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solomonish · 3 years

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things my heart used to know (solomon x reader)

You find yourself stuck in an unusual contraption with Solomon, where the only way out is to take a trip through his memories that he was not prepared to take.

Based on Once Upon a December

Ao3 link: here!

With a spectacular grunt, you rammed your shoulder against a suspicious spot in the wall, hoping that just maybe you could bring the whole wall down or convince someone to help you out or something. Chances of that were low: you and Solomon had been alone when the mysterious magical device activated, trapping you both inside. Trying to shove the more hopeless thoughts of never escaping away, you continued to push at the wall, as if one spot would give and open up to let the two of you out.

Solomon was behind you, leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed. He looked the picture of calm, a small smile playing with the corners of his mouth as he listened to your struggle. When you looked at him with the intention of giving him a glare, you saw the dim light in the box had turned from white to gold. With a cocked eyebrow, you pushed away from the wall as you felt it morph from stone to something smoother. “What’s…”

“It’s deciding which form to take,” Solomon answered as if that told you anything. Met with silence, he chuckled and pushed himself off of the wall to make his way over to you. “We’re in a memory box.”

“A memory box?” Inadvertently, you stepped closer to him, only stopping when your arm brushed gently across his. The sensation of the walls changing beneath your hands put the horrible thought of your hands getting stuck in a partially-morphed wall, and you wanted to stick next to him in case that really did happen.

Clearly amused, Solomon looked down at you, the teasing smirk on his face making him look much more condescending than he normally did. “Yes. They require a strong magical energy to work, and typically only work once. They’re especially popular with those of us who...have a lot of memories to sift through, but they can be used by anyone. I’m surprised this one lasted so long without being used...”

As he talked, he walked forward, noting how you stuck close to his side and looked around nervously. The darkness was slowly dissipating and the focused light began to expand into a broader golden glow. The box transformed into a long hallway, the end opening into a room you couldn’t quite see into. Curiously, the walls around you started to shine, taking on their own gilded form. Intricate shapes were carved into the gold, reaching tall like palm trees. In front of each carving stood a gold pedestal, each with some artifact on it that looked to you like they belonged in a museum.

Finally pulling apart from his side, you ran your fingers over one of the trees. The walls seemed stable, thankfully. “You seem to know a lot about these memory boxes. Have you used one before? Oooh, or did you create them?”

He picked up a small statuette, his gaze darkening for a moment as he stared at it absently. “I...am familiar with how they work.”

He placed the statuette down with a solid clink, drawing your attention from the wall and stopping you from commenting about how utterly unhelpful his response was. Had you said something wrong? His footsteps were faster than before as he made his way down the hall, barely glancing at the walls as if he had seen them before. Well, actually, he probably had. As far as you were aware, you didn’t have an intricate temple in your memories, so this must be coming from him.

Scurrying after him, you followed him through the shadowed doorway and stepped into a room that was just as ornate but not at all connected to the hallway you were just in. While the hall looked like some temple from the first century, the ballroom-like space before you seemed much more recent, if not still at least a hundred years old. You were standing on a high landing, having emerged from an archway several feet taller than you. You weren’t an architect or archaeologist, but you could guess the style of the architecture was different. Maybe...more European? Of some sort? Cringing, you tried to push the image of your humanities professor scowling at you out of your head and slowed your own steps, choosing instead to look at the high ceilings around you.

“I’ve never seen a place like this before…” You murmured in awe. Though the room was dark and clearly abandoned, you still felt a still kind of magic around you, different from what you normally felt around Solomon. He was a few feet to your left, looking at a separate old artifact and standing before a table littered with them. If you squinted, you could see what looked like wings stretched across a long serving dish, the paint chipped and faded. You couldn’t tell if it was an angel or a bird - the pinched expression on Solomon’s face didn’t give you any clues, either. A chill settled in the room, but only you shuddered, suddenly realizing that you were an intruder in these unfamiliar rooms. The thought had you awkwardly kicking at the worn rugs beneath you, the threads dirty and torn yet somehow still looking expensive.

Without a word, Solomon dug around in the bag he was carrying with him, hastily looking for something. You watched him drop it unceremoniously on the ground, bringing up a cloud of dirt around it. In his hand was the notebook he used to teach you different runes, a faint glow coming from the page following the stroke of his pen. The sound of the page being ripped from the binding seemed to fill the room, followed by his steady footsteps as he made his way to the grand staircase. You watched him go, only turning your head so as not to draw his attention.

After he passed, you cautiously sauntered over to the table Solomon was standing at, stooping to pick up the bag he left behind. Slinging the long strap across your chest, you picked up a bear figurine gilded in chipping gold, turning it so that it caught the light. All of the figures before you seemed to be masterful pieces of craftsmanship, regal things to be envied yet somehow seeming personal. You were almost afraid to touch them for fear of offending the unknown owner.

Your hand fell to your side, bumping a cool metal box on the way and nearly knocking it off the table. Thankfully, you caught it and brought it to your face. Opening up the small lid to reveal another bear, this one standing up as if dancing one half of the tango, you gently turned it around to find the crank. It was old and a bit rusty, but still you turned it gently once, twice, three times until you could feel the springs coiled so tightly they might break. For a moment, you held your breath, then -

Nothing. No sound came out of the box.

"Hmph. That's a shame," You murmured, tapping the side gently with your finger. Unsurprisingly, that didn't work and you set the box down on the table again. Turning over your shoulder, you called out, "So, what is this pl- ack!"

Just as you turned, a small display of glitter resembling fireworks shot out from Solomon's hand, the shimmering ash eating away at the paper that hovered in midair. Your shout of surprise didn't stir him, his back rigid and still facing you.. The quiet fizzle that caught you off guard became a visible stream of magic curling around him and you before spreading to the far corners of the room.

You watched as the shadows were pushed into the walls before entirely disappearing, the magic gilding the ballroom and mending the disrepair it had fallen into. Tapestries unfurled to hang on the wall as the vibrancy of the old portraits returned. Overhead, empty arches found themselves holding large, crystalline chandeliers that bathed the room in a welcoming glow. Behind you, the music box started playing, the tune sounding like a full orchestra even if you knew it should only be a dissonant metallic tin. The extravagance caught your breath, nearly distracting you from the way the paintings began to shift and colors bled together.

With another wave of his hand, Solomon drew figures from the painting, hundreds spilling out as if a day had been broken. A few emerged from the floor, entering the ballroom the same way one would step out of a lake and onto the shore. Some of the figures wire masks, hiding their identity with the facade of thespian comedy. Others came as they were, wearing the same face in a variety of expressions. Despite the period clothing and many different hairstyles, the face was eerily familiar.

You watched ghoulish duplicates of Solomon traipse around the floor or mingle, talking to invisible counterparts animatedly. The figures that were not identical were faceless, aside from the occasional partner that seemed to exist in greater detail than any version of Solomon. The figures never stepped a foot on the staircase that was now covered in a rich red carpet - somehow, they were completely unaware of your presence yet seemed to know and respect that you and your Solomon lived in reality. They were citizens of the mindscape, figments of the past, and the barrier between what is and what was should not have been breached.

So caught up in your shock were you that you failed to notice Solomon head down the stairs, as if in a trance, and breach that barrier.

Once you saw him slipping between the ghostly figures, expertly sidestepping them as if he had studied their waltz for years, you called out to him. But he did not answer, too focused on the people milling around him. Maybe your voice was drowned out by the faux chorus around you. With a huff, you gripped the strap across your chest and followed him, walking down the stairs so quickly you almost tripped.

The moment you reached the foot of the stairs, you felt as though you had stepped into a bubble. With a close eye on the figures around you, you picked your way through the crowd with significantly less grace than Solomon. You never lost sight of him in his dark clothes, the dancers only distorting his image as if you were looking through water or a warped mirror as they passed in front of your line of sight. One pair accidentally passed through you, sending a harsh arctic chill down your spine. You watched that Solomon, his hair slightly neater and sporting a ridiculous frilly neck accessory you might have made fun of under different circumstances, pay no mind to you and instead look down at his companion. His expression was mischievous, scheming, but the woman he was dancing with had a face of static, barring you from reading her reaction.

Clutching tighter to the bag strap, you hastened your pace and tried to maneuver through the spirits, occasionally brushing your elbow or hip through the people around you. Each time it sent a different shiver through you, some icy while others were warm and tingled your skin. Surrounded by phantom Solomons only made you more eager to find your place next to the real one again, but the static shock you got from passing through the hurdles made you all the more careful in your steps. Who knew finding your way through a crowd you could walk right through would be harder than finding your way through a collection of solid bodies?

Near the center of the room, you found yourself in an open area with Solomon, your Solomon, standing in the middle. It seemed the translucent versions of himself knew to steer clear of him. You watched, standing just on the edge of where the crowd seemed to circle around him, watching as he took in his surroundings. Then, slowly, Solomon turned to you as if realizing for the first time that you were there.

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing could come out. All your words tangled together, the confusion only growing when Solomon reached a hand out to you, palm up. The gaze he held you in was unfocused, his expression the closest to unkind you had ever seen. Even if there were no right decisions, rejecting his offer to dance seemed like the absolute wrong one. With the same timid air as a schoolgirl at her first dance, you placed your hand in his. For a moment, you felt vulnerable as you untucked your arms from your chest, only to feel at ease once Solomon pulled you in. His hand fell to your waist with a practiced ease. If he had been focused, maybe you would've felt butterflies swarming in your stomach, or maybe you would've laughed nervously. His far away gaze kept the joy down, and instead you pressed your lips in a tight line, watching him closely and allowing him to take the lead.

He fell into step with his doppelgangers, directing you through a path of the specters with the firm hand on your waist. Your time at Diavolo's party helped a little, but back then you hadn't been so worried about your partner. (Well, aside from the time Lucifer asked to dance with you only to threaten you - but then you were more worried about what your partner would do to you and not his emotional wellbeing.) It was all you could do to avoid stumbling over your own feet, barely missing his ties with your heavy steps.

