#quantum woo

[creature-wizard]

Remember when New Agers said that we were going to have quantum healing beds ("med beds") that would fix all of our health problems by now? Because I sure do. These things were supposed to be fully rolled out and implemented by now and everybody was supposed to have free access to them.

That's New Age predictions for you, though. The big changes are always just on the horizon, but they never manifest. They just keep hovering on a little further ahead, like a glittering mirage in a hot desert. Some folks catch on and turn away to find something real, but others keep following the mirage until they die.

#new agers #new age #med beds #pseudoscience #pseudomedicine #quantum woo #alternative healing #quantum healing #failed predictions #failed prophecies

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

“Just because quantum mechanics is weird does not mean that everything weird is quantum mechanics.”

-- Victor J. Stenger

#Victor J. Stenger #quantum mechanics #weird #science #quantum woo #quantum mysticism #quantum bullshit #religion is a mental illness

[tanadrin]

the SHWEP host does that really annoying thing where he tries to give ancient philosophers credit for anticipating modern developments, like comparing the Stoic idea of sympatheia to quantum entanglement, and like... okay, even if you have the qualitative understanding of quantum entanglement correct (which I doubt; what little of quantum entanglement and I understand and less of stoicism makes them sound like very different ideas), even a passing similarity can’t paper over the fact that there’s a strict mathematical formalism underlying the model of any quantum behavior, which is entirely absent from ancient philosophical ideas like stoicism

and i think--especially if you are an academic who studies philosophy and doesn’t actually know that much about or have much direct exposure to physics--it’s easy for a layman to make the mistake of assuming that the big idea behind something like quantum physics is the important part, and the formalism is, like, an ancillary set of details you need to figure out the answer only to specific technical questions.

now, i’m just a small town english major, but from where i’m sitting it looks to me like important part, the thing that makes physics, well, physics, the whole point of working within that system of knowledge as opposed to another one, is the mathematical formalism; the mathematical formalism, in other words, is the big idea, and the qualitative description is an attempt (frequently flawed) to simplify and analogize that formalism until you can convey at least something approaching its meaning to people who lack the training to engage with the formalism directly. attempting to engage with the ideas behind quantum mechanics without doing anything involving the mathematical formalism is just... not physics. it’s not even close. so unless and until they find a papyrus in some archeological site in egypt with an ancient greek version of the hamiltonian of an electron scrawled on the back, i’m gonna say the ancients did not in fact anticipate any of the significant developments of 20th century physics

#the problem with reading qualitative descriptions of physics #and thinking that means you really understand physics #is that the qualitative descriptions are not actually very good! #partly this is because trying to convert a formalism into a non-formal #analagous description #is going to be very lossy #just as an inherent part of the process #but also because reporting on scientific topics is in the popular press is just... bad #and because the reporting is so bad #and losing the formalism means losing all actual conceptual precision #and there are many different ways to try to convey a qualitative understanding of these difficult technical subjects #you can pattern match almost *anything* to a bad description of quantum mechanics #hence the proliferation of quantum woo

[olena]

#quantum physics #woo #new age #bullshit #katie mack

[grumpywiltedlettuce]

I know this is two very different fandoms but Hank Pym is giving Sung Jin-Woo Shadow Monarch in the new ant man. THE ANTS AHHHH. He needed a Beru.

#sung jin woo #hank pym #marvel #solo leveling #ants are cool #generalberu #ant man #the wasp #ant man and the wasp #ant man and the wasp quantumania #manhwa #solo leveling manhwa #kang the conqueror #pym particles #quantum realm #ant army #shadow monarch

[erik-the-creator-mainblog]

I have purchased a great many of the Quantum Leap novels and six of them arrived early!

#woo hoo! #so excited #imma be marathon reading these babies #i already finished the whole original show #quantum leap 1989 #quantum leap novels #erik original #erik says stuff

[thepotentialof2007]

Quanta are my soul sisters. We have multiple identities. We can't be explained away by categories which are taken to be 'objective,' 'natural,' 'universal' -- existing outside of language, gender, sexuality, humanity, space-time (culture-history).

Karen Barad, "Meeting the Universe Halfway: Realism and Social Contructivism without Contradiction", 1996

#karen barad #quantum physics #both and #to read #their 2007 book of similar title #an actual physicist #employing metaphor and analysis #rather than the usual quantum woo

[mumblingsage]

Like many, I gawked at Joyce Carol Oates’ recent thread about genre distinctions. “Materialist” vs “special personal destiny” is a genuinely interesting distinction between different sorts of settings and stories, I think, but giving those two types the same names as two vast genres that don’t map to them precisely* is a recipe for Hot Takes(TM). 

Anyway, to me the most ~interesting take on the thread came from one of Oates’ supporters, who says “Sherlock Holmes would not attend a séance.” 

To which I can only say, my good lady, while it’s true Holmes doesn’t seem to have attended a séance in the original stories, Arthur Conan Doyle was a member of the SPR - I almost suspect Holmes never went to a séance because his creator didn’t want to share hobbies with his personally penned albatross.

*”Hey Sage, what’s a materialist, uncaring fantasy universe you could name?” I’ll point you to a genre I know Oates has written in, Lovecraftian cosmic horror (many people misunderstand this, leading to subpar cosmic horror).**

**Except when the special personal destiny is Oedipus Rex, which is a very cosmic horror play. But not Lovecraft’s version of cosmic horror.

