real future to arrive. And now that future had indeed arrived; Ken Williams had been proved right. The green-screened cargo vans of 1985 had improbably become the multimedia sports cars of 1993, all whilst sticking to the same basic software and hardware architecture.

And yet Ken was feeling more doubtful than triumphant. While he remainedr convinced that CDs were the future of game delivery, he was no longer so convinced that MS-DOS was the only platform that mattered. On the contrary, he was deeply concerned by the fact that, while MS-DOS-based computers had evolved enormously in terms of graphics and sound and sheer processing power, they remained as cryptically hard to use as ever. Just installing and configuring one of his company’s latest games required considerable technical skill. His ambition, as he told anyone who would listen, was to build Sierra into a major purveyor of mainstream entertainment. Could he really do that on MS-DOS? Yes, Microsoft Windows was out there as well — in fact, it was exploding in popularity, to the point that it was already becoming hard to find productivity software that wasn’t Windows-based. But Windows had its own fair share of quirks, and wasn’t really designed for running high-performance games under any circumstances.

Even as MS-DOS and Windows thus struggled with issues of affordability, approachability, and user-friendliness in the context of games, new CD-based alternatives to traditional computers were appearing almost by the month. NEC and Sega were selling CD drives as add-ons for their TurboGrafx-16 and Genesis game consoles; Philips had something called CD-i; Commodore had CDTV; Trip Hawkins, founder of Electronic Arts, had split away from his old company to found 3DO; even Tandy was pushing a free-standing CD-based platform called the VIS. All of these products were designed to be easy for ordinary consumers to operate in all the ways a personal computer wasn’t, and they were all designed to fit into the living room rather than the back office. In short, they looked and operated like mainstream consumer electronics, while personal computers most definitely still did not.

But even if one assumed that platforms like these were the future of consumer multimedia, as Ken Williams was sorely tempted to do, which one or two would win out to become the standard? The situations was oddly similar to that which had faced software makers like Sierra back in the early 1980s, when the personal-computer marketplace had been fragmented into more than a dozen incompatible platforms. Yet the comparison only went so far: development costs for the multimedia software of the early 1990s were vastly higher, and so the stakes were that much higher as well.

Nevertheless, Ken Williams decided that the only surefire survival strategy for Sierra was to become a presence on most if not all of the new platforms. Just as MS-DOS had finally, undeniably won the day in the field of personal computers, Sierra would ironically abandon their strict allegiance to computers in general. Instead, they would now pledge their fealty to CDs in the abstract. For Ken had grander ambitions than just being a major player on the biggest computing platform; he wanted to be a major player in entertainment, full stop. “Sierra is an entertainment company, not a software company,” he said over and over.

So, at no inconsiderable expense, Ken instituted projects to port the SCI engine that ran Sierra’s adventure games to most of the other extant platforms that used CDs as their delivery medium. In doing so, however, he once again ran into a problem that Sierra and other game developers of the early 1980s, struggling to port their wares to the many incompatible platforms of that period, had become all too familiar with: the fact that every platform had such different strengths and weaknesses in terms of interface, graphics, sound, memory, and processing potential. Just because a platform of the early 1990s could accept software distributed on CD didn’t mean it could satisfactorily run all of the same games as an up-to-date personal computer with a CD-ROM drive installed. Corey Cole, who along with his wife Lori Ann Cole made up Sierra’s most competent pair of game designers at the time, but who was nevertheless pulled away from his design role to program a port of the SCI engine to the Sega Genesis with CD drive:

The Genesis CD system was essentially identical to the Genesis except for the addition of the CD. It had inadequate memory for huge games such as the ones Sierra made, and it could only display 64 colors at a time from a 512 color palette. Sierra games at the time used 256 colors at a time from a 262,144 color palette. So the trick became how to make Sierra games look good in a much smaller color space.

Genesis CD did supply some tricks that could be used to fake an expanded color space, and I set out to use those. The problem was that the techniques I used required a lot of memory, and the memory space on the Genesis was much smaller than we expected on PCs at the time. One of the first things I did was to put a memory check in the main SCI processing loop that would warn me if we came close to running out of memory. I knew it would be close.

Sierra assigned a programmer from the Dynamix division to work with me. He had helped convert Willy Beamish to the Genesis CD, so he understood the system requirements well. However, he unintentionally sabotaged the project. In his early tests, my low-memory warning kicked in, so he disabled it. Six months later, struggling with all kinds of random problems (the hard-to-impossible kind to fix), I discovered that the memory check was disabled. When I turned it back on, I learned that the random bugs were all caused by insufficient memory. Basically, Sierra games were too big to fit on the Genesis CD, and there was very little we could do to shoehorn them in. With the project now behind schedule, and the only apparent solution being a complete rewrite of SCI to use a smaller memory footprint, Sierra management cancelled the project.

While Corey Cole spun his wheels in this fashion, Lori Ann Cole was forced to design most of Quest for Glory III alone, at significant cost to this latest iteration in what had been Sierra’s most creative and compelling adventure series up to that point.