"Solomon…" You breathed out, noticing how his gaze stuck to the spirits for a moment too long before turning to you. Your questions died in your throat - Are you okay? What's happening? What memory is this? How do we get out of here? - but he could read your expression clear as day, even with his mind preoccupied.

"These are all memories of me," He explained, leading you into a turn and arely avoiding one of his copies. "I didn't have a specific memory in mind when we activated the box, so...perhaps it just started to play all of them in one."

"So you've been here before?" You asked, astonished.

"It's...familiar. I've been to lots of places. It's hard to tell."

A pair of dancers blew through you, sending a spark down both of your spines. You turned your head to see a version of Solomon look both ways, checking for onlookers that were nowhere to be found, before tenderly reaching towards the face of the man beside him. Before they could meet, Solomon turned you so his body was between you and the romantic scene, but you were able to catch a glimpse of the man's face. It was completely smooth, like an unchisled head to a statue.

Solomon didn't make eye contact with you, a faint blush painting his cheeks. You squeezed his hand in the only reassurance you could give. "I don't mean to pry."

There was no answer, and you couldn't blame him. Even if you hadn't meant to peer into his memories, you were witnessing versions of himself he didn't tell you about, versions of himself he might not even remember. You didn't know if he was dancing with you to angle you away from the things he didn't want to see or just to keep you close, but the fact that you were even around to be swept up in the sea of Solomons was too personal for him to dwell on.

With an almost imperceptible tilt of his head, Solomon's attention was grabbed by someone on the other end of the room. His grip on your hand tightened and he tucked you slightly closer to himself, spinning you in order to turn your course. You couldn't keep up with his faster footwork, nearly tumbling to the ground and only saved by his firm grasp. Solomon wasn't paying attention to you, though; his focus was on whoever he was pursuing, his turns tight as he guided you into a small circle around the room.

The fast turns were making you dizzy, unexpectedly jostling you every time his target moved from his sight. Feebly, you used the hand resting on his shoulder to push him gently away, asking him to stop. The more he spun, the harder you pushed, occasionally asking him to slow down. He wasn't hurting you, but you were hoping that if you could get his attention he might stop. The figures around you were whirling, spinning, disorienting you - was that how dizzy and overwhelmed he felt every day, or just now?

Without warning, the figures around you stretched an arm out as their partners spun away from them, their fingers barely brushing past each other as they disappeared into thin air. As the remain figures turned to fade into their own memories, Solomon did the same to you. You tried to keep your hands connected, hoping maybe if you kept your fingertips on his he could you bring you back to him bring his thoughts with you. That didn't happen, and you felt your fingertips drag across his palm as you stumbled backwards.

Brushing your hair out of your face, you huffed and looked around. It was just you and Solomon in the room again, the Golden facade having faded back into the dim, abandoned ballroom from before. Solomon was staring at a blank space a few feet from the wall, his face scrunched as if watching the world rip something from him. Perhaps he was; perhaps he was watching one of the few faces he could remember beside his own, maybe one of the ones he loved, fade away from his grasp again.

This wasn't about you - clearly, none of the memories were for you to see - but you felt a creeping loneliness settling around you. Solomon was not only lost in his own world, but in hundreds of his own worlds, where details blurred and recognizable friendly faces were a luxury. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you noticed that the music box was now playing music, the kind you'd expect from such a dainty trinket. Now, the sound seemed hollow and eerie, far from how charming you thought it would be before.

Hesitantly, you took one step towards him as the song dwindled to a stop, but the click of your shoe echoed far too aggressively in the room. The walls were slowly returning to the non-descript box you were in before, but Solomon wasn't moving from his spot. The memories would always be swirling around in his head, you supposed. He had to take his time to bridge the gap between you - even if to you, it seemed insurmountable and ever-growing.

#this is my birthday gift to myself hehe #might write a part 2 later idk #obey me #obey me solomon #obey me swd #swd obey me #obey me solomon x reader #solomon #solomon fics #solomon angst #solomon x reader

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thisstableground · 3 years

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Hello! I wanna start drawing again and I'm really fond of your style, I was wondering, do you have any drawing tips? ❤️

okay sorry this took a couple days to reply to because i wanted to think about it, but i think my main advice is to divide up your artistic time into practice and art. this drawfee video on how to practice effectively explains it really well (this section is at around 13 minutes, i haven’t watched the rest of it yet bc it’s a long vid but i bet there’s other good advice in there too): practice is input, drawing is output. practice is learning new information about things you don't know how to do – you're not making a final piece.

practice is things like:

experimenting with different ways of holding the pen/pencil. holding a pen/pencil for drawing is different than how you'd hold it for writing – you want to hold it higher up, and use looser arm movements. different angles will give different effects (see here). holding a pen for a tablet is different to both a traditional pencil and a writing grip. if you have a tablet that picks up on palm contact, try getting a drawing glove so that you don't have to hold your hand at an unnatural angle. draw different lines and shapes and get used to the different effects you can make.

experimenting with different ways of moving your hand. a general rule to follow here is the bigger the shape, the more of your arm you should use to draw it. a lot of people draw primarily with just their fingers or wrists moving because they feel more control there, which is great for fine detail work but doesn't translate well to bigger sweeping shapes, and thats where you end up with wobbly lines or having to draw several scratchy lines instead of one smooth curve. if you want more confident lines you need to draw from the elbow, or the shoulder. it takes some getting used to but it's definitely worth it for keeping your drawings lively instead of stiff, and your wrist will also feel less strain.

learning to draw basic 3 dimensional shapes. boxes, cylinders, spheres. just draw a whole lot of them from different angles.

learning how to break down a complex form into basic shapes. a good way to do this is tracing – tracing has a bad rap as being stealing, but as long as you're not uploading a traced image and passing it off as your own it's a great way to train your eye to understand how forms work together, particularly for something complex like anatomy. draw over an image and break it down into basic shapes. then try to copy those shapes onto your own paper without tracing. do it over and over until you're better at it. (this method of redrawing is called iterative drawing, it's a great practice technique).

theres broader practice and then narrow. having a mix of both is good: quick sketching a whole figure some days, other days really focusing in on like “this is how a nose work”. go with what feels right in the moment.

and then the output, the actual drawing, is when all this practice pays off - these are your pieces that you work on to show people, or the things that you want to make, this is where you chase your creativity and passion. keeping them separate really helps to stop your art feeling like a chore and keeps you from overworking your full pieces (incorporating too much practice into your creative art); it also stops you stagnating or becoming frustrated with your lack of improvement (not practicing enough).

you don't have to be super strict with yourself about when to do which thing; you'll probably go through phases of doing a lot of practice, and then phases of doing a lot of drawing. if you're really struggling with one thing, that's often a sign that you need to do more of the other to balance things out.

other advice:

learn to be bad at art. this is good during practice with things like timed figure drawing or whatever where you just don't have time to make it good, but it's also good in drawing/creating: just letting yourself make “bad” or silly or quick things for the fun of it or to get an idea out. nothing has to be perfect and the earlier you learn to be bad at art the quicker you'll get good at art, and the more you'll enjoy it too

to expand on that, while tablet drawing is great, i've found that i improve a lot more rapidly when i do at least some of my practice a) on paper but also b) in pen or marker or paint, anything non-erasable. the ability to undo and erase infinitely in digital art is great for full pieces but doing your practices in pen means you're forced to be lot less precious and so you learn quicker how to be more decisive and confident with your lines because whatever you put there, you’re stuck with it.

if you're stuck, try something completely out of your comfort zone. use different materials, restrict yourself to a specific colour palette, ask for prompts, set a timer. sometimes there's just too much choice about what to do and it can be paralysing: giving yourself a totally arbitrary restriction can actually push you to be more creative and to get out of a rut (recommending more drawfee here, their random shapes challenge videos are a really good example of this)

you don't have to find your style. it'll find you. it's good to observe what you like about other people's art and try to consciously think about it, it can be really good to ty and mimic those elements yourself during your practice, but for your actual drawings you don't need to think about your style because as your ability improves it will come out naturally.

this applies mostly to traditional, but try to have your paper tilted slightly rather than flat on the desk – i prop my hardback sketchbooks up on a book. if you have your paper flat then you're more likely to get a little bit of a perspective distortion from top to bottom, especially if you're working from a reference, because you're looking at the paper from a different angle than you're looking at the reference so it can look fine when you're drawing but then when you look at it head-on it's just a little off. it also makes it easier to not hunch up over it and get a backache.

FLIP THAT CANVAS. i don't know why this works but its a time-honoured artist technique for making sure that there's reasonable symmetry especially for drawing people: draw your picture out, then flip it. you'll be able to see a lot clearer where the proportions are off. make changes, flip it again, keep doing that. it's harder with traditional media to do this but if you have some tracing paper you can turn that over, or just take a photo of your work and flip that.

a little frustration can be good if it’s motivating you, but if it's so much that you're tearing up your drawings or wanting to quit, you either need to change up your approach for a while or you need to take a bit of a break. i know people say you have to draw every day and if that works for you then do that, but personally, i don’t: i go through phases of drawing all the time then not at all for a few weeks, and that works better for me than forcing myself to work on it every day and i often come back to it a lot better because i’ve given all the practice time to actually sink in. breaks are an important part of learning, whether its hour or a day or a week of just walking the fuck away from the sketchbook and doing something else.

stretch your arms and wrists often, especially if you're drawing for several hours. here's the routine i use, it’s only ten minutes but it makes a big difference. and if you've overdone it and your hand or wrist or back is hurting, don't push through it. drawing is surprisingly physical and i’ve fucked my hands up real bad several times not listening to a slight ache and having it turn into full on RSI

i hope some of that helps! there are a lot more specifics i could get into about a million different things but the overall gist of this is that you should be aware of all the different options you have and can dabble in, and try to find a balance of learning and creating that allows you to improve without sucking all the joy out of it.

#tinywhim

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patchcreator · 3 years

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Tips for Easy Jacket Back Embroidery for Patch Creator

Master 2 essential variables-- hooping as well as placement-- for less complicated, rewarding sew outs.