#Holmes would have so much fun at a seance #not only would he get to hold hands with Watson he'd probably mindfuck someone by pretending to be the ghost of their murder victim #and hell even if the seance WORKED to contact a spirit...is it fantasy if it reflects the genuine beliefs of the writer? #if Doyle considered the SPR scientific (as most of its members do) then he could write the paranormal as realism right? #I'm looking at the quantum woo that passes as science/realism in fiction these days anyway #(Picnic at Hanging Rock is totally science fiction/realisitc fiction from a universe where Forteana is more accepted) #Doyle definitely would not share fairies with Holmes though

[themslash]

.........?

#vesselage #bro its 1 am............... #youtube has been trying to get me to become a hypnotherapist for months #i think a genuine interest in physics and whatnot can only be digested as a hard turn to woo by ads #since people who actually know what solid crystals are arent out there trying to rip u off with a soul course of some kind. #for the most part anyway. #quantum physics is magic and you should drink these scented oils that cause liver failure. fuck you

[wangmiao]

Park Hae Soo + Bromance

I want to do romance, but I think there was a lot of bromance. I had a lot of chemistry with my seniors and fellow actors. You can look forward to it. I’m looking forward to it. To Park Hae Soo, romance is hope. For me, bromance is romance. My bromance was almost the romance. - Cosmopolitan Korea

Prison Playbook (2017) ft. Jung Kyung Ho // Quantum Physics (2019) ft. Im Chul Soo // Squid Game (2021) ft. Lee Jung Jae // Chimera (2021) ft. Lee Hee Joon // KlayCity a Cinematic Ad (2022) ft. Park Jin Young // Yaksha: Ruthless Operations (2022) ft. Sol Kyung Gu // Narco Saints (2022) ft. Ha Jung Woo

If Money Heist Korea gets more seasons, will Berlin be the only chance for us to get something more than bromance?

#park hae soo #park haesoo #kdramaedit #kdramadaily #asiandramanet #kdramasource #dailyasiandramas #tvfilmsource #filmtvcentral #cinemapix #cinematv #userbbelcher #chewieblog #parkhaesooedit #kactor #kdrama #kmovie #userkunedits

[f1ghtsoftly]

I’m becoming suspicious of the entire concept of indigeneity and I wonder if there is a better framework to protect the lifestyles of indigenous peoples without also, backwardly, supporting the weird race science of who is indigenous to where and when. Am I indigenous to Ireland despite never setting foot there? Are jewish people indigenous to Israel? Are the descendants of slaves, indentured servants in the southeast-who’ve lived off the land for 400 years not indigenous? How many years does it take? 100, 500 , 1000? What seperates

Not only are these uncomfortable questions, I think they’re mostly a waste of time. I struggle to see a moral difference between a white person who loves the land they grew up on and endeavors to protect it, and may have been there for generations already, and an indigenous person. Of course, governments and our economic system treat those people differently but claiming indigenous people have some woo woo magic ties to the land is uh…I don’t know it strikes me as a modern version of the noble savage trope. This doesn’t even factor in that most indigenous people were subject to forced relocation multiple times so a tribe could be headquartered in the Dakotas or Oklahoma now but they’re originally not even from that area. That doesn’t even count historical, more voluntary, migrations of peoples which occurred during the Pre-Columbian period. I’m open to being schooled on this but I have a suspicion I’m onto something.

I think one’s relationship to the land-not blood quantum is what counts. Do you love your home and are you trying to protect it? Do you see god in the hawks and the rushing rivers? Or do you only see what you can extract and make profitable.

I’m also suspicious that this concept of indigeneity is really compatible with Marxism. I would turn to Marxist, Leninist and Stalinist discussions of Nationalism and it’s utility for more information, I might return to this post to do just that but certainly, this idea of “being indigenous” is not an economic relationship, it doesn’t describe one and in that way….I think

This isn’t at all to delegitimize the struggles against, my intention is to clarify in order to root out grifters. The real work indigenous people do everyday to fight against the destruction of their homes and to try to preserve their traditions and escape the persecution of a government that wants to force them to be assimilated workers without place or culture is good. An international network of indigenous people doing that is great and it’s a benefit of the concept I’m critiquing. But the issue isn’t “the oppression of indigenous people” as like a static, blood determined identity, the issue is proletarianization and the resistance by peoples not yet subject to capitalism’s social discipline. There was once a time when my ancestors were “indigenous” too and they were thrown off their land and forced into the factories to work or starve. The land taken became playgrounds for the rich to turn into magnificent gardens and hunting, meanwhile the peasants of Europe starved and choked to death in factories, their means of subsistance robbed of them.

What is the oppression of indigenous people if not forced proletarianization? What separates the boarding school from the workhouses or homes for wayward mothers? How does settling differ from enclosure? Temporally yes, in brutality maybe but not in motivation. The forces that starved my ancestors in Europe are the same forces that killed the Buffalo to starve the plains Indians and the same forces that tried to “kill the Indian and save the man”.

Indigeneity as a blood inheritance and not a social position/of perspective also opens left wing peoples up to the justifications of ethnostates, ethnic cleansing and settler colonies based around this decidedly immaterial thing called “being indigenous” which is easy to manipulate without staying in line with the principles that I believe this concept is supposed to convey and leaves out potential allies from the fight.

Anyways, I’m going to amend this tomorrow but basically indigenous is a social positon relating to a refusal to become assimilated into capitalism and not a racial or ethnic category.