The push to move their games to consoles also cost Sierra in the more literal sense of dollars and cents, and in the end they got absolutely no return for their investment. Some of the porting projects, like the one on which Corey worked, were abandoned when the target hardware proved itself not up to the task of running games designed for cutting-edge personal computers. Others were rendered moot when the entire would-be consumer-electronics category of multimedia set-top boxes for the living room — a category that included CD-i, CDTV, 3DO, and VIS — flopped one and all. (Radio Shack employees joked that the VIS acronym stood for “Virtually Impossible to Sell.”) In the end, King’s Quest VI never came out in any versions except those for personal computers. Ken Williams’s dream of conquering the living room, like that of conquering the radio waves, would never come to fruition.

The money Sierra wasted on the fruitless porting projects were far from the only financial challenge they faced at the dawn of the CD era in gaming. For all that everyone at the company had chaffed against the restrictions of floppy disks, those same restrictions had, by capping the amount of audiovisual assets one could practically include in a game, acted as a restraint on escalating development budgets. With CD-ROM, all bets were off in terms of how big a game could become. Sierra felt themselves to be in a zero-sum competition with the rest of their industry to deliver ever more impressive, ever more “cinematic” games that utilized the new storage medium to its full potential. The problem, of course, was that such games cost vastly more money to make.

It was a classic chicken-or-the-egg conundrum. Ken Williams was convinced that games had the potential to appeal to a broader demographic and thus sell in far greater numbers than ever before in this new age of CD-ROM. Yet to reach that market he first had to pay for the development of these stunning new games. Therein lay the rub. If this year’s games cost less to make but also come with a much lower sales cap than next year’s games, the old financial model — that of using the revenue generated by this year’s games to pay for next year’s — doesn’t work anymore. Yet to scale back one’s ambitions for next year’s games means to potentially miss out on the greatest gold rush in the history of computer gaming to date.

As if these pressures weren’t enough, Sierra was also facing the slow withering of what used to be another stable source of revenue: their back catalog. In 1991, titles released during earlier years accounted for fully 60 percent of their sales; in 1992, that number shrank to 48 percent, and would only keep falling from there. In this new multimedia age, driven by audiovisuals above all else, games that were more than a year or two old looked ancient. People weren’t buying them, and stores weren’t interested in stocking them. (Another chicken-or-the-egg situation…) This forced a strike-while-the-iron-is-hot mentality toward development, increasing that much more the perceived need to make every game look and sound spectacular, while also instilling a countervailing need to release it quickly, before it started to look outdated. Sierra had long been in the habit of amortizing their development costs for tax and other accounting purposes: i.e., mortgaging the cost of making each game against its future revenue. Now, as the size of these mortgages soared, this practice created still more pressure to release each game in the quarter to which the accountants had earmarked it. None of this was particularly conducive to the creation of good, satisfying games.

At first blush, one might be tempted to regard what came next as just more examples of the same types of problems that had always dogged Sierra’s output. Ken Williams had long failed to install the culture and processes that consistently lead to good design, which had left well-designed games as the exception rather than the rule even during the company’s earlier history. Now, though, things reached a new nadir, as Sierra began to ship games that were not just poorly designed but blatantly unfinished. Undoubtedly the most heartbreaking victim of these pressures was Quest for Glory IV, Corey and Lori Ann Cole’s would-be magnum opus, which shipped on December 31, 1993 — the last day of the fiscal quarter to which it had been earmarked — in a truly woeful condition, so broken it wasn’t even possible to complete it. Another sorry example was Outpost, a sort of SimCity in space that was rendered unplayable by bugs. And an even worse one was Alien Legacy, an ambitious attempt to combine strategy with adventure gaming in a manner reminiscent of Cryo Interactive’s surprisingly effective adaptation of Dune. We’ll never know how well Sierra’s take on the concept would have worked because, once again, it shipped unfinished and essentially unplayable.

Each of these games had had real potential if they had only been allowed to realize it. One certainly didn’t need to be an expert in marketing or anything else to see how profoundly unwise it was in the long run to release them in such a state. While each of them met an arbitrary accounting deadline, thus presumably preventing some red ink in one quarter, Sierra sacrificed long-term profits on the altar of this short-term expediency: word quickly got around among gamers that the products were broken, and even many of those who were unfortunate enough to buy them before they got the word wound up returning them. That Sierra ignored such obvious considerations and shoved the games out the door anyway speaks to the pressures that come to bear as soon as a company goes public, as Sierra had done in 1988. Additionally, and perhaps more ominously, it speaks to an increasing disconnect between management and the people making the actual products.