It's that time of year once more. The climate is getting cooler, the fallen leaves are altering colors and also individuals are drawing jackets out of closets. As an embroiderer, why not profit the possibility to market more embellished things in this apparel group?

Coats and jackets can be great moneymakers. They are more pricey and offer themselves to higher margins. Additionally, if a customer wants a large design on the back, you can get maximum production from your equipment, which indicates maximum revenue if you are a patch creator.

I utilized to dislike doing large layouts on jackets. They are harder to hoop and also the huge designs take a long time to run; I used to think such styles were consuming my maker time. I eventually realized my reasoning was incorrect. Yes, the jacket was on the equipment for a very long time, however the layout still was producing cash for me-- and also at a greater price than a lot of my left-chest logo design sewouts.

Let's say I'm running a 5,000-stitch logo on polo shirts. I can get perhaps eight runs an hour. If I'm charging $1 per thousand stitches, that's $40 a hr (per head). On the other hand, if I have a 60,000-stitch style, it is mosting likely to take a hr as well as 20 minutes to sew. Nevertheless, I'm obtaining $60 for the coat back layout. That exercises to $45 per hour and also I really did not need to work as tough. I might kick back and also relax and also the allow the maker do the benefit an hour or so. This remains in addition to the fact that there usually is much more revenue margin in the markup of coats because of their high price point.

Now that it's evident that jackets can be as profitable-- otherwise a lot more so-- than the "normal" things most embroiderers sew, let's look at the challenges of dealing with coats. First off, there are various jacket varieties. From wind breakers and also warm-ups to Varsity jackets and workwear, they are available in all materials and also thicknesses. Some are glossy, rugged, thick and also thin-- and then, certainly, there's natural leather. Finding out to take care of all the variations takes a while as well as practice, yet there are some principles you can adhere to-- regardless of the kind of coat you are dealing with-- that will certainly help ensure success.

STABILIZING AND HOOPING

Before starting any kind of task, it is necessary to choose the correct stabilizer. Fortunately, the selections are easy when it comes to jackets. For light-weight coats, like wind breakers and also various other nylon coats, a sheet of tearaway stabilizer need to suffice. For thicker coats, little or no stabilizer whatsoever is required.

When making your choice, remember that the secret is how much an item stretches. Thick coats have little stretch and so much cellular lining that including one more layer of something is not truly helping anything. If you stress over distortion, throw an item of tearaway stabilizer behind it and that will be greater than sufficient. The only time a cutaway stabilizer is required is when you're embroidering stretchy knit coats.

Hooping coats, specifically thick ones, always is an obstacle. They are larger than a normal-size garment. Often, embroiderers don't have a template for the mounting board to fit the back hoop dimension and also there are very few recommendations for you to know whether the coat is hooped right.

If you stitch a lot of coats, it pays to buy or make a mounting theme for your framing board, or have a table that appropriates for hooping these larger items. It doesn't have to be expensive; I use an old school desk. I discover it is the ideal size for the coat and it likewise permits me to apply more descending pressure as I attempt to press thick jackets right into a hoop.

LINING IT UP

The point of using a hooping device is to aid in getting points lined up regularly from item to piece. Coats can be a little challenging when it concerns alignment, particularly when they do not have many marks or joints. Facility joints create easy alignment, and also lots of coats have a seam up around the shoulders, that makes a great, straight line to recommendation. Just make certain the style remains below that shoulder joint for proper placement.

If there are no joints or various other reference marks, begin by noting where you desire the center of the style to be. Positioning guides say to place the layout 7-10 inches below the neck. This depends on the dimension of the layout as well as the style of the coat.

You constantly can reference the sleeves and also all-time low of the coat, as well. Line up the clips on the hoop with the sleeves to help straighten out the layout. After that, to ensure straightness, step from each side of the hoop to the bottom of the coat to ensure it is even. I use the tab on the hoop where the steel clips are screwed on for the recommendation point on each side of the hoop.

PRESSING THINGS IN

Hooping a slim coat isn't truly a big deal. Thick coats, nevertheless, are one more story. Relying on its density, there are different techniques you can use to obtain the coat onto the embroidery machine, and also there are some traditional and not-so-conventional strategies for achieving this.

A lot of jackets you stitch will certainly fit in a hoop; they simply need a lot of effort as well as strength to do so. In these cases, you can attempt to loosen the adjusting screw more than what need to be needed to hold the coat prior to hooping. When the item is hooped, simply tighten up the screw.

Usually, it is not advised to utilize tools to help in tightening up the screw-- yet I make an exception in the case of thick, resilient products like hefty coats. It occasionally requires even more utilize than can just be generated by even the best of fingers. A set of pliers (or screwdriver, depending upon your changing screw) may remain in order.

Most of the moment, jackets should be hooped inverted due to the fact that the waist has a bigger opening than the neck. That suggests less product will be accumulated in the back, and it makes the jacket less complicated to jump on and also off the maker. It also is much less likely to catch on something or push the hoop off the device.

There are numerous hoops on the market with numerous attributes to aid with these issues. Allied's Grid-Lock collection includes a really lengthy readjusting screw that enables the hoop to open broader. These hoops likewise include grid lines to help with alignment.

When pressing the inner ring into the hoop, begin with one side and afterwards the other rather than attempting to press the entire hoop in entirely. This "heel-to-toe" technique assists for leverage and also to line things up. Let's state I'm making use of the top-shoulder joint as a mark. I can line up and also establish that side of the hoop initially, after that press in the bottom side.

Another option is to utilize a larger-than-necessary hoop. I understand this violates the conventional wisdom that says to make use of the smallest-possible hoop, but in some cases it is nearly difficult to obtain a thick jacket right into hoop of a smaller sized size. The additional area in a bigger hoop makes this possible. This periodically is the case, especially with smaller placements.

The hoop popping apart is one of the most discouraging things that can occur when dealing with thick coats. This typically happens right after you get it hooped and also are moving it to the equipment. Even worse is when it occurs while embroidery. To alleviate this trouble, I utilize plastic springtime clamps around the outside of the hoop. You have to be careful to ensure they do not hit anything, yet that they assist keep the hoop together while sewing.

Whatever you do, some coats just will not fit in a hoop. Do not stress. There are means to get things onto the needlework equipment that aren't in a hoop. For beginners, when utilizing a normal hoop as well as glue stabilizer, you can stick the item into the hoop. To do this, hoop the stabilizer with the peel-away paper still on it. Once it is hooped, score the paper to as well as peel it away. Put the hoop onto the machine and afterwards straighten the coat over it. It is a good concept to utilize basting stitches at the start of the design to better secure it to the stabilizer. Basting stitches are truly lengthy (9mm-10mm) running stitches around the beyond the style that can be utilized to tack it down prior to the needlework starts. The size makes them simple to eliminate as soon as the style is completed.

This is the same concept as the Fast Frames and the EMS HoopTech Quick Change structures use. These supply a less complicated means to obtain the jacket onto the machine as opposed to hooping truly thick things.

Nevertheless, there are a few downsides to utilizing this method. First is the alignment. Since the hoop is on the within, there is no visual recommendation that will certainly suggest whether it is straight. Second, the coat's cellular lining will stick, leaving the outer layer to move. To overcome this, I connect the plastic springtime secures around the outside of the hoop to hold things together.

You can now really eagerly anticipate the cooler weather and the subsequent coat orders you will get this season. They may need a little even more job, but the payback is absolutely worth it. You can unwind as well as appreciate the attractive autumn leaves while your maker ends up those long, lucrative jacket back runs.

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ad-ciu · 4 years

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Celts in Pop-Culture: Extra Mythology, Part #1

So, in a likely feeble attempt to ward off the slowly crawling insanity and self-doubt fueled primordial terror of an Old Irish exam today, I have decided to spend this evening doing something I have been promising to do for months now: discuss the Extra Mythology video titled: ‘Celtic Myth: the Island of Destiny.’

Now, before I get into the specifics, I would like to preface this discussion with the fact that I did reach out to the people behind this project and let them know there were issues with the material and offered my assistance to revising or helping provide research for a corrections video if it was of interest to themselves. I was informed that they were drawing on the works of Peter Berresford Ellis, a journalist who is very notably not a trained Celticist, and were comfortable with their choice as it showed the variation in the stories, and that I would look forward to the corrections episode. As it has now been eleven months since the initial video’s publication and no correction video has arrived, I want to start my commentary on it.

Oh, and before we begin, thanks to Thrythlind for transcribing this video and the next one so I can comment on them more easily.

Now, the issue with the version of events presented by Extra Mythology, drawing on Ellis, is that it is primarily absolutely totally and factually made up. Which, you know, bad start. But, lets start in the big picture and then break it down. The events described in this text are a segment of Lebor Gabála Érenn, the ‘Book of the Taking of Ireland,’ (henceforth LGE) and Cath Maige Tuired, the ‘Battle of Mag Tuired.’ (henceforth CMT) These are two exceptionally interesting texts, and a great place to start when introducing someone to Irish saga material as Extra Mythology intended to do! However, there is a large problem: the version of events told by Extra Mythology is only loosely based in these texts.

As you can see here and here, there is not actually a tremendous amount of variation between the extant versions of these two stories. LGE has four medieval versions, each of which I have had the pleasure to read (and you can too! Volumes 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5!) and CMT has one medieval version which is one of my favorite texts. I highly suggest reading it, and you can find it here.

So, as we can see, right off the bat we are not dealing with a huge amount of variant texts with a bunch of differences. In fact, there are very few versions of LGE that are very consistent in this relevant section, and CMT has no variants. (There is a Early Modern version, but nobody has ever translated it... or really worked on it. Or done anything with it.) So, I would like to initially begin by pointing out that while Extra Mythology has explained to me that they chose this version of the text to show the different versions, there are none, and the version they used does in fact offer alternatives that are not authentic, not medieval, and made up by Ellis.

Now, to begin.

Void became form and form became Earth and out of the Earth sprang a tree. It was the mighty oak, watered by the river of Heaven, the Danu. And from that oak fell two acorns from which sprang the first of the gods: The Dagda and Brigid. They were the first children of the Danu. And over time the Children of the Danu grew and built four great cities on the banks of the sacred river.