#I got really into the idea of extractive vs generative economies and mindsets #it is 3am and I am BACK BABY #I will clean this up tomorrow #char on char

[creature-wizard]

Quantum physics proves new thought

Quantum physics doesn't prove New Thought any more than nuclear physics proves the Incredible Hulk. The kind of thin you're talking about is called quantum woo, quantum quackery, or quantum mysticism, and real quantum physics does not support it at all.

I'm guessing you're thinking of the observer effect, which quantum mystics interpret as having something to do with the impact of consciousness upon the world. In fact, the observer effect has nothing to do with consciousness whatsoever. If you want to learn more about what actual scientists are saying about quantum physics, check out PBS Space Time or look to other actual scientists on the topic.

#answered #quantum physics #quantum woo #new thought

[xocasper]

The Moon and Stars

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader Summary: Kinktober Day Fifteen: Overstimulation Warnings: NSFW content Tags: oral sex, dacryphilia, hurt/comfort, sub!gerard, praise kink, gender-neutral reader Word Count: 4125 A/N: Woo! Kinktober is officially over! I almost gave this a Moon Song title but decided to save that for my many unwritten Frank angst fics. Anyway, thank you to @/mcrredacted’s anons for fueling this fic. Enjoy!

There were many things that Gerard didn’t understand.

He didn’t understand calculus or quantum physics. He didn’t know how he got here, or how trees and people were formed from hydrogen and dust. More than anything though, he didn’t understand you.

Sure, he could grasp base-level information about you. You were pretty and sarcastic, and you never made him feel stupid. The confusing part though, was why you liked him so much.

Sometimes he’d catch you staring. It wasn’t intimidating, but rather softening, making him melt as you gazed at him wondrously. He’d lay his head in your lap, watching old cartoons on Friday nights, and your hands would comb through his hair, occasionally pausing to hold his cheek. And he would look up at you, all innocent and sweet, curious at first before sending you a soft smile. For as much as he loved you, sometimes he thought you loved him more—even if he’d never admit it.

I mean, you told him that all the time. How much you loved him, how pretty he was, how happy you were that he was yours. You’d mark up his neck with lipstick kisses and he would get all flushed and whiny, pouting until you kissed his lips. Kissing would ultimately spin into heated make-out sessions with Gerard in your lap, rutting against your thigh and whimpering until he came in his pants. Sweet shame would boil up in his stomach, and he’d burn and look away, mortified by his own actions. But even still, you found him precious, your lips moving slowly against his before helping him change. And no matter how many times it happened, he could never understand it.

That didn’t mean it stopped though. Even if Gerard didn’t find himself worthy of your attention and love, you still treated him with the same tenderness. It wasn’t like he didn’t want it, he just didn’t think he deserved it—especially today.

He’d been off virtually the entire day, and you couldn’t figure out why. Even if the reason wasn’t a necessity, it would help to know why he was being so quiet, shutting himself away and hardly leaving the basement. Typically, when you’d come over, you’d hang around the living room or walk up to the gas station. But today, you’d simply hung around in his bed, Gerard hardly moving as you watched some kitschy horror movie. Occasionally, you’d glance over at him, kissing the seemingly-permanent frown on his face. It didn’t do much, only winning you a tight-lipped smile before it returned.

You had to get to the bottom of this, or at least find a way to help. After another round of silence and loving pecks, you knew you were getting nowhere. With a sigh, you slumped against his wall. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

Gerard paused as you spoke, mulling over his response. He never wanted to worry you, and this really wasn’t important anyway. He sighed too but shrugged instead of answering. You thought for a moment, torn between pulling the truth from him and leaving him alone. After a moment, you chose the former, deciding that it was worth one more try.

“Gerard,” you tried again, your voice soft and genuine. “What’s the matter?”

His eyes stayed glued on the television, distracting himself with grizzly murders while the truth came out. “I’m not enough for you.”

The way he said it made you freeze, slightly shocked by his response. He sounded as if he believed it, and he gave himself a mental beatdown as he spared you a glance. You looked so heartbroken, caught off guard by his response as you rolled towards him.

“Oh, baby,” you frowned, tentatively reaching toward him. “Who said that?”

Meekly, he cuddled into your chest, moving for the first time in an hour to bury his head in your neck. His breath on your skin sent shivers down your spine, but you remained placid while you carded through his hair.

“Me,” he pouted, sighing with a hint of embarrassment. “I just—why? Why do you love me?”

Dumbfounded, you gave a vague response. “Why wouldn’t I love you?”

“That’s not an answer.”

You smiled softly, knowing how flustered he would get over an explanation. While you stroked his hair, your eyes fell shut, satisfied by the neediness in his tone. “You really want to know?” you asked, and you could feel him nod against you. “Because you’re sweet and caring, and you’re so good to me. You’re the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen, you know that?”

He blushed, but he still wasn’t content with your answer. “There are lots of pretty boys. Why me?”

“Do you want me to show you?”

Naively, he nodded, sitting up with intrigue. “Good boy,” you cooed, stroking his hair while he waited to be kissed.

You couldn’t leave him waiting like that, so you tilted his chin up and pressed your lips to his, receiving a happy hum from Gerard. He liked kisses—the domesticity and how he could get them any time. It wasn’t like you could drop to your knees and give him head on the subway, but you could hold his hand and kiss his cheeks until he blushed instead. Your lips were soft and moved fluidly against his own, and your hand unfurled to cradle his cheek. You treated him with such fragility and care that he could’ve cried, and his heart practically swelled as you licked at his lower lip.