Through it all, Ken Williams, who seemed almost frantic not to miss out on what he regarded as the inflection point for consumer software, was looking to expand his empire, looking to make Sierra known for much more than adventure games. In fact, he had already begun that process in early 1990, when Sierra acquired Dynamix, a development house notable for their 3D-graphics technology, for $1 million in cash and some stock shenanigans. That gambit had paid off handsomely; Dynamix’s World War II flight simulator Aces of the Pacific became Sierra’s second biggest hit of 1992, trailing only the King’s Quest VI juggernaut whilst — and this was important to Ken — appealing to a whole different demographic from their adventure games. In addition to their flight simulators, Dynamix also spawned a range of other demographically diverse hits over this period, from The Incredible Machine to Front Page Sports: Football.

With a success story like that in his back pocket, it was time for Ken to go shopping again. In July of 1992, Sierra acquired Bright Star Technology, a Bellevue, Washington-based specialist in educational software, for $1 million. Ken was convinced that educational software, a market that had grown only in fits and starts during earlier years, would become massive during the multimedia age, and he was greatly enamored with Bright Star’s founder, a real bright spark himself named Elon Gasper. “He thinks, therefore he is paid,” was Ken’s description of Gasper’s new role inside the growing Sierra. Bright Star also came complete with some innovative technology they had developed for syncing recorded voices to the mouths of onscreen characters — perhaps not the first problem one thinks of when contemplating a CD-ROM-based talkie of an adventure game, but one which quickly presents itself when the actual work begins. King’s Quest VI became the first Sierra game to make use of it; it was followed by many others.

Meanwhile Bright Star themselves would deliver a steady stream of slick, educator-approved learning software over the years to come. Less fortunately, the acquisition did lead to the sad demise of Sierra’a in-house “Discovery Series” of educational products, which had actually yielded some of their best designed and most creative games of any stripe during the very early 1990s. Now, the new acquisition would take over responsibility for a “second, more refined generation of educational products,” as Sierra’s annual report put it. But in addition to being more refined — more rigorously compliant with established school curricula and the latest pedagogical theories — they would also be just a little bit boring in contrast to the likes of The Castle of Dr. Brain. Such is the price of progress.

Sierra’s third major acquisition of the 1990s was more complicated, more expensive, and more debatable than the first two had been. On October 29, 1993, they bought the French developer and publisher Coktel Vision for $4.6 million. Coktel had been around since 1985, unleashing upon European gamers such indelibly (stereotypically?) French creations as Emmanuelle: A Game of Eroticism, based on a popular series of erotic novels and films. But by the early 1990s, Coktel was doing the lion’s share of their business in educational software. In 1992, estimates were that 50 to 75 percent of the software found in French schools came from Coktel. The character known as Adi, the star of their educational line, is remembered to this day by a whole generation of French schoolchildren.

Sierra had cut a deal more than a year before the acquisition to begin distributing Coktel’s games in the United States, and had made a substantial Stateside success out of Gobliiins, a vaguely Lemmings-like puzzle game. That proof of concept, combined with Coktel’s educational line and distributional clout in Europe — Ken was eager to enter that sprawling market, where Sierra heretofore hadn’t had much of a footprint — convinced the founder to pull the trigger.

But this move would never quite pan out as he had hoped. Although the text and voices were duly translated, the cultural idiom of Adi just didn’t seem to make sense to American children. Meanwhile Coktel’s games, which mashed together disparate genres like adventure and simulation with the same eagerness with which they mashed together disparate presentation technologies like full-motion video and 3D graphics, encountered all the commercial challenges that French designs typically ran into in the United States. Certainly few Americans knew what to make of a game like Inca; it took place in the far future of an alternate history where the ancient Incan civilization had survived, conquered, and taken to the stars, where they continued to battle, Wing Commander-style, with interstellar Spanish galleons. (The phrase “what were they smoking?” unavoidably comes to mind…) Today, the games of Coktel are remembered by American players, if they’re remembered at all, mostly for the sheer bizarreness of premises like this one, married to puzzles that make the average King’s Quest game seem like a master class in good adventure design. Coktel’s European distribution network undoubtedly proved more useful to Sierra than the company’s actual games, but it’s doubtful whether even it was useful to the tune of $4.6 million.

Inca, one of the strangest games Sierra ever published — and not really in a good way.

Ken Williams was playing for keeps in a high-stakes game with all of these moves, as he continued to do as well with ImagiNation, a groundbreaking, genuinely visionary online service, oriented toward socializing and playing together, which stubbornly refused to turn a profit. All together, the latest moves constituted a major shift in strategy from the conservative, incrementalist approach that had marked his handling of Sierra since the company’s near-death experience of the mid-1980s. From 1987 — the year the recovering patient first managed to turn a profit again — through 1991, Sierra had sold more games and made more money each year. The first of those statements held true for 1992 as well, as sales increased from $43 million to within a whisker of $50 million. But profits fell off a cliff; Sierra lost almost $12.5 million that year alone. Sales increased impressively again in 1993, to $59.5 million. Yet, although the bottom line looked less ugly, it remained all too red thanks to all of the ongoing spending; the company lost another $4.5 million that year.