Well, that’s all fictional. The ‘Creation of the World’ for Irish mythology is the Book of Genesis, these myths (if we can call them that, see: Ireland’s Immortals by Mark Williams) are set within a Christian world and a broader Christian cosmology. There is no tree, there is no ‘river of heaven’ named Danu since Danu is a person, in theory (as we never see her ‘on screen’ and might even be dead before the events of these stories), and there is certainly no gods coming out of acorns. And the Four Cities are on islands to the north of Ireland, they are not built along a sacred river.

Now! Where is this coming from? I presume this is Ellis trying to connect Danu, the ancestral figure of the Túatha Dé Danann with the Danube River in Germany which might have a linguistic connection, but no evidence to exists to suggest they were believed to be connected by the time of LGE.

Those cities flourished and in each of them was crafted a great artifact. In one was the Stone of Destiny which would shout with joy when a righteous ruler set his foot upon it. In another was Retaliator, the greatest sword ever forged. In the third could be found the Red Javelin which once thrown would find its mark no matter how its foes hid. And, finally, in the fourth city, lay the Cauldron of Plenty which could feed all the Children of the Danu and still never empty.

Now, this section is rather interesting as it is getting some things correct and then absolutely dropping the ball elsewhere. Let us compare this statement with the actual text of CMT where this description of the Four Treasures of the Túatha Dé Danann are named and described! (Using quotation marks to make it less confusing than if I used block-quotes for both the video and original texts)

“From Falias was brought the Stone of Fál which was located in Tara. It used to cry out beneath every king that would take Ireland. From Gorias was brought the spear which Lug had. No battle was ever sustained against it, or against the man who held it in his hand. From Findias was brought the sword of Núadu. No one ever escaped from it once it was drawn from its deadly sheath, and no one could resist it. From Murias was brought the Dagda's cauldron. No company ever went away from it unsatisfied.“

So, what is wrong here? Well, most of it. Lets go treasure by treasure.

The Stone: Extra Mythology claims that the stone would shout when ‘a righteous ruler set his foot upon it’ where as the actual text says it would make a noise when ‘beneath every king that would take Ireland.’ There is zero moral judgement here, the rock is just a prophecy stone that says when someone will be King of all Ireland. Very different.

The Spear: Extra Mythology calls this the ‘Red Javelin’ which is a name I have never heard before, and claims that the spear is unerring. In reality, the spear is just described as the spear that Lug had, and its function is far cooler in that battles cannot be won against the wielder. Pretty.... massive difference to tell the truth. (I think Extra Mythology via Ellis is talking about The Lúin, a colossal spear that distorts reality to always hit and always kill from an entirely different story)

The Sword: Extra Mythology claims the sword is named ‘Retaliator’ and it was simply the greatest sword forged. The reality describes this as the Sword of Núadu (who Extra Mythology will call Nuada) and that no one ever escaped from it, and no one could resist it when drawn. Vague, but way more detailed than what Ellis has informed Extra Mythology with. Furthermore, ‘Retaliator’ is a different sword, one named Fragarach (translated as Retaliator) which is Manannán mac Lir’s sword which can command the wind, cut through any armour, and will always kill someone it wounds. Super weird call there.

The Cauldron: Extra Mythology presents this as ‘The Cauldron of Plenty’ and that it can feed all of the Children of Danu. The reality just calls it The Dagda’s cauldron and that ‘no company ever went away from it unsatisfied’ which probably sounds very similar, but the difference is important. In a culture with such heavy emphasis on feeding and hosting as medieval Ireland, the importance I would put here is not just on the cauldron’s ability to feed everyone, but to satisfy everyone. There won’t be honour arguments over who got better food, there won’t be violence over issues of disparity, everyone will be satisfied and the host’s duty will be completed.

So, they got the treasures wrong. In fact, they just subbed out two of them for totally different magical items from different Irish sagas, and then sort of misrepresented the other two. Anyways, continuing.

But one day, The Dagda called the greatest of his children from all the cities and told them of their destiny. For it was not for them to remain by the sacred river Danu but to head to an island where the sun set. Before they went, though, Brigid offered them a warning. They would not be alone on this island. Others would try to make it theirs. With this warning, the Children of the Danu set out for their new home. Bringing with them their four great treasures for protection. Unsure of what they'd find on this Island of Destiny. Or so some say.

None of this happens,the only person who says this is Ellis I presume as it is not at all found in any of the medieval texts. We never get an explanation of why the Túatha Dé leave the Four Cities for Ireland, never gets explained.

Some say they came in a dark cloud from origins unknown and alighted on a mountaintop. Others still say they came from strange cities across the sea. Where they learned science and magical arts and when they arrived they burnt their ships behind them. Wagering all on the conquest of Ireland.

Oh, this is true! Our first factual bits of information here. So, yes, the variation here is actually mentioned in texts! That either the Túatha Dé arrived in ships of mist, or that this was just people misunderstanding that they had burned their ships when they arrived. Though, in both versions they still come from The Four Cities.

As they started to explore the misty plains of Inis Vale they encountered a curious people already living there: the Fir Bolg.

Also known as: relatives of the Túatha Dé Danann, and also the native people of Ireland at this time. So, the Túatha Dé have arrived, and found a bunch of native people living in the island they want, I am sure they will be very polite and get along well. Yeah? Well no, of course not, the Túatha Dé Danann are conquering colonizers, they’re not good people.

The Danu asked for half of Ireland to be theirs to settle and they could live in peace. But the Fir Bolg refused so battle was decided upon.

Firstly, ‘the Danu’? No. That would be like calling the Romans ‘The Romulus.’ Secondly, the Túatha Dé demanded half of Ireland from the Fir Bolg who, understandably, were not entirely okay with just giving up half of their land no questions asked to a foreign bunch of randoms who just rolled up and burned their ships.

LGE says, “They demanded battle or kingship of the Fir Bolg. A battle was fought between them, to wit the first battle of Mag Tuired” which if I am reading this correctly is consistant through the versions. So! The Túatha Dé rolled up, went ‘we demand either that we are in charge of you all [and your lands] or fight us about it.’ Very different.

But just to be clear, battle back then was a lot different to the way we think of it now. This was a matter of honor. The Children of the Danu made spears for the Fir Bolg to use. And the Fir Bolg crafted javelins for the Children of the Danu. They agreed on how many soldiers each side would bring. And where they would do battle. They even agreed on how many days they would fight for.

This is a weird misunderstanding or misrepresentation of the facts. Bres mac Elatha and Sreng meet each other and exchange the demands for Ireland, and then exchange spears with each other in a very homoerotic scene after handling and inspecting each other’s spears.

At this point we start getting into a long description of a battle which I’m going to pick specific things out of to discuss rather than going word for word.

Until the leaders of both sides, Nuada of the Children of the Danu and Sreng for the Fir Bolg, met in the center of the melee.

Sreng is the champion of the current high king of the Fir Bolg at the time, he isn’t the leader of the Fir Bolg. The Fir Bolg king at this time was Eochaid mac Erc.

Then, Sreng landed a titanic strike. His blade cleft through Nuada's shield and severed his right arm in one stroke. Nuada stumbled back, dazed. It looked as though the end had come. Then The Dagda himself intervened and spirited Nuada away.

Yes, Sreng cuts off Nuadu’s hand (or arm. Lám in Old Irish could mean either), but The Dagda isn’t even mentioned in this scene. That’s a super weird detail for Ellis (presumably it was him and not Extra Mythology) to make up.

They took him to Dian Cecht; God of Healing, Lord of Physicians; who crafted him a new arm of pure silver that moved like an arm of flesh and blood.

Also Creidne the smith. Everyone always forgets Creidne and I won’t stand for it.

Now you might think that the Children of the Danu would have quavered at the sight of their leader fallen in front of them. That they would break as their king was smote by the Fir Bolg champion. But, no, Bres, Warrior of the Danu, quick of mind and beautiful of form seized the king's right arm and raised it aloft. Angered by such a sight, the Children of the Danu swore vengeance. And plunged into the Fir Bolg ranks.

This is literally all fictional and I have no idea why Ellis would even make this up.

Finally, the Fir Bolg were all but defeated. 300 Fir Bolg warriors remained. Led by Sreng, their great champion. They took counsel and decided to fight to the last.

So this is sort of weird a) because we are glossing over the fact that in this version the Túatha Dé have essentially committed genocide here, and b) because other Fir Bolg escape this battle.

They quickly chose Bres as their leader for his valor and charm of mind.

So firstly, we don’t mention that now we are dealing with an entirely different text? Well, okay. And also sadly CMT is more misogynistic than this as CMT explains: “There was contention regarding the sovereignty of the men of Ireland between the Túatha Dé and their wives, since Núadu was not eligible for kingship after his hand had been cut off. They said that it would be appropriate for them to give the kingship to Bres the son of Elatha, to their own adopted son, and that giving him the kingship would knit the Fomorians' alliance with them, since his father Elatha mac Delbaith was king of the Fomoire.”

So, bit more complicated and has inter-tribal strife along gendered lines in reality.

But Bres was half Fomorian, a name we've not heard tell of yet in this tale. But we soon will. In his rule he acted more as a Fomorian than as one of the Danu. But, the reign of Bres and the war against the ancient and strange Fomorians is a story for next time.

Okay, again, still, ‘the Danu’ just catches my ear and confuses me every time. Bres has come up in this story before and is an entirely reasonable person, and like, most of the Túatha Dé big-names are part Fomorian. The Dagda, Nuadu, and Ogma are all Bres’ brothers and also sons of Elatha of the Fomori. And, ‘acted more as a Fomorian than as one of the Danu’ is just such a loaded statement. Yes, the Fomorians are raiding slavers who exploit less powerful tribal groups for personal wealth. The Túatha Dé are, shockingly, raiding slavers who exploit less powerful tribal groups and we have just seen them slaughter the indiginous population of Ireland and regulate them to a small portion of their original land. There is no moral connection here, the Fomorians and the Túatha Dé are just supernatural peoples hanging out in Ireland. One isn’t good and one isn’t bad.