His lips parted, but you pulled away, letting him whine and catch his breath. “See? You’re my sweet boy, aren’t you?” you breathed, caressing his cheek while your other hand traced circles on his waist.

“Mhm,” he hummed, leaning in again.

Much to his dismay, you pulled back. A sly grin decorated your features, “Say it. Tell me you’re my sweet boy.”

A crimson blush coated his cheeks, and he wiggled in your lap. “I’m your sweet boy.”

Your smile only grew, but he bit back a sheepish groan. “See? You’re such a good boy.”

Again, you kissed him, but this one held more passion. He responded with more certainty, finally grasping where your head was at when your hand slipped beneath his shirt. Gerard was going to learn how much you loved him, and he was already starting to believe it.

You gave into your own urges, tugging his hair while you kissed him, relishing in the surprised moan that tumbled out. Gerard always sounded so pretty in pain, as shameful as it was to admit. Tears would well in his eyes, threatening to spill over final straws, and you were always there to wipe them away. But god, did he look pretty when they streamed down his face, his chest heaving and cheeks pink, near-silent whimpers cracking through sobs. It was his vulnerability that got you going, and you wanted it now, too. Not over spilled milk, but something better.

He initiated the next few kisses, eliciting soft laughs from you as he chased after your lips, desperate for your touch. “Be patient, baby,” you told him, brushing your lips against his.

Aside from a hopeless whine, Gerard complied, letting you hold his jaw and slip your tongue past his lips. It swirled against his, easy and slow until you pulled away with his lower lip between your teeth. The gentle tug had him moaning again, and you swept your tongue across his lip once more, soothing the soft nip. “You sound so pretty,” you murmured, returning your hands to his hips. “My pretty boy.”

Gerard warmed up at your nicknames, melting in your arms while you caressed his skin. Your hands lingered on his stomach for a moment, tracing over his hip bones and the curve of his waist, and you had to pull away.

“God, look at you,” you said again, lifting the hem of his shirt. “You’re so beautiful.”

The subtle peek beneath his clothes gave you a familiar rush, an eclectic mix of love and lust. You kissed him one more time, warm and slow, etching the taste of your tongue into his memory forever. He was still slightly pink, shifting in your lap as he grew hard beneath his pajama pants. You knew what you had to do, pulling away gently with a final kiss to his cheek.

Slowly, you brought your lips to his ear, ghosting it as you whispered a request. “Lay back against the pillows for me, okay?”

Gerard nodded, reluctantly climbing from your lap and laying flush against the mattress. Curiosity and need swam in his eyes, and he shifted impatiently while he waited to be touched. You paused for a moment to study him, letting your eyes wander across his figure. Even in simple tees and Star Wars pajamas, he was the prettiest boy you’d ever seen.

Sat at the end of his bed, you spread his legs and settled between them. It was a temporary position, meant for nothing more than stripping him, but Gerard still burned as you ran your hands along his thighs. Anticipation surged through him, and your fingertips danced towards his hips, briefly passing the bulge in his pants, to which he gave a sharp inhale.

“Be patient, baby,” you told him. “Be my good boy.”

He whined high in his throat, something pathetic and weak, fueling your desire to break him. One of your hands lifted his shirt up, the other splayed across his belly as you smoothed over it. “Pretty,” you hummed, his skin soft beneath your palm.

“No,” he frowned, crossing his arms over his chest.

”Yes,” you nodded, placing your hands on his, waiting for them to unfold. “You’re pretty.”

Hesitantly, he pulled his hands away, not without a loving squeeze from you though. Gerard had always been insecure about his body, but you made it your mission to build his comfort. He was beautiful, and he deserved to feel that way. With lingering reluctance, he let you lift up his shirt, hiking it over his head. Your gaze stayed locked on him before gliding down to his chest, porcelain and pale. Carefully, you leaned down to kiss him, catching his lips between yours.

You were always fluent, lips moving languidly while your hand stroked his hip, using the other for stability. Slow kisses grew deeper, and a softer sort of passion hung in the air as they lingered lower. Down his neck and across his collarbones, now spotted in a light rouge, until you were kissing down his sternum. He could feel his insecurities melting away as you scattered light pecks across his stomach, humming sweet words simultaneously. Then came a tug at his pajama pants and the sound of his hitching breath, signifying your real intentions.

They weren’t malicious, but rather salacious, a deep desire for him growing in the pit of your stomach. A mere glimpse at him triggered an onslaught of filthy ideas, and Gerard lay oblivious to your plan.

“Will you be good for me?” you asked, gentle and encouraging.

He nodded, “Mhm.”

It was soft and sure, a small smile tugging at his lips. He expected something innocent–a peaceful blowjob and a few affirmations, but he was painfully wrong. Neither of those would set in long-term, and he’d continue to look down on himself unless you did something memorable. Gerard deserved the moon and stars, and if you couldn’t give them to him, you’d make sure he saw them.

Beaming back, you slid off his pants, revealing his hard-on beneath them. A small wet spot had begun to form, his boxers stained with arousal. Shamefully, Gerard looked away, mumbling an apology. He had been grinding against you earlier, sitting in your lap and shifting suggestively, so it wasn’t much of a surprise. Instead of acknowledging his embarrassment, you positioned yourself on his mattress, stroking his thighs while you kissed him through the fabric.