In short, Ken Williams was now mortgaging Sierra’s present against its future, in precisely the way he’d sworn he’d never do again during those dark days of 1984 and 1985. But he felt he had to make his play for the big time now or never; CD-ROM was a horse he just had to ride, hopefully all the way to the nerve center of Western pop culture. And so he did something else he’d sworn he would never do: he left Oakhurst, California. In September of 1993, Ken and Roberta and select members of Sierra’s management team moved to Bellevue, Washington, to set up a new “corporate headquarters” there; sales and marketing would gradually follow over the months to come. Ken had long been under pressure from his board to move to a major city, one where it would be easier to recruit a “first-rate management team” to lead Sierra into a bold new future. Bellevue, a suburb of Seattle that was also home to Microsoft, Nintendo, and of course Sierra’s own new subsidiary of Bright Star, seemed as good a choice as any. Ken promised Sierra’s creative staff as well as their fans that nothing would really change: most of the games would still be made in the cozy confines of Oakhurst. And he spoke the truth —  at least in literal terms, at least for the time being.

Nevertheless, something had changed. The old dream of starting a software company in the woods, the one which had brought a much younger, much shaggier Ken and Roberta to Oakhurst in 1980, had in some very palpable sense run its course. Sierra had well and truly gone corporate; Ken and Roberta were back in the world they had so consciously elected to escape thirteen years before. Oh, well… the arrows of both revenue and profitably at Sierra were pointing in the right direction. One more year, Ken believed, and they ought to be in the black again, and in a stronger position in the marketplace than ever at that. Chalk the rest of it up as yet one more price of progress.

(Sources: the book Influential Game Designers: Jane Jenson by Anastasia Salter; Sierra’s newsletter InterAction of Spring 1992, Fall 1992, Winter 1992, June 1993, Summer 1993, Holiday 1993, Spring 1994, and Fall 1994; The One of April 1989; ACE of May 1989; Game Players PC Entertainment of Holiday 1992; Compute! of May 1993; Computer Gaming World of January 1992; press releases, annual reports, and other internal and external documents from the Sierra archive at the Strong Museum of Play. An online source was the Games Nostalgia article on King’s Quest VI. And my thanks go to Corey Cole, who took the time to answer some questions about this period of Sierra’s history from his perspective as a developer there.)

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/the-mortgaging-of-sierra-online/

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“A PROTEST POETRY intended to induce funks of ambivalence.” That phrase appears in Stan Apps’s “Free Dolphin Radio,” the opening poem of Flarf: An Anthology of Flarf. While its placement may have been fortuitous (given the book’s alphabetical arrangement by author), it seems a fitting motto for the entire collection, as well as for the movement the book presents as a whole. “Flarf” refers to a self-styled avant-garde collective that sprung up around 2000 and was devoted to exploring the web, then in its “wild west” phase, as a resource for making poetry. On a private email list, its members developed a technique they refer to as “Google sculpting,” which calls for the poet to trawl the internet for preexisting language, usually by putting combinations of intentionally silly or offensive keywords into a search engine (“pizza” and “kitty,” “Rogaine” and “bunny,” “pussy” and “turtleneck”) and then creatively arranging the results into strange, funny, and unsettling collages. Voilà: “Arthur Treacher grabs my assclown / Assclown grabs my squid / Squid signs me up for the NOW Action Alert list.” (This is from Sharon Mesmer’s “Squid Versus Assclown.”)

The name “Flarf” is a neologism, which one of its founders, Gary Sullivan, defines as describing “a kind of corrosive, cute, or cloying, awfulness. Wrong. Un-P.C. Out of control. ‘Not okay.’” It is also, he explains, a verb, meaning “to bring out the inherent awfulness, etc., of some pre-existing text” (thus, one can “Flarf” any unsuspecting piece of writing). Flarf, you might say, is what poetry would sound like “if pirates pumped the stuffed-up airwaves full of dolphin hymns and rat speak,” to quote another line from that same opening poem.

In the early 2000s, Flarf was a big cartoon thumb stuck in the eye of the poetry establishment. Pumped full of “rat speak” by pirate poets sailing the high seas of the internet, Flarf poems were disjunctive works made from the ugly feelings, vulgarity, and raucous surreality that colors our everyday experience in the digital age. With language extracted from chat rooms, message boards, and the underbelly of our online lives, the poems were deliberately messy, abrasive, and distasteful. But Flarf was also ostensibly “a protest poetry”: from the start, the Flarfists explained that they were supplying a subversive response to the nightmarish absurdity and deceit of contemporary culture in the post-9/11 era. Mostly, though, it seemed custom-designed to provoke misgivings from arbiters of taste and to induce “funks of ambivalence” about its aesthetics, its politics, and its worldview from both staid cultural gatekeepers and other avant-garde poets.