Anyways, that’s the end of the first of two videos put out on this. Hopefully I shall do the next one this weekend.

In conclusion, what we see here is just a very strange misrepresentation of the events of LGE and a bit of CMT. Entire scenes are made up, ‘the Danu’ as a sacred river is... absolute nonsense. The idea of a world tree and gods born from acorns is fictional. So much of this is just fictional, an outright lie, or very misleadingly represented that I really cannot recommend this as an introduction to medieval Irish saga literature. I am disappointed that so little care or research was put into this by the Extra Mythology series, where when the original texts are available for free and in translation they instead chose a fictional version of the story made up by a journalist. It is incredibly irresponsible in the least, especially that when contacted the concerns on the accuracy and validity of the story they had told to their audience was brushed away.

Oh well, on to the second half of this story.

#extra mythology #irish mythology #celtic mythology #celtic myth #irish myth #celtic studies #mythology #túatha dé danann

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taww · 4 years

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Class A Amps Explained & Compared: Valvet A4 Mk.II vs. Pass Labs XA30.5

After years of hearing about the benefits of Class A amplifiers, I finally got a taste in my system when the Valvet A4 Mk.II monoblocks arrived. Despite its cost and inefficiency, Class A operation has long been held as a gold standard of amplification by many in the high-end, Krell and Nelson Pass among its better-known evangelists. Different Class A amps have their distinct sonic character like any other amps, and no, Class A isn’t a guarantee of great sound. But one commonality I’ve heard from many of these big hot amps is a lovely naturalness and liquidity that came closer to tubes in capturing music’s tonal colors... as if all that bias current helped burn away the ills of solid state. Once I heard good Class A, many otherwise excellent Class AB amps seemed a bit bland and mechanical by comparison. This was borne out when the Valvet arrived while the excellent Bryston 4B Cubed was also in-house. While the powerhouse Bryston was a great amp in its own right, the Valvet just seems to have less electronic artifact and more musical blood flowing through its veins, to paraphrase an old colleague. I was hooked and craving more Class A, so I jumped at the opportunity to give the Pass Labs XA30.5 a try. Replaced by the XA30.8 a few years back, it’s an older design that became a bit of an icon as one of the more attainable ways (MSRP $5500) to achieve Class A nirvana. It makes for a fascinating design contrast with the Valvet - big American muscle vs. tidy German simplicity.

What is Class A again? 🤓

First, a quick refresher. “Class A” operation means the devices (in this case the output transistors of the amp, commonly MOSFET or bipolar [BJT] devices) have enough bias current applied to them to ensure they always stay conductive (“on”) throughout the entire voltage swing of the musical signal. Remember that transistors tend to behave like on-off switches that require a certain threshold current to become conductive. This non-linear behavior is called the transconductance curve, and the idea with Class A is you always have enough juice flowing to keep the device in the conductive, most linear part of the curve.

Non-linear transconductance (current vs. voltage) curve of a bipolar transistor (BJT). Amazing we can get good sound of of these things, eh? (Source: stackexchange.com)

In contrast, Class AB amplifiers utilize “push-pull” complementary (NPN/n-channel and PNP/p-channel) pairs of transistors taking turns handling the positive and negative swings of the musical signal. They will only apply enough current to keep both devices on for smaller signals, and as power increases one side of the push-pull will cease conducting while the other side takes care of business. This is a clearly a more efficient setup - no wasted power for a device that doesn’t need to be on - but one that does have one device always transitioning in or out of its ideal operating region. Even if it’s not doing the heavy lifting, it’s contributing non-linearity and this leads to distortion that typically requires some form of negative feedback to mitigate. (If you’d like to go a level deeper on the theory of all this, check out this tutorial.)

A couple observations that are obvious from a circuit perspective, but perhaps clouded by all the marketing speak in the audio biz. Firstly, virtually all single-ended audio amplifiers are Class A by definition, and all Class AB amplifiers are push-pull. There would be no point in designing a non-Class A single-ended amp for audio because it would distort massively whenever the signal exceeded its Class A bias range. Class A for push-pull means both devices are conducting all the time, but there is an interesting catch - if the output signal exceeds the amount of bias current to keep one side of the push-pull pair in its linear region, the amp still keeps working because the other device is conducting - it’s being pushed in the opposite direction on its transconductance curve, towards saturation (overload). This means unlike single-ended Class A, push-pull Class AB will simply start acting like Class B at high power levels. Secondly, not all Class A biasing is the same - yes, the device might be fully on, but how far into its operating region (where on the transconductance curve) has it been juiced? This is why e.g. when Pass Labs upgraded the XA30.5 to the XA30.8, they increased bias current significantly, resulting in an amp that was still rated at 30Wpc but used over 100 watts more at idle and weighed 25 lbs more.

Class A Power Ratings 🔌

With all that in mind, let’s look at the rated power of these two amps. The Pass Labs weighs 60 lbs/27 kg and is rated at 30 watts into 8 ohms, which is literally 1/10th the rated power of the similarly-sized Bryston 4B Cubed. The Valvet is rated at 55 watts into 8 ohms, with each compact monoblocks weighing 26 lbs/12 kg - it’s well under half the size and weight of the Pass. How can both be Class A, meaning they both operate at low efficiency, yet the Valvet is purportedly 83% more powerful in such a compact package? While I haven’t spoken with Valvet designer Knut Cornils about how he rated the power of the A4, Pass Labs is very clear that their 30Wpc rating is for fully Class A operation, but that the amp will continue delivering power with low distortion well past that. And indeed, when Stereophile measured the XA30.5 on the bench, it delivered 130 watts into 8 ohms and 195 watts into 4 ohms before hitting 1% distortion. Those famous Pass Labs bias meters (NOT power meters as on e.g. Macintosh amps) also tell you exactly when bias current starts to fluctuate, indicating the amp is leaving Class A. On my 92.5dB-efficient Audiovector SR 6 speakers, they would just start to wiggle on heavy bass notes or orchestral climaxes at high listening levels.

Valvet A4 power draw at idle. Double this for two monoblocks.

Since I wasn’t able to measure the actual bias current inside the amps, I took a look at idle power draw as a rough proxy. Though the Pass XA30.5 is rated at 238W at idle, I measured closer to 190W once fully warmed up; meanwhile, the Valvet monoblocks idled at around 90W each. So, pretty similar, which doesn’t mean their Class A biasing is the same (it depends on a host of other factors such as the voltage of the supply rails) but it hints to the Valvet not being “juiced” any more deeply into Class A despite its higher power rating. This is also borne out by the similar operating temperatures (toasty, but not burning hot) and the fact that the power supply in the Pass, while having less capacitance than the Valvet, likely has just as much (if not more) transformer muscle. I don’t know the rating of the Pass’s massive toroid but I suspect it’s more then double the 400VA in each Valvet.

With the caveat that this is conjecture based on the physical, electrical and sonic observations (more on those later), the Valvet’s 55 watts are likely closer to the 1% THD point where it has crossed over into Class AB, and not at full Class A. And as another point of comparison, I currently have the Gryphon Essence Class A power amp that’s rated at 50 watts Class A, and it weighs all of 100 lbs with an absolutely massive power supply. Just as all watts on amp ratings are not alike, neither are all Class A watts apparently.

Sonics 🎶

The Pass amp took some time to come out of its slumber after having been powered down for a while, but its famously warm, relaxed character was immediately discernible. After a couple days much of the initial “MOSFET mist” burned off and a wonderful synergy developed between Pass Labs amp, Audiovector SR 6 Avantgarde Arreté speakers and Furutech DSS-4.1 speaker cables. The XA30.5′s big tone, ripe bottom end and easy power nicely complemented the speed and range of the Audiovectors, requiring no softening or sugar coating from the exceedingly transparent Furutech wire. Compared to the Valvet, the Pass had a bigger sound with more generous bass that was borderline fat without ever getting sloppy. Interestingly the soundstage was noticeably wider as well, despite the Valvets being monoblocks which would ostensibly give them an advantage in channel separation. Vocals on the Pass were a little fleshier on a broader, more spaced stage, and dynamics felt a bit more grounded by that extra bass oomph.

Pass’s XA.5-series styling certainly wasn’t known for its subtlety...

The Valvet counters with a faster, more incisive sound. One of the distinguishing features of the Valvet is the use of a single pair of transistors in the output stage. A number of manufacturers have been taking this approach as of late, including Pass in their XA25 amplifier which takes purism a step further by also eliminating the emitter degeneration resistors. The argument for such a simple topology is that no two transistors behave identically, and thus paralleling them causes some loss of fidelity as you can never get all of them at an identical ideal operating point and things kind of “average out.” The XA30.5 uses 10 pairs of MOSFETs per channel, and it’s only when you listen to the Valvet that you realize the Pass might have a few extra dancers in the troupe who aren’t quite as perfectly in lockstep with the music. The Valvet paints with a finer-tipped brush that can trace all the contours and curves of a musical line with great agility; the Pass doesn’t lack for resolution, but feels a tad slower and mushier, like a brush that has a bit of fuzz around it. This is particularly apparent in the upper frequencies where the Valvet has noticeably more sparkle and precision.

Tonally, both strike me as not deviating very far from neutral, but the Valvet has a subtle bit of upper midrange highlighting that methinks is in part due to its silver internal wiring. Silver tends to have a shinier sound to it, and when balanced well in a system it can really bring the details of a performance alive; but if not properly balanced, it risks sounding lean and forward. With the Valvet, the silver character is applied very judiciously, but I did find I needed to use more relaxed interconnects and speaker wires (e.g. Audience) to get the right overall tonality and perspective. The payoff is in the upper frequencies, where the Valvet makes the Pass sound a bit thick and cloudy by comparison. With a suitable source and preamp (the Gryphon Essence preamp was transformative in this respective), the tinkle of triangles and sheen of violins are presented with effortlessly clarity.

For reference, that’s a bookshelf speaker (Role Kayak) with 4″ woofers.