They were nothing like the kisses you had given him earlier, soft traded in for sultry. They were hot and open-mouthed, and he bit his lip to prevent a quiet cry. Gerard was always so sensitive, and just the pressure of your tongue through his boxers made him writhe. Your hands toyed with his waistband, fiddling with the fabric as you continued to caress his hips. After a quick–and apologetic–buck, you caved and stripped him.

With anyone else, he would’ve felt self-conscious and embarrassed, covering himself up and swallowing his shame, but you were different. You looked at him like he was made of glass, some pretty china doll meant to be admired rather than touched. Thankfully, you didn’t believe in the second part, even if you paused to stare up at him. It usually made him flustered when you gazed at him like that, and he’d turn away with a crimson blush, whining at you not to stare so blatantly. Now, he appreciated it, going weak while you watched and touched him with fragility.

“My beautiful boy,” you soothed, nipping at the inside of his thighs while his hips threatened to thrust. “I know, baby.”

God, he wanted to move so fucking bad, but he wanted to be good. He wanted to be your good boy, patient and demure, and far less needy. He couldn’t help it though, letting his hips give a soft jerk while you sucked kisses onto his thighs. Your hands held him down, pinning his hips to the bed when your tongue soothed each bite, promising pretty marks that you’d tease him for tomorrow. He never really minded though, simply accepting them as a reminder that you were there. And here you were again, mere inches from his cock, and yet you abstained from touching him.

It wasn’t like you didn’t want to–you were playing a game. He could whine and beg all he wanted, but the power was in your hands. Soon after the first round of pleas, he’d be begging for a different reason.

“You remember our colors, right?” you asked seriously, and Gerard could feel his heart pause.

He swallowed hard, turned on at the idea of something rougher than this. “Yes.”

“Good boy,” you praised, narrowly missing his cock as you swapped sides.

A soft whimper slipped out, but you ignored it, mimicking your earlier behavior with wet kisses and pretty bruises. Gerard could barely wait in grocery store lines, so he’d surely break soon. It was ironic, really, how he was trying to avoid begging for you, even if it was your goal. His strength was being tested, but you could play this game a whole lot longer than he could.

When he finally broke, it came in the form of a whimper and bucking hips. “Please,” he cried softly, searching the air for friction while you neglected his cock.

He was already panting, having lost his shame a minute ago, and since spent his time jerking his hips. Like a good boy, his hands were balled into fists to avoid getting himself off. At least he had that going for him. Satisfaction had never tasted so sweet, and you swelled with pride as he squirmed on the bed.

“Please what, baby?” you asked innocently, letting your fingers trail towards his cock.

He looked at you with pleading eyes, wanting–no, needing–you. Your hands, mouth, anything to relieve the incessant ache. “Please touch me,” he begged, practically crying at your resistance.

“You can wait a little longer, right?” you asked, and to your surprise, he shook his head.

Gerard let out a dry sob, but he wanted to make you proud. Despite himself, he nodded. “I can wait.”

And so it began again. The light touches ghosting over his skin, sucking hickeys onto his hips and thighs until he looked like a leopard. Your tongue was so close to his cock, but still so far as you traced over each bite. Finally, your lips brushed over the head, and your tongue dipped out again. This time, it wasn’t to soothe a hickey but to clean up the pre-cum smeared across his cock.

Gerard mewled as your tongue dipped along the slit, gliding your tongue across him and dribbling saliva down his cock. Everything had increased tenfold, and he was already crumbling while you kissed his skin. Your hands had wrapped around him, holding his cock like a fucking prize while your tongue worked at the tip. Gerard was a prize–a gift, an angel, and putty in your hands as you sucked him off.

The basement was chilly, but your mouth was warm, giving him goosebumps as you flattened your tongue against him. Periodically, you’d pause, twisting your hands around him while praise flowed from your lips.

“You’re so fucking pretty, baby,” you said, kissing the tip for good measure. “Got such a pretty cock.”

Gerard moaned at your vulgarity, and his hips jumped as your lips wrapped around the head. He couldn’t understand how you could say things like that–words that would turn him red in a voice so sweet. It was a clashing combo, but it had him moaning and begging for more, babbling indecipherable pleas as you slid his cock into your mouth.

“Oh fuck,” he whined, grabbing for your hand. “Please, fuck.”

He was so sweet like this, begging to hold your hand with his cock in your mouth, and you complied. With your hands interlocked, you let him settle on your tongue, heavy and thick as he slid further into your mouth. In turn, he continued to moan, quiet and pretty while you bobbed your head. He was already breaking beneath you, certain that he couldn’t take any teasing as you pulled off. Another weak cry broke through the air, Gerard expecting more waiting, but you wrecked that idea real quick.

Swirling your tongue around his tip, you jerked him off, listening to his moans get progressively louder. Thankfully, he tried to invite you over when his parents were at work, otherwise, you’d have a lot of explaining to do. Gradually, his hips thrust more, until he was doing nearly all the work himself. The most you could do was match his pace, squeezing his hand tight before letting go, and pressing his hips to the bed.

“Please let me come, please,” Gerard begged, on the brink of tears as your cheeks hollowed.

Before you could give him any indication, he had tossed the idea of permission aside, coming down your throat with a harsh buck of his hips. “Sorry,” he managed, his voice broken as he tried to catch his breath.

You came off slowly, certain that you looked a mess as you glanced up at him. “Good boy,” you said again, stroking his thighs gently.

Gerard was completely spent, tired after the teasing, and more so after coming. But when you looked up at him with hopeful eyes, looking so beautiful and apt to please, asking him “Color?” he couldn’t help but say, “Green.”