The funk continues to linger over Flarf, now more a period style than a going concern. While it has been claimed as a powerful and enduring intervention in the development of American poetry, some see it as little more than an extended prank; others insist it was only a tired retread of Dada and other earlier avant-garde experiments. Some claim its practice of borrowing language from “ordinary” people on the internet (often riddled with misspellings, stupidity, racism, and xenophobia) is ultimately patronizing, elitist, a form of punching down. Flarf has been dogged, too, by ethical questions about whether the reproduction of hateful, offensive language perpetuates rather than critiques harmful stereotypes and prejudices.

This anthology will probably not put such questions to rest. For one thing, it’s not clear why the Flarfists decided to publish this collection of their work (co-edited by five of its members) now, at a time when many of the poets themselves have moved on, and the more heated debates about the movement have subsided. Is the anthology meant to provide a snapshot of a vital and ongoing phenomenon, like Donald Allen’s The New American Poetry? Is the timing of its appearance intended to suggest that Bush-era Flarf is now newly relevant in the dark age of Trump? Or is it more a bid for canonization, an enshrinement of a now-defunct avant-garde in poetic history?

It’s even harder to answer these questions because, unlike many such collections, Flarf is completely devoid of scholarly apparatus and critical framework: it has no preface or introduction, no manifestos or statements of poetics. There’s no effort to define Flarf or trace its origins or goals, no attempt to explain its methods or sketch out its intellectual or poetic investments. It is nearly impossible to tell when the poems were written, or whether any of the material in the book is new or recent, or if it all dates from Flarf’s heyday, over a decade ago. Of course the editors’ decision to remove all context and helpful framing is probably deliberate, in keeping with the anarchic spirit of the movement, which is as allergic as Dada was to high seriousness, “official” institutions, the canon, and so on. But if that’s the case, then why produce an anthology at all? At the very least, a few signposts would have helped orient a younger generation of readers who missed the Flarf moment the first time around.

What we are left with, of course, are the poems themselves, giving us the opportunity to take stock of Flarf’s achievement, as it gathers in one place many of its best-known, and best, works, including Drew Gardner’s “Chicks Dig War,” Jordan Davis’s “Pablo Escobar Shopping T-Shirt,” Michael Magee’s “Mainstream Poetry,” Sharon Mesmer’s “Annoying Diabetic Bitch,” K. Silem Mohammad’s “Mars Needs Terrorists,” and selections from Katie Degentesh’s The Anger Scale. Left to fend for themselves, these poems do make a sort of argument for Flarf’s value, and relevance. From the vantage point of 2018, Flarf can be seen as a compelling extension of the long, vital tradition of avant-garde collage, appropriation, and remix, updated for the internet age in intriguing ways. The best Flarf poems use the resources of search-engine technology to capture the exuberance, the strangeness, and the cracked beauty of what Anne Boyer calls our “electronic vernacular.” Jordan Davis suggests as much in one poem when he writes, “‘What I love about the chat rooms / Is that they’re already halfway to poetry, / What’s poetry but lines, what’s a chatroom,’ / He started rubbing the squid.” Where else can one find a poem titled “Humanism Is Cheese” or another with lines like these: “Phoenix is the land of milk dowsers, / and I’ve always been / a wolverine bunny cage xenocide forum asshole”? The poems teem with a density of reference, evincing the strange magnetic power of labels, names, and data in a culture drowning in signifiers: “Dag Hammarskjold rolls off our lips as easily as Lassie,” Boyer writes. “I just killed the Pillsbury dough boy,” the speaker of one of Gardner’s poems announces, before quickly bouncing off toward Terry Gross, “Charman” Mao, Shelley Duvall, Wallace Stevens, Minnie Driver, and Dan Rather.

Other poems crackle with the upending of clichés (“Same old job, / same old Diplodocus bong water orgy” — Gardner again). They frequently delight in the twisting of expectations, as in these lines by Mohammad, where the hackneyed language of romance is infused with militarism and violence:

love is a Pakistani Mirage fighter jet frozen, strange like it had, you know, bubonic plague

I’m a bit less crazy about Flarf’s fondness for goofy, supposedly “transgressive” scatology and the sometimes exhausting levels of zaniness — poems where we learn that “I have to conduct snot viscosity experiments / with ass-lint,” (Mitch Highfill) and so on. But although the movement has been maligned for focusing too much on play and hijinks, for being just a bunch of friends “fucking around with google on the man’s dime” (as Gardner himself once put it), Flarf can in fact be fiercely political: poem after poem takes aim at toxic masculinity, American warmongering and imperialism, virulent racism, the intersections between porn and rape culture, and the penetration of neoliberal capitalism into every sphere of daily life. I fully expected to find that revisiting Flarf at this particular historical moment would feel like stepping out of the Tardis into the now distant days of “Shock and Awe,” where John Ashcroft makes jokes about Abu Ghraib over the sound of Howard Dean’s scream and ends up in a spider hole of denial. But many of the poems feel surprisingly timely, very much in touch with our own batshit zeitgeist. “I hate the high levels of jerk war around here,” Gardner writes in “Skylab Wolverine Bunny Cage Nub” (Twitter, anyone?). Benjamin Friedlander’s potent poem “When a Cop Sees a Black Woman” has a different charge in a post-Ferguson world:

            Black hair is more fragile than most.