In terms of Class A qualities, both have wonderfully colorful midranges and a fair helping of liquidity and naturalness, but the Pass wears these quality more on its sleeve by sounding downright lush at times. It also maintains this warmth at higher volume levels where the Valvet can start to get a bit brighter and more strained, perhaps indicating where it’s leaving its Class A bias range. Where both excel is in conveying the lyricism of a tune or the palpability of an instrument or voice owing to their resolving, tonally complete midrange presentations. Both have a singing character that sounds and feels so organic and unencumbered vs. a typical Class AB amp. The Valvet does it with a slightly sharper focus on the lines around instruments and a bit more sparkle and dynamic alacrity; the Pass does it with a big, easy smoothness and weighty low end. Though the Valvet has no problem driving my full-range Audiovector speakers to satisfying volume levels, the Pass feels like it’ll be a bit more effortless and stable into a wider variety of speakers given its beefier output stage.

Going out on a limb: based on Gary Beard’s insightful remarks in Positive Feedback, methinks the Valvet might have more in common with the sound of the newer XA30.8. Gary’s observations of the XA30.5 align very closely with mine, and he describes the 30.8 as being more precise and incisive vs. the 30.5, similar to how I hear the Valvet vs. the 30.5. I would certainly expect the newer Pass to have more grunt than the Valvet given its even more massive power supply, but the Valet might capture some of the delicate qualities of the Pass XA25 as well. Both of those amps would make a really interesting comparison to the Valvet.

Closing Thoughts 🤔

Nit-picking power ratings aside, the Valvet A4 and Pass XA30.5 are both fantastically musical amplifiers that deliver plenty of the famed Class A magic with verve and character. It’s no coincidence that after the Valvet landed in my system, the next two amplifiers I’ve sought out - the Pass and the Gryphon Essence - are also Class A. This isn’t to say I’ll never go back to Class AB (and I’m actually expecting a Class D amplifier soon 😱), but after years of swearing I’d only seek out more practical amps that weren’t so ridiculously big and hot, the Class A bug has bitten me pretty hard. If tonal purity and musical nuance are top priorities for you, amps like the Valvet and Pass Labs deserve a spot on your audition list.

#class a #audio #audiophile #hifi #amplifiers #pass labs

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xathia-89 · 5 years

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An Attack of the Angels

I was going to write this one. But then my husband found out it involved his favourite doctor, and I wasn’t allowed to write it. This is @muggzc ask!

"Ah, Doctor!" Sarah Jane exclaimed as she nearly tripped over one of several piles of electronic objects littered across the control room floor.

"What is it, Sarah?" the Doctor's voice was muffled as he lay flat on his back inside the TARDIS console.

"I nearly tripped over some of your junk!"

"Junk?!" The Doctor exclaimed, pulling himself out from under the console. "Junk?!" He reiterated, pushing the mop of curly brown hair away from his eyes. "There's no junk in here, Sarah."

"Well, what do you call all this, then?" Sarah was holding a motherboard aloft from the pile at her feet complete with loose wires dangling and parts hanging off it.

"Well… you know… everything has a purpose! Eventually, did you realise in the Morrallox system, there's a whole planet covered in bits and bobs nobody wants."

"Looks like you could drop off half the TARDIS there," Sarah teased. "What are you doing anyway?"

"I'm trying to fix the randomiser in the TARDIS coordinate finder."

"Why? What's wrong with it?"

"It's picking random numbers," the Doctor explained, sliding back under the console.

"Well.. surely that's what it's for?" Sarah's confusion was evident on her face.

"In a manner of thinking, yes…" he bashed something, and a spark flew out in the opposite direction. "But on the other hand, you don't want it to be too random; otherwise we could materialise inside a wall or in the heart of a star, and that would be very bad indeed."

"Oh, yes," Sarah nodded, pausing a moment in deep thought. "Doctor, where are we going next?" She asked, picking up a white paper bag intent to peer inside it with avid interest.

"Be careful with that!" The Doctor was back out from under the console in a split second, snatching the bag back off the woman and tucking it into a pocket as he disappeared yet again.

"Why? Will it be useful in 100 years?" Sarah laughed, not quite believing the Doctor's possessiveness over whatever it was.

"No… it's my jelly babies," his voice was almost a sulking tone before he slid out again with a grin on his face. "That should do it anyway," he declared, steering the conversation away from the sweets as he was mashing at a few buttons.

The console came to life, and the central column began to hum and light up like a tiny version of Blackpool illuminations.

"Caution, Master," K9 trundled out from behind an exceptionally large pile of 'junk' from the far side of the room, obscured mostly from Sarah Jane by the now lit up column.

"What is it, K9?" The Doctor sounded faintly irritated. Sarah shot him a nasty look and moved to kneel by the robotic dog as it rolled to them.

"We are crossing a time rift," K9 replied, his voice static from the programming.

"A time rift?" The Doctor scoffed, continuing to face the console as though ignoring the warning. "A time rift," he repeated, thoughtfully softening his voice.

"Affirmative," K9 chirped back its reply meeting no response from the Timelord.

The TARDIS stopped humming, and the central column slowed to stillness again. This was never going to be a good thing.

"Doctor?" Sarah asked, her tone tinged with fear.

"Come along Sarah," the Doctor was concerned, that much was evident from the way he slung his ridiculously long scarf over his shoulder before tugging his hat on firmly to his head.

"What did K9 mean?" The woman pressed, following his long strides with a little difficulty as he exited the console room.

The doors on the TARDIS were flung open. They were surrounded by metal panels in a grand space most likely used as a hangar. It was big enough for a small ship to land in except with the addition of large crates around them it was a broader indication that this space was now more for storage than active aviation housing. This meant that it wasn't going to be continuously patrolled, in theory anyway.

"What did K9 mean?" Sarah was pestering the Doctor now, determined to get an answer from the man as she closed the doors of the TARDIS behind them.

"A time rift occurs when there is a distortion in time, like something being forced one way or another through time… it's not good at all, and shouldn't be happening, certainly not at this point in time," the Timelord finally caved and gave a brief description to his companion, though nothing could genuinely explain the complexities of some aspects of the universe.

He looked out of the window. The solitary break in the metal expanse awarded him with the sight of a mostly blue planet beneath them rotating lazily in the region of space.

Sarah would recognise that planet anywhere. "Earth," she stated confidently. "We're in a space station orbiting Earth."

"Yes indeed," the Doctor's tone did nothing to soothe Sarah's nerves, there was definitely something amiss.

"Well, there's nothing wrong with that!" The woman replied. "It's not out of orbit or anything-"

"It's 1750," The Doctor interrupted, unable to lift his eyes off the planet and meet the concerned gaze of his companion.

"1750?" Sarah looked puzzled "How can it be? There were no space stations back then?"

"Exactly Sarah, come on, let's get back to the Tardis and see if K9 has any more information on that time rift signature."

They turned from the window and began walking back to the Tardis when a voice shouted from the gloom of the hangar.

"Stop right there!" The tone demanding complete obedience suggested a position of authority.

"Oh here we go," the Doctor muttered checking his watch "6 minutes! They're not very quick on this ship," he grinned at Sarah and spun his hands around in the air.

"Hello!" the Doctor shouted still grinning "it's very nice to be here on your ship, would you like a jelly baby?"

"Can it stowaway scum!" the voice replied harshly.

"Oh fair enough" the Doctor replied then whispered to Sarah "I don't think he's seen you. Head back quickly to the Tardis."

"Who are you talking to?!" the voice was closer now.

"Oh, only myself. I often do that."

A man walked into view dressed in some kind of battle armour in varying shades of dark green, with a matching helmet.

"You're all done up very tight," the Doctor commented, giving the imposing man a once over "Are you expecting trouble?"

The man didn't reply just stuck the barrel of his gun into the Doctor's ribs "Move," he grunted. A shift in pressure wordlessly indicating which direction they expected the Doctor to move in.

"Fair enough, I know when a conversation is not required still you could do with some lighting…."

Sarah heard the Doctors voice trail off as the man ushered him out of the building. She crept out from behind the large case she had ducked behind, and cautiously snuck across to the Tardis, making sure she was not captured as well.

"K9?" She said in a low voice, as she entered the control room. She really didn't want to draw unwanted attention to them.

"Mistress?" K9's reply whirled out in his usual manner as it emerged once more from the piles scattered across the floor.

"The Doctor's been kidnapped, and he sent me to get more information from you."

"I am aware of events mistress, the Tardis scanner showed the whole scene quite clearly."

Sarah smiled at how matter of fact K9 was when he spoke, she knew he didn't mean any harm by his abruptness. It was just how the Doctor had programmed him.

"The time rift was caused by a large object being sent back through time without time travel technology," K9 continued after a moment of 'thinking'.

"But how is that possible?" Sarah asked, her head tilting to the side in confusion.

K9's ears whirred as he processed her question, searching his databanks for the correct response.

"The exact cause of time travel unknown although the method is assigned to only one known species in the universe."

"Which species?" Sarah asked hesitantly, afraid of the answer before the question was out of her mouth.

***

The Doctor was pushed into a large control room. Shadows loomed in the space overpowering the dim illuminations. At one end of the room, a large desk was placed under a source of faint light. The rest of the ominous, atmospheric lighting came from the vast bank of monitors opposite the office.

"Do you like to keep it dark for any reason?" the Doctor commented but got no reply, it was to be expected really. He was forced into a chair, and his wrists were roughly strapped to the arms. "I say I don't think much to your hospitality," he muttered.

"Keep quiet!" His captor snapped angrily. His voice showed telltale signs of agitation, as though he had been instructed to keep complete silence in the absence of his superior. "The captain will be here soon."

"The captain!" the Doctor replied. His voice was full of fake excitement, and he bounced slightly against the restraints. "Oh, jolly good I do like captains, I always think they give proceedings an air of authority, don't you?"

The man just glared at him through the eye sockets of his helmet and then stood to one side.

"Well, I hope he comes soon, or this is going to get very dull, sat here talking to myself, do you ever talk to yourself?"

No reply came from what might as well have been just an empty suit of armour now.