As the word left his lips, he already knew he was in trouble, but you didn’t let on right away. Sometimes you cleaned him off after–it couldn’t be more than that, right? It seemed like the right assumption as you stuck your tongue out, gliding over his cock. He was already going soft, melting into his mattress while you licked him clean. It was dirty, but sweet, Gerard reaching out his hand to pet your hair as if he wasn’t just begging for you.

“We’re not done yet.”

He hummed, looking up tiredly, spotting you in the same position between his legs. “What do you mean?”

“Can you be good for me?” you asked, and he nodded.

It was enough, and you started stroking him again before he could go totally soft. Now, Gerard was stuck in the middle, trying to get over his first orgasm while handling the oncoming second, not to mention the ridiculous sensitivity that was plaguing him. There was this odd sort of gray area in between, and that’s where you had left him. He couldn’t do much other than whine and curse, reaching blindly for anything that could keep him stable, only to fall flat and cling to bedsheets.

He could feel himself shaking slightly, and as embarrassing as it was, you were still sucking his dick. There was no shot in hell that he wouldn’t be shaking, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip while you put your mouth on him again. Who fucking knew that someone who spoke so pretty could suck dick like that?

Gerard quickly decided that he was not cut out for this, but like hell would the word red leave his throat. Not when you were mouthing at his cock like that, restarting with wet kisses that trailed down to the base, flattening your tongue on the underside of it as if he wasn’t slick enough.

“Shit, fuck,” he cursed, his legs shaking as his hips bucked off the bed. “Please.”

Gerard didn’t even know what he was begging for at this point, too caught up in how your tongue felt on him to care. Everything he said came out as a whine, and it went straight to your stomach, twisting in knots as he begged for something. He was convinced he could handle it, his knuckles blanching as he clutched his sheets, only to let out a sob as your lips wrapped around him.

Before he knew it, he was down your throat again, and your tongue was sliding on the underside of his cock. He could hardly think, grasping for something to say, something other than a curse or plea, but your tongue was flicking and swirling and he could barely breathe. As it turns out, the only thing he could do was cry.

And so there he was, biting back tears while you bobbed on his cock for the second time, trying to pull another orgasm from his overstimulated body. At the sight of his watery eyes, you pulled off, concerned.

“Are you okay?” you asked, and he nodded quicker this time. “Give me a color, baby.”

Gerard couldn’t have responded faster, blurting out, “Green! Please, green.”

As you anticipated, the tears began to fall, streaming down his flushed cheeks. “Oh, my pretty boy,” you told him, still stroking him gently. “Just one more, ‘kay?”

He sniffled, “Okay.”

Before he could learn to breathe again, he was back in your mouth, feeling like he would die before coming again. Everything felt like it was on fire, and yet he still wanted more, crying and begging for you, spilling tears and intelligible pleas while you took him deeper. Like fucking hell was he going to last any longer, diminished to a sobbing mess while you jerked him off.

“Look at you,” you moaned, pulling off for a moment. “Look how good you’re being for me.”

Again, he cried, still sniffling as he wiped at his tear-stained cheeks. He could feel everything, everywhere, from his head to his toes, moaning as your tongue swirled around him. You knew when he was close–he would tighten up with his head thrown back, arched off the bed as he searched eagerly for something to tether him. There was nothing like that now though, and he clung weakly to his comforter while you pumped his cock.

“Please,” he sobbed pathetically. “Please let me come, please, I’ll be good.”

You locked eyes with him, “Be a good boy, then. Come for me.”

Never had Gerard heard anything more angelic, looking at you like a godsend as he cried brokenly. All the tension in his body seemed to cease, turning into waves of aftershock and incessant shaking. His legs fucking hurt; in fact, his entire body hurt, sore and amazing. The pain had gradually blurred into pleasure, painting him in serenity as he lay against the pillows, desperately trying to catch his breath.

His chest heaved as you made your way up the bed, kissing him gently as your thumbs wiped away his tears. Gerard barely had the energy to kiss back, and his breath shook from racking sobs.

“Pretty boy,” you hummed, kissing away his tears. “You did so well.”

Despite his exhaustion, he gave you a sweet smile, rolling over to rest his head on your chest. You embraced him as he settled, stroking his hair as a few remaining tears fell from his eyes. “I love you,” you reminded him, and he went soft all over again.

“I love you too,” he told you, cuddling closer.

You knew you didn’t have to tell him how much–he already knew. All the words in the dictionary couldn’t encapsulate it anyway, so you held him a little closer instead. He would certainly need a shower before his parents got home, but for now, he could rest in your arms, finally starting to understand.

kinktober taglist: @clichedlovers​  @halloweenbitch2764​  @lubbockshusband​ @cigarettesandalcohols​​  @couldbegayer1234​​  @doc-martens-enthusiast​​ @yachiiko​​ @becausethedrugsneverwork​​ @enchantinghouseofwh0res @dangerouslittlefairy​​ @chronicallythicc​​ 

#gerard way x reader #gerard way smut #mcr x reader #mcr smut

[thelostgirl21]

The Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again / The Witcher Mashup no one asked for but you're still getting, apparently!

So, I finally took the time to check out Hugh Skinner's performances in "Les Misérables" and "Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again"...

And, not only does he have a lovely singing voice (Radovid was so shy and quiet singing Jaskier's song, that we didn't get a good grasp of his abilities on the show)...

But apparently, Hugh Skinner has a rather unique talent for playing adorably awkward men experiencing intense crushes, and then attempting to woo the object of their affections by performing a song cover!