It requires TLC when a cop sees a black women he can’t think

everything through. She is the shiznit. She tempts and she taunts. She speaks in a bold

outspoken manner. But bypassing a metal detector, his forced and never-bending

monotone drone is not a factor in her arrest.

The same could be said of Gardner’s “How to Watch a Police Beating,” which follows its title with these scathing opening lines: “First off, there should be two sets of laws — / act like an ox and try not to be nonwhite…”

Other poems repurpose gender codes and tropes in ways that resonate powerfully in the #MeToo era. Consider Nada Gordon’s “I Love Men” (“I love men, but they wear me out with all their confusing issues. One day they / say they love you and the next they see someone with bigger ass. // I love men, muscles, sex, porn, and chocolate”). Or Katie Degentesh’s “I Was Horny,” which stitches together a series of found statements, substituting the word “boy” for “owl,” creating an affecting, creepy commentary on predatory masculinity and the culture that fosters it:

Boys are interesting creatures.

[…]

The boys tear their prey, swallow it whole, and spit up pellets. They prey on small things. Boys fly silently. They see well in the dark, hunt at night and sleep in the daytime. They scare others by fluffing up.

[…]

I hope boys never go extinct and I hope they never get endangered. I love boys.

¤

In the decade and a half since Flarf emerged, strategies of appropriation of the sort these poets deploy have spread far and wide. It is worth noting that they have proven particularly useful as vehicles of political critique and dissent for a long list of poets of color not affiliated with the (largely white) Flarf coterie itself, who have seized on such tools to create works that take aim at racism, US foreign policy, police brutality, oppression, and misogyny, often more directly and powerfully than Flarf. In her award-winning collection Look, for example, Solmaz Sharif incorporates euphemistic phrases from a Department of Defense manual but scrutinizes, dismantles, and subverts them, redeploying this found material for both intimate personal reflection and for expressing coruscating outrage at contemporary racism, xenophobia, and anti-Muslim policies. I would recommend reading this anthology of Flarf alongside other contemporary poets like Sharif, Tracy K. Smith, Robin Coste Lewis, Philip Metres, Layli Long Soldier, Shane McCrae, and Tyehimba Jess to get a fuller sense of the ends to which such tactics have been put in recent poetry.

Faced with the daily calamity of the Bush years, Flarf testified that verbal play, and the creative détournement of our culture’s own language, could be a liberating act of resistance. Its antics were a valuable method of pushing back against what Wallace Stevens called, in another dark time, the almost unbearable “pressure of reality.” Perhaps right now we desperately need art forms that can seize on the language of our time, expose its absurdity, its deceit, and its sinister designs on us, and repurpose it for different ends. But in 2018, the online culture of misogyny, racism, stupidity, and hatred that Flarf exposed doesn’t need much further unearthing: it seems to be everywhere. As we gasp for air and sanity in the depths of Trumpworld, Flarf seems prescient but also somewhat redundant. To paraphrase Man Ray’s famous remark about why Dada could not survive in New York: Flarf cannot live in America. All America is Flarf, and will not tolerate a rival.

¤

Andrew Epstein is the author, most recently, of Attention Equals Life: The Pursuit of the Everyday in Contemporary Poetry and Culture.

The post Funks of Ambivalence: On Flarf appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

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[topmixtrends]

“A PROTEST POETRY intended to induce funks of ambivalence.” That phrase appears in Stan Apps’s “Free Dolphin Radio,” the opening poem of Flarf: An Anthology of Flarf. While its placement may have been fortuitous (given the book’s alphabetical arrangement by author), it seems a fitting motto for the entire collection, as well as for the movement the book presents as a whole. “Flarf” refers to a self-styled avant-garde collective that sprung up around 2000 and was devoted to exploring the web, then in its “wild west” phase, as a resource for making poetry. On a private email list, its members developed a technique they refer to as “Google sculpting,” which calls for the poet to trawl the internet for preexisting language, usually by putting combinations of intentionally silly or offensive keywords into a search engine (“pizza” and “kitty,” “Rogaine” and “bunny,” “pussy” and “turtleneck”) and then creatively arranging the results into strange, funny, and unsettling collages. Voilà: “Arthur Treacher grabs my assclown / Assclown grabs my squid / Squid signs me up for the NOW Action Alert list.” (This is from Sharon Mesmer’s “Squid Versus Assclown.”)

The name “Flarf” is a neologism, which one of its founders, Gary Sullivan, defines as describing “a kind of corrosive, cute, or cloying, awfulness. Wrong. Un-P.C. Out of control. ‘Not okay.’” It is also, he explains, a verb, meaning “to bring out the inherent awfulness, etc., of some pre-existing text” (thus, one can “Flarf” any unsuspecting piece of writing). Flarf, you might say, is what poetry would sound like “if pirates pumped the stuffed-up airwaves full of dolphin hymns and rat speak,” to quote another line from that same opening poem.