The Doctor sighed and looked around the room. Acclimatising now to the low light levels his eyes were finally able to make out the true scale of the place. His eyes adjusted to the low light levels before he could make out the scale of the situation.

It was a massive room full of desks and consoles, but they were all enveloped in darkness. Something told him that they had not been in use for a long time. He glanced at the bank of active monitors, all the screens were showing empty corridors and hangar bays. It seemed that the ship was totally deserted apart from the one man that stood next to him and this Captain who was supposedly on his way.

"Not many crew on board?" The Doctor asked. He didn't know why he bothered as he knew he wouldn't get a response. Predictably his remark was met with stony-faced silence from his guard proving him to be right in his assumption and plunging the atmosphere back into a thick treacle state.

The minutes ticked by. The Doctor fidgeted in his chair testing the bonds, the guard just stood there staring into the blackness on the far side of the room as though there was an invisible wall between them now.

Eventually, a door opened, and a man walked in. As he entered another bank of monitors in the room behind them was visible. This was quickly rectified as the Captain turned and locked the door, preventing anything on the screens from being seen. That was strange, the Doctor thought. Why leave those monitors uncovered and yet hide the two in the little room? No, not just hide. Why put them under guard, behind locked doors? What did they show? It couldn't be more empty corridors and rooms, there would be no point hiding those, so they must show something. The tantalising mystery with all its variables immediately piqued the Doctor's interest.

"Hello!" The Doctor grinned at the new man in the room. The light picked out the details of the approaching figure as if it was plucking them from the shadows allowing the Doctor to see them clearer the closer they drew. The new man was about 5'1, stocky build with a thin grey combover and a silver moustache, he was dressed in a grey uniform with knee-high black boots. A stark contrast to the dark greens of his original captor who could only be described as a suit of armour of average height, complete with helmet and the ability to imitate a statue.

"Who is this person?" the Captain spoke in a high pitched nasally voice that was instantly irritating to the ears,

"Stowaway, Sir" the guard replied crisply, "Found him in the hangar."

"In the hangar!" the Captain exclaimed, "How did he get there and why have you not spotted him before on your patrols?" His demands for information began to pile up as he questioned the guard further.

"Err..he wasn't there before, Sir?" the guard stammered.

"Wasn't there?!" the Captain shouted, and struck the guard with the back of his hand, causing the man to stagger slightly from his fixed position. "He must have been there, you just missed him. You fool."

The Captain appeared to be sweating profusely. It was as though he was either unwell, or frightened stiff of something, The guard grunted in response to the blow, but he did not dare retaliate or say anything to his superior officer. The Captain turned his attention promptly to The Doctor.

"My name is Captain Cuthbert Cricklewood," he said haughtily.

The Doctor grinned, unable to hide his humour. "Is it really?" he replied, smirking slightly.

"Yes!" Cricklewood snapped at him, leaning forward slightly with the force of his shout. "You would do well not to irk me. I can end you like that!" he snapped his fingers in The Doctor's face emphasise his point.

"Who are you?"

"They call me The Doctor."

"The Doctor? What do you mean by that, hmm? That's not a name, it's a title."

"Well, it does for me," The Doctor replied, his casual shrug integrating into his tone.

"Oh, never mind!" Cricklewood continued, "It doesn't matter, you'll be dead soon anyway. There's only one thing we do with stowaways, and that is to throw them out of the airlock."

"Very sound thoughts," said the Doctor, still grinning "Can I just ask you something first?"

"What is it?" Cricklewood snarled.

"What kind of ship is this?"

"It's a freighter. The finest in the 3 galaxies. We carry more cargo and passengers per journey than anyone."

"So where is it?"

"Where's what?" Cricklewood seemed nervous again, as though his big secret was due to be uncovered.

"The crew and the cargo, and the passengers, the finest freighter in the 3 galaxies seems pretty deserted."

"Gone. All gone. Died in fact."

"All of them? How long has this journey been going on for?"

"Long enough," Cricklewood squirmed then turned to the guard, "Take him to the airlock and cast him out." He turned and went back to the door he came out of, fumbling with his keys to unlock it.

The guard groaned as he pushed himself away from the wall he was leaning on and bent down to untie the Doctor. As he did so, the Doctor suddenly raised his arm catching the other man by surprise, knocking his helmet off as he was sent down to the floor.

The Doctor stood up, pausing to turn and check on the guard. Facedown on the floor giving signed of stirring from the unconscious state the Doctor had been right in his calculation that he had in fact not hit the man too hard at least. He crouched down and knelt beside the guard to turn him over. His eyes widened with shock at the discovery that the guard was not the spritely young thing he imagined but was, in fact at least 80 years old.

"I do apologise," the Doctor whispered to him, before standing up and marching over to where Cricklewood was still fumbling with his keys.

"Cricklewood!" the Doctor shouted angrily and started towards the Captain. Before he could reach the Captain, Cricklewood finally became successful in opening the door and slipped inside. The key in the lock on the inside gave a small metallic click and was followed by the louder sounds of the Doctor furiously trying the now once more locked door.

***

"Angels!" Sarah said, thoughtfully. Attempting to wrap her head around the information that had just been given to her.

"Affirmative mistress," K9 replied

"And.. sorry… I'm struggling a bit here K9, they somehow touch you and then push you back through time and let you live a normal life span, but then they feed off the disturbance caused to the timestream?"

"Affirmative mistress."

Sarah breathed out slowly "Well, that's extraordinary! Geez, whatever happened to getting blasted by a Dalek laser and that was that"

"No data available for a correlation between Angels and Daleks mistress."

Sarah laughed "And thank goodness for that!" She stood up from the floor of the console room, glancing about in a mess. Sighing and putting her hands on her hips, she faced the robotic dog again. "K9, do you have a picture or anything we can use?"

K9s ears whirred as he searched his databanks.

"Image available mistress," he trundled over to the console and extended a long thin metal rod from his eye plate that plugged into the Tardis console. In a few seconds, the Tardis scanner flickered, and an image appeared. It was a frightening picture. A dark background sat behind a stone-coloured figure of a woman. The teeth were bared and pointed, wings extended from her shoulders at a horrible angle and the arms were raised with hands making a claw-like motion as though ready to sink the long nails into the unfortunate victim before her.

Sarah jumped when she saw the image and turned away, startled by the starkness of it "Oh K9 take it away!"

The image disappeared before Sarah dared to glance back at the console.

"Where do these angels come from?"

"Data unavailable on the origins of the angels mistress. They are older than records."

"Older than the Tardis databanks?"

"Affirmative"

Sarh sighed again, running her hands through her hair to try and absorb the new details. "So, somehow, these angels have managed to get hold of this ship and send it back through time to 1750? That's why there's a space station in this time period."

"Affirmative"

"Then we need to warn the Doctor the angels could be coming for us now!"

"Negative mistress."

Sarah looked puzzled at K9, "What do you mean?"

"Negative mistress, the angels are not on their way."

"Well, that's a relief! But how do you know that?"

"Because the angels are already here."

Sarah's cheeks paled, and she had to steady herself on the console "They're... They're here?.." she stammered.

"Affirmative mistress, there is an angel aboard this freighter."

***

The Doctor barged through the door, unceremoniously into the Captain's private room. Silently thanking his ever trustworthy sonic screwdriver that made a fast job of bypassing the lock on the door to grant access. "Cricklewood!" he shouted.

The Captain, who had been in a chair at the far side of the room, jumped out of it at the sudden disturbance. "What the devil? How did you get in here?" He stood up straight, full of rage and bluster. A futile waste of energy as The Doctor ignored the short man's show of angered confusion and stared straight at one of the monitors.

"Hey I'm talking to you stowaway!" the Captain strode over but then froze, rooted to the spot, as the Doctor shot him a look that could have killed.

"Cricklewood," the Doctor whispered, clenching his fists "What is that?" He looked at the screen again.

"None of your business!" the Captain spoke, but his voice was not as strong as before.

"That!" the Doctor pointed at the screen "Tell me!"

Cricklewood was shaking now, "I will not let you hurt her," he said, slowly pulling his gun from the holster at his hip and raising it gradually.

***

Sarah shook her head, a determined look crossed her face, "Come on K9 we've got to find out what's happening here and find the doctor" she walked out of the Tardis door and into the gloom of the hangar, pausing to try and remember which direction they led the Doctor away in.

"K9," Sarah knelt down slowly, unsure of where to go, "Can you track the doctor and take us there?"

K9's ears whirred "Affirmative," he replied and set off across the hanger towards a door at the far end. As Sarah followed at his heels, she saw sparks forming from a nearby wall. Several wires were hanging loose, silently confirming the answer to a question no one asked. This place was falling apart.

They walked traversing down corridors where they were greeted with yet more sparks crackling through the air and the sound of banging noises from somewhere else in the ship. The further they went, the more Sarah could see of the decay. They approached what she thought was the command deck. Voices inside confirmed it as a point of habitation, and as she peeked around the corner, she saw two men with the Doctor. The latter was bound to a chair. A heated discussion formed between the two men near the Doctor and she says one strike the other before continuing to speak. He eventually stormed off, and the guard was knocked to the floor by the now free Doctor after the guard untied him in order to comply with whatever new order he had been given.

Sarah watched as The Doctor followed the first man into the small room at the side, opening it with his sonic screwdriver.

Creeping forward with K9 just behind her, she saw the guard on the floor began an attempt to move before he fell back onto the ground. Sarah went over to him only to discover he had lapsed into unconsciousness once more. After checking the man would not pose a threat she stole across the room to the door where she could hear the Doctor and the first man shouting "Get ready K9" she whispered. K9 rolled to the edge of the doorway and extend the gun mounted in his nose, ready to fire if needed.

*** The Doctor looked at the gun in Cricklewood's hand "Don't be a fool!" he snarled "You have one of the most dangerous creatures in the universe on your ship, and you are pointing a gun at me?"