So, now there is an actual mashup of those two roles on the internet and I regret nothing, it was amazing!

(Seriously, I've rarely had so much fun putting a video together...)

I highly suggest checking out the original, too, so you can admire Hugh's full performance in all its glory.

He's just... I don't know how to describe it exactly, but there's something so delightfully awkward about this man (I think Joey called it a wonderful strangeness) that is deeply appealing, and at the same time makes the idea of Radovid finding Jaskier to be the epitome of coolness and suaveness even more credible.

Like you can genuinely believe that, if Jaskier ever was inspired to tell him that he's got the most amazing slender yet strong legs, like a sexy ostrich, he'd be delighted by the compliment.

I'd expect him to be that one person in the universe that would not be rolling his eyes, but freaking swoon upon hearing it!

Because first time they met, Jaskier was just there, holding his hand while awkwardly bouncing around - having no clue what he was supposed to do - and Radovid was totally smitten and probably mentally composing his wedding vows already!

And somehow, it makes sense that he should?

Like they don't just have chemistry together, they have quantum physics or something... It's too complex for me to fully understand, much less explain, but it works and fits perfectly in the rules of the universe!

#Jaskier #Radovid #Radskier #The Witcher #Mamma Mia #Mamma Mia Here We Go Again #Hugh Skinner #Harry Bright #Waterloo #My Posts #My Stuff #My Thoughts #Videos

[thebardostate]

Where Does Consciousness Come From?

(This is Part 2 of a three part series on consciousness. Part 1 is here. Part 3 is here.

A 25 year bet was settled last week when two rival scientific explanations for consciousness - Global Workspace Theory (GWT) and Integrated Information Theory (IIT) - both failed to discover any neuronal correlates of consciousness (NCC) in the human brain. Neuroscientist Cristof Koch and philosopher David Chalmers agreed that neuroscience can't yet explain how our brains produce consciousness.

I say "yet" because it is an article of faith among the disciples of Richard Dawkins and Daniel Dennett that consciousness (if it exists at all) will eventually be shown to be a mere illusion or "epiphenomenon" generated by biochemical activity in our brains. They argue that the mind is only what the brain does, so consciousness ceases when the brain dies. They dismiss as pseudoscientific "woo" fantasy any notion that consciousness might survive the physical death of the brain.

(source: @myjetpack)

Materialist neo-Darwinism appears to enjoy broad support across the physical and biological sciences, in medicine, and from science popularizers like Neil DeGrasse Tyson and Carl Sagan. It can fairly be called the orthodox scientific view.

And yet, we see from the results of the wager that the origins of consciousness remain an open question. It is considered one of the greatest unsolved problems in science. Thus far, scientific orthodoxy has gotten us exactly...nowhere.

What is it Like to be a Bat?

Enter Thomas Nagel, a marquee name in the philosophy of mind and cognitive science. In 1974 Nagel published the widely influential essay "What is it Like to be a Bat?" in which he argued that there's a lot more to being a bat than just hanging around upside down in the dark. Bats perceive their world thru echo location. Nothing in human experience prepares us for what that must be like: bats don't "see" their homes because they're in pitch darkness, nor do they "feel" their way along in the dark because they're flying thru the air. We can speculate, but we humans don't have a clue what it feels like to be a bat. And yet, science knows a great deal about bat brains.

In his 2012 book Mind and Cosmos Nagel argues that the materialist neo-Darwinist conception of reality is almost certainly false, with far-reaching implications for evolution and quantum physics. He is incredulous at the just-so story that Dawkins, Dennett, et. al. are expecting us to swallow:

It is prima facie highly implausible that life as we know it is the result of a sequence of physical accidents together with the mechanism of natural selection. We are expected to abandon this naive response, not in favor of a fully worked out physical/chemical explanation but in favor of an alternative that is really a schema for explanation, supported by some examples. What is lacking, to my knowledge, is a credible argument that the story has a nonnegligible probability of being true.

However, Nagel is no sock puppet for religion, as some of his materialist critics have insinuated. In fact, he is an atheist:

I do not find theism any more credible than materialism as a comprehensive world view. My interest is in the territory between them. I believe that these two radically opposed conceptions cannot exhaust the possibilities.

Back to the Drawing Board

So if consciousness doesn't come from the brain, then where does it come from?

In Nagel's estimation it's high time science started looking for alternative explanations instead of continuing to double down on materialist neo-Darwinism, which by now has had ample time to put up or shut up (Karl Popper called these breezy we'll-solve-it-someday assurances "promissory materialism".) Nagel critiques the three basic approaches that materialists have pursued thus far:

Treat consciousness as a black box, and infer what might lurk inside the box by carefully observing its behavior from the outside. This is the behaviorist approach, whose sterility was so evident by the late 1960s that it sparked the cognitive revolution in psychology.

Systematically trace all mental events to physical counterparts "somewhere" in the brain. This is the approach that GWT and IIT take, using medical techniques like functional MRI to observe the brain as we carry out various activities. One of the problems with this approach is brain plasticity, the ability of the brain to rewire itself (e.g., after a stroke); plasticity makes it difficult to pin down exactly where in the brain mental events occur (to say nothing about how the brain pulls off the plasticity trick in the first place.) Another problem is that mental activities can interact and overlap, such as when we drive a car and talk on the phone at the same time. Sometimes we can multitask, and sometimes we can't. Where do those complex interactions play out in the brain? What about things produced by the brain itself but not experienced by the senses like imagination, the placebo effect and hallucinations? And finally, there is a world of difference between images from fMRI and the actual, subjective, first-person experiences we have when performing those tasks. They're just not the same. I'll have much more to say about this approach to consciousness research in Part 3 of this series.