In the early 2000s, Flarf was a big cartoon thumb stuck in the eye of the poetry establishment. Pumped full of “rat speak” by pirate poets sailing the high seas of the internet, Flarf poems were disjunctive works made from the ugly feelings, vulgarity, and raucous surreality that colors our everyday experience in the digital age. With language extracted from chat rooms, message boards, and the underbelly of our online lives, the poems were deliberately messy, abrasive, and distasteful. But Flarf was also ostensibly “a protest poetry”: from the start, the Flarfists explained that they were supplying a subversive response to the nightmarish absurdity and deceit of contemporary culture in the post-9/11 era. Mostly, though, it seemed custom-designed to provoke misgivings from arbiters of taste and to induce “funks of ambivalence” about its aesthetics, its politics, and its worldview from both staid cultural gatekeepers and other avant-garde poets.

The funk continues to linger over Flarf, now more a period style than a going concern. While it has been claimed as a powerful and enduring intervention in the development of American poetry, some see it as little more than an extended prank; others insist it was only a tired retread of Dada and other earlier avant-garde experiments. Some claim its practice of borrowing language from “ordinary” people on the internet (often riddled with misspellings, stupidity, racism, and xenophobia) is ultimately patronizing, elitist, a form of punching down. Flarf has been dogged, too, by ethical questions about whether the reproduction of hateful, offensive language perpetuates rather than critiques harmful stereotypes and prejudices.

This anthology will probably not put such questions to rest. For one thing, it’s not clear why the Flarfists decided to publish this collection of their work (co-edited by five of its members) now, at a time when many of the poets themselves have moved on, and the more heated debates about the movement have subsided. Is the anthology meant to provide a snapshot of a vital and ongoing phenomenon, like Donald Allen’s The New American Poetry? Is the timing of its appearance intended to suggest that Bush-era Flarf is now newly relevant in the dark age of Trump? Or is it more a bid for canonization, an enshrinement of a now-defunct avant-garde in poetic history?

It’s even harder to answer these questions because, unlike many such collections, Flarf is completely devoid of scholarly apparatus and critical framework: it has no preface or introduction, no manifestos or statements of poetics. There’s no effort to define Flarf or trace its origins or goals, no attempt to explain its methods or sketch out its intellectual or poetic investments. It is nearly impossible to tell when the poems were written, or whether any of the material in the book is new or recent, or if it all dates from Flarf’s heyday, over a decade ago. Of course the editors’ decision to remove all context and helpful framing is probably deliberate, in keeping with the anarchic spirit of the movement, which is as allergic as Dada was to high seriousness, “official” institutions, the canon, and so on. But if that’s the case, then why produce an anthology at all? At the very least, a few signposts would have helped orient a younger generation of readers who missed the Flarf moment the first time around.

What we are left with, of course, are the poems themselves, giving us the opportunity to take stock of Flarf’s achievement, as it gathers in one place many of its best-known, and best, works, including Drew Gardner’s “Chicks Dig War,” Jordan Davis’s “Pablo Escobar Shopping T-Shirt,” Michael Magee’s “Mainstream Poetry,” Sharon Mesmer’s “Annoying Diabetic Bitch,” K. Silem Mohammad’s “Mars Needs Terrorists,” and selections from Katie Degentesh’s The Anger Scale. Left to fend for themselves, these poems do make a sort of argument for Flarf’s value, and relevance. From the vantage point of 2018, Flarf can be seen as a compelling extension of the long, vital tradition of avant-garde collage, appropriation, and remix, updated for the internet age in intriguing ways. The best Flarf poems use the resources of search-engine technology to capture the exuberance, the strangeness, and the cracked beauty of what Anne Boyer calls our “electronic vernacular.” Jordan Davis suggests as much in one poem when he writes, “‘What I love about the chat rooms / Is that they’re already halfway to poetry, / What’s poetry but lines, what’s a chatroom,’ / He started rubbing the squid.” Where else can one find a poem titled “Humanism Is Cheese” or another with lines like these: “Phoenix is the land of milk dowsers, / and I’ve always been / a wolverine bunny cage xenocide forum asshole”? The poems teem with a density of reference, evincing the strange magnetic power of labels, names, and data in a culture drowning in signifiers: “Dag Hammarskjold rolls off our lips as easily as Lassie,” Boyer writes. “I just killed the Pillsbury dough boy,” the speaker of one of Gardner’s poems announces, before quickly bouncing off toward Terry Gross, “Charman” Mao, Shelley Duvall, Wallace Stevens, Minnie Driver, and Dan Rather.