Deny that there is any such thing as consciousness - this is eliminative materialism aka illusionism, whose most prominent proponent is Dennett. But if we buy into this, why should we stop at questioning our own consciousness? Why don't we just deny that anything exists at all, and go full-on nihilist atheist? Philosopher Galen Strawson called illusionism "the silliest claim ever made" while philosopher John Searle called it an "intellectual pathology." (Plus which, when you get down into the weeds of eliminative materialism, you find that it's just reheated behaviorism anyway.)

Nagel believes these materialist accounts are all incomplete because each in its own way fails to explain the familiar first-person experience of being alive and conscious. But even setting that aside, he points out a further problem for the neo-Darwinists.

Why Did Consciousness Evolve?

In its own way, materialist Neo-Darwinism is a "theory of everything" in so far as biology goes. As such, it must be able to explain why consciousness evolved in the first place.

It's quite plausible that natural selection could have produced organisms that adapt and reproduce without being conscious. We can imagine robot-like zombies that carry out a series of evolved instructions and reproduce without ever having experiencing first-person subjective consciousness, like little automatons. And yet, we are conscious. Why? What evolutionary purpose could first-person awareness have served?

A standard materialist explanation is that consciousness emerged as a byproduct of evolution (a "spandrel" as Steven Jay Gould called it) rather like junk DNA. If we are not satisfied with the just-so story that the mental comes as a free bonus to the physical, then we will have to look for our answers elsewhere.

Opening the Window on Consciousness

We landed in this situation because science has sought to explain nature entirely in physical terms, without invoking theism. It has been spectacularly successful - particularly in the physical sciences - but the cost has been excluding consciousness along with the gods. Eventually this exclusion was bound to be challenged. We cannot have a complete picture of the world without understanding our own consciousness that makes that picture possible. If consciousness isn't generated by the brain, the implications for evolution and quantum physics will be far-reaching. (Nagel, 2012)

In the concluding part of this series we'll take a fresh look at the medical evidence for certain so-called 'paranormal' phenomena. These have been systematically excluded from mainstream scientific consideration because, if they proved true, they would undercut materialist explanations of consciousness. What do medical anomalies like Near-Death Experiences and Terminal Lucidity imply about the nature of consciousness?

#consciousness #philosophy #materialism and its discontents #cognitive science #philosophy of mind #global workspace theory #integrated information theory #artificial consciousness #neuronal correlates of consciousness #richard dawkins #thomas nagel #daniel dennett #spiritual atheism #atheist #atheism #agnosticism #agnostic #theism #mind and cosmos #mind body problem #what is it like to be a bat? #brain #consciousness series

[margaretqualleytruther]

hi queen i want to learn more about manifestation but i dont want to go on extremely delusional shifting to hogwarts path do u have any interesting book recs ?

you don’t want to interact with a hierarchy of angels and then devise a language in order to beckon them forth so you may question them over the true nature of this world and how to access forces beyond the ones given to you by the confines of space and time?

shoutout john dee

to be real i’ve read zero books specifically about manifestation, and i don’t particularly meddle with it much. i’ve picked up my baseline knowledge of things of this nature from a decade plus of skimming internet comments, boards, articles, and threads + books geared towards psychology/paranormal research/straight up woo.

i would suggest reading up on studies/essays/books about synchronicity, intention, the effectiveness of prayer, the mechanics behind divination, etc if you only want to learn about manifestation. when learning about this you will inevitably run into varying levels of woo though. it is unavoidable. while i am not a believer of most things to do with the more out there subjects it is important to keep in mind that the abyss does stare back :) now that i think about it stick to research about psi phenomena so you learn more about the “science” behind it and don’t have to be caught up in the more surreal and absurd aspects. something something consciousness is fundamental, quantum mechanics, entanglement, nonlocality, co-creation of reality, attention, intention, widening of perspective, subjective experience with objective results.

if you don’t really wanna do any in depth reading the cheat code to manifestation is ritual. you have to create a container in order to give form to the energy your intention and attention will create. light a candle, shower before, clear off your desk, go for a walk, write stuff down using a fancy pen, soak your paper in tea then let it dry, sit in the dark for twenty minutes, dance, whatever. and ofc the most important step that has to do with widening your perspective: everyday action. manifestation is literally just the spiritual version of atomic habits lol.

the simplest thing to do if you just want to get the gist. google “ [thing i want to find out about] reddit ”

“carl jung manifestation reddit”

“carl jung synchronicity reddit”

“intention manifestation reddit”

obviously you will come upon insane comments doing this. just ignore them. it’s an entertaining waste of time method that can uncover the occasional thought gem.

reading i recommend:

this list is kind of dooky tbh (because it’s too broad) but i have no concise readings to give you about manifestation.

http://christclassical.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/09/Right-Use-of-School-Studies-Simone-Weil.pdf

anything to do with jung’s books/conversations/works with wolfgang pauli

^ skim through this. tons of pdf links over psi related studies.

the trickster and the paranormal (lengthy book about psi research)

My Big TOE - Awakening, Discovey, Inner Workings : The Complete Trilogy Unifying Philosophy, Physics, and Metaphysics (800 page book)

the I Ching and modern man (book)