Other poems crackle with the upending of clichés (“Same old job, / same old Diplodocus bong water orgy” — Gardner again). They frequently delight in the twisting of expectations, as in these lines by Mohammad, where the hackneyed language of romance is infused with militarism and violence:

love is a Pakistani Mirage fighter jet frozen, strange like it had, you know, bubonic plague

I’m a bit less crazy about Flarf’s fondness for goofy, supposedly “transgressive” scatology and the sometimes exhausting levels of zaniness — poems where we learn that “I have to conduct snot viscosity experiments / with ass-lint,” (Mitch Highfill) and so on. But although the movement has been maligned for focusing too much on play and hijinks, for being just a bunch of friends “fucking around with google on the man’s dime” (as Gardner himself once put it), Flarf can in fact be fiercely political: poem after poem takes aim at toxic masculinity, American warmongering and imperialism, virulent racism, the intersections between porn and rape culture, and the penetration of neoliberal capitalism into every sphere of daily life. I fully expected to find that revisiting Flarf at this particular historical moment would feel like stepping out of the Tardis into the now distant days of “Shock and Awe,” where John Ashcroft makes jokes about Abu Ghraib over the sound of Howard Dean’s scream and ends up in a spider hole of denial. But many of the poems feel surprisingly timely, very much in touch with our own batshit zeitgeist. “I hate the high levels of jerk war around here,” Gardner writes in “Skylab Wolverine Bunny Cage Nub” (Twitter, anyone?). Benjamin Friedlander’s potent poem “When a Cop Sees a Black Woman” has a different charge in a post-Ferguson world:

            Black hair is more fragile than most.

It requires TLC when a cop sees a black women he can’t think

everything through. She is the shiznit. She tempts and she taunts. She speaks in a bold

outspoken manner. But bypassing a metal detector, his forced and never-bending

monotone drone is not a factor in her arrest.

The same could be said of Gardner’s “How to Watch a Police Beating,” which follows its title with these scathing opening lines: “First off, there should be two sets of laws — / act like an ox and try not to be nonwhite…”

Other poems repurpose gender codes and tropes in ways that resonate powerfully in the #MeToo era. Consider Nada Gordon’s “I Love Men” (“I love men, but they wear me out with all their confusing issues. One day they / say they love you and the next they see someone with bigger ass. // I love men, muscles, sex, porn, and chocolate”). Or Katie Degentesh’s “I Was Horny,” which stitches together a series of found statements, substituting the word “boy” for “owl,” creating an affecting, creepy commentary on predatory masculinity and the culture that fosters it:

Boys are interesting creatures.

[…]

The boys tear their prey, swallow it whole, and spit up pellets. They prey on small things. Boys fly silently. They see well in the dark, hunt at night and sleep in the daytime. They scare others by fluffing up.

[…]

I hope boys never go extinct and I hope they never get endangered. I love boys.

¤

In the decade and a half since Flarf emerged, strategies of appropriation of the sort these poets deploy have spread far and wide. It is worth noting that they have proven particularly useful as vehicles of political critique and dissent for a long list of poets of color not affiliated with the (largely white) Flarf coterie itself, who have seized on such tools to create works that take aim at racism, US foreign policy, police brutality, oppression, and misogyny, often more directly and powerfully than Flarf. In her award-winning collection Look, for example, Solmaz Sharif incorporates euphemistic phrases from a Department of Defense manual but scrutinizes, dismantles, and subverts them, redeploying this found material for both intimate personal reflection and for expressing coruscating outrage at contemporary racism, xenophobia, and anti-Muslim policies. I would recommend reading this anthology of Flarf alongside other contemporary poets like Sharif, Tracy K. Smith, Robin Coste Lewis, Philip Metres, Layli Long Soldier, Shane McCrae, and Tyehimba Jess to get a fuller sense of the ends to which such tactics have been put in recent poetry.

Faced with the daily calamity of the Bush years, Flarf testified that verbal play, and the creative détournement of our culture’s own language, could be a liberating act of resistance. Its antics were a valuable method of pushing back against what Wallace Stevens called, in another dark time, the almost unbearable “pressure of reality.” Perhaps right now we desperately need art forms that can seize on the language of our time, expose its absurdity, its deceit, and its sinister designs on us, and repurpose it for different ends. But in 2018, the online culture of misogyny, racism, stupidity, and hatred that Flarf exposed doesn’t need much further unearthing: it seems to be everywhere. As we gasp for air and sanity in the depths of Trumpworld, Flarf seems prescient but also somewhat redundant. To paraphrase Man Ray’s famous remark about why Dada could not survive in New York: Flarf cannot live in America. All America is Flarf, and will not tolerate a rival.

¤

Andrew Epstein is the author, most recently, of Attention Equals Life: The Pursuit of the Everyday in Contemporary Poetry and Culture.

The post Funks of Ambivalence: On Flarf appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

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[fuzzycrownfun-blog]

Fairfax Financial Holdings' (FRFHF) Chief Executive Officer Prem Watsa On Q3 2016 End results.

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