"She is …" Cricklewood looked lost for a second then his hard stare resumed. The sweat was pouring off the man now, and the Doctor noticed his hand was starting to shake "She is everything! Stop talking about her. Stop looking at her"

A bright flash of red light shot across the room and struck Cricklewood in the hand "aargh!" he screamed and dropped his weapon, The Doctor whirled round to see what was happening, relieved to see Sarah and K9 in the doorway.

He kicked the gun away then turned back to Cricklewood, who was nursing the burn on his hand. "Now Cricklewood," The Doctor said, "you'd better tell me what's going on."

Cricklewood slumped into his chair again. The sight of the Doctor receiving reinforcements coupled with him now being disarmed had stolen all the fight from his body. Exhausted but still angry, all he could do was glare in their direction. "leave me "he snarled "and leave her."

"Doctor the angel!" Sarah said noticing the screen for the first time

"Yes, Sarah," he nodded "an angel, one of the most dangerous creatures in all of the universe."

"Stop talking about her!" Cricklewood shouted again "She is everything, and you lot you are nothing but peasants and stowaways. You are not fit to share a ship with her"

The Doctor turned to Sarah and whispered to her "he's obviously insane, driven mad by the vision of the angel. We'll have to play along. Hold K9 back" Sarah nodded and placed a hand on K9 "stay K9" she whispered softly K9 nodded slowly.

The Doctor turned to Cricklewood with a big grin on his face trying to appear as friendly as possible.

"Now then" The Doctor sat down next to Cricklewood "I want to help…why don't you tell me all about her."

"Don't look at her. You're not taking her away" Cricklewood responded the anxiety in his voice was awash in the sea of crazed flickering emotions behind his eyes.

The Doctor spoke softly and soothingly.

"No one's looking at her, no one's taking her away" he waved to Sarah and K9 to leave the room which they did accordingly "look they've gone"

Cricklewood seemed to relax a little "You want to help?" the Captain tentatively asked, the Doctor, smile fixed in place nodded.

"Now.." the Doctor continued "Tell me, how did you meet her?"

Cricklewood paused and then began to speak "We are a freighter carrying cargo all over the galaxy. We were on a routine mission to supply the beta colonies with food and supplies. Just a regular boring mission. Couple of months there and the same back. Just me and six crew, that's all it needed. It wasn't a very big load and anyway the less crew you have, the more time you can be on the clock for overtime, so it works out well for everyone" he paused and wiped his forehead with a dirty cloth from his pocket "Anyway when we arrived on Beta 47 we landed without a problem. But when we disembarked to liaise with the crew, we found the base deserted not a person anywhere! Well, we didn't know what to do. We wandered around for a while, but there was no signs of violence or any form of struggle. We were mystified as to what had happened to the crew."

"When you were looking for the crew, did you leave the hanger door open?" The Doctor asked

Cricklewood thought for a moment "Yes we did, we were all ready to unload on a safe dock there was no need for tight security measures" Cricklewood looked up at the angel on the screen and smiled "This man is going to help us" he said to the screen before looking at the Doctor and continuing.

"Anyway, after about an hour of searching, we gave up and headed back on board. I messaged central control to let them know what had happened. They didn't have an answer either, so they advised for us to continue on to Beta 48 the next planet along."

"Beta 48?" The Doctor asked, "What year are you from?"

"Don't be silly" Cricklewood replied "It's 3124 obviously"

"3124?" The Doctor said quickly "Then that explains why you're here, in 3124 earth has that designation."

Cricklewood either didn't hear or just disregarded the remark, it was clear he didn't realise the time jump that had occurred and The Doctor didn't want to stress him further at this point.

"So we took off from the abandoned base and started the journey to Beta 48. Now I'm sure you don't realise but Beta 47 and 48 - although they are the next planet along in the system - they are not actually that close, it would take us almost as long to reach it as it would have done to get home. A few of the men grumbled about that, but I reassured them of the overtime and extra travel expenses, and that seemed to appease them. Anyway, everything carried on as normal for a week or so and then Johnson one of the loaders went missing! We just couldn't explain it we turned the ship upside down, but he was nowhere to be found, nowhere!" his voice quivered slightly as he spoke "Then Michaels, Brown, Smith and then Blake. All disappeared without a trace! I just did not know what to do" he started to sob,

Evidently, the pressure of the situation had been far too much for him to handle and had caused him to suffer some kind of nervous breakdown. Suddenly the ship began to jolt, and sparks flew from the control panels.

"We've not gone long Cricklewood," the Doctor said fully aware the ship was not able to hold its orbit much longer he had to get to the bottom of this quickly, he forced his voice to stay calm "Go on," he said finally.

"Well by this time there was Bradshaw and me over there" he motioned to the still unconscious guard in the other room "We continued for several days, never letting each other out of our sight we couldn't take the chance of being here alone. Then one day, I needed to go into the high-security area of the hold. Private papers and other items were in there that loaders like Bradshaw were not allowed access too. There was nothing for it but for me to go in alone. Bradshaw waited outside the door, and I entered and..." his voice trailed off as a memory came back to him.

"And?" The Doctor said

"And that's when I found her…." He looked up at the screen again "My saviour! My wonder! My beautiful angel!" he stood and held his arms out towards the bank of monitors.

"What happened?" the Doctor pushed.

"She spoke to me she spared my life and Bradshaw's in exchange for …in exchange for…"

"food?" The Doctor asked

"All she wanted was to touch me just every now and then, that was all just a touch and then she would relax and stay in the private security vault. It would be our secret just hers and mine. Oh, Doctor, look at her beauty!"

The Doctor stood from his chair. Time was running out. He knew if the ship crashed the angel would escape onto the planet below and run wild, sending people here there and everywhere through time and in 1750 there would be no defence and eventually the human race would be destroyed.

"Cricklewood we have got to move this ship out of the earth's orbit!" Regardless of the Doctor's words, Cricklewood seemed oblivious. He stood still merely staring at the angel on the screen.

The Doctor let out a moan of frustration and rushed out of the room onto the crumbling control deck where Sarah and K9 were waiting. "Doctor?" Sarah asked as he rushed passed her to one of the control panels

"K9 try and plug into that and re-root any power you can to the engines" K9 moved towards the desk and plugged himself in, while the Doctor rushed across to another panel in the wall. Pulling it free he grabbed hold of a fistful of wires yanking them free and began to move the sonic screwdriver over them.

"Doctor, what's happening?" Sarah asked

"Cricklewood has got a weeping angel in the hold that he's been feeding himself too, he must be biometrically linked to the ship because each time the angel has touched him its sent the whole vessel back through time causing it to tear itself apart. We've got seconds before it loses orbit and plunges into Earth!" The desperation was evident in his voice, and Sarah became frightened, just hearing it. "It's no use!" the Doctor threw the wires down "Anything K9?"

"Negative master" K9 replied, "Virtually no systems are functioning the engine will shut down in approximately 3 minutes."

Bradshaw stirred on the floor, he began to stand, and Sarah rushed over to support him, "can you walk?" she asked. He nodded faintly

"Cricklewood is insane" he spoke quietly, and Sarah nodded.

"We know, but we're going to…" Suddenly a gunshot rang out through the room and struck Bradshaw in the back, he fell forward into Sarah's arms.

Cricklewood was staggering from his room gun in hand "You lied!" he accused the Doctor "you're not here to help you want to destroy us! You are all in it together!" he fired the gun again this time at Sarah but missed wildly.

"Doctor he's hurt badly" Sarah shouted as a massive bang in the corridor sent a cloud of smoke into the air.

"Back to the Tardis everyone" The Doctor shouted, an idea forming in his mind.

Sarah turned and began to stagger under Bradshaw's weight towards the door "leave me" he whispered. Sarah hesitated "Leave me, I'll take out Cricklewood" he pulled away from Sarah's and showed her a knife he drew from its sheath on his leg. Sarah released her grip, and he staggered towards the crazed Captain.

"Traitor! You're with them!" Cricklewood screamed at him, but Bradshaw lurched forward knife in hand and drove it into the Captain's chest, Cricklewood let out a surprised gurgle as blood started to ooze from his mouth. The pair fell to the floor in a heap - Captain and Crew member breathing their last together.

Sarah watched in horror at the scene, frozen to the spot until K9 nudged her "Quickly mistress" he said

They all ran back to the Tardis and rushed inside. Explosions were all around them in the ship now, and it felt as though it was beginning to fall.

"Doctor, what can we do?" Sarah asked anxiously when they were all in the console room

"I'm going to use the energy from the Tardis to boot the ship out into space as we dematerialise, hope newton's laws of equal and opposite reactions hold true."

"Caution master," K9 said "Force of Tardis pushing onto the ship will be reciprocated from ship to Tardis. Shields would also need to be down, resulting in potential massive damage to Tardis."

"I know K9" the Doctor growled as he threw switch after switch and pressed buttons.

"ready?!" he asked, "hold on to something."

"master!" K9 said, but it was too late the Doctor threw the dematerialisation lever, and the Tardis console roared into life, immediately there was a grinding noise, and the Tardis rocked throwing the inhabitants onto the floor amongst the piles of circuits and junk the Doctor had pulled out earlier. K9 fell onto his side, Sarah and The Doctor were knocked out as well while the ship continued to shake violently for a few minutes and then all went still and silent.

A few hours passed before they began to regain consciousness. The Doctor was first to his feet and immediately switched on the scanner, the image on the screen showed a faint ball of light burning in the distance. The ship had been kicked way out past mars towards the asteroid belt where it had crashed into the enormous lumps of rock and been destroyed.

The Doctor looked dismayed at the screen as Sarah stood up "It wasn't his fault you know Sarah, Cricklewood was suffering"

"I know, Doctor" she sighed "Is the world safe?"

"yes" he replied, "no one on earth ever knew anything about it, doesn't feel like a victory though this time."

"and the Tardis?" Sarah asked

"oh she'll be ok; I'm sure she'll need a few running repairs, but I think I got away lightly with the amount of damage caused to her. Can't say the same for K9 though" the Doctor nodded towards the floor where the robot dog lay in several pieces

"Oh, K9!" Sarah exclaimed "I'll take him through to the workshop" she gathered the pieces and left the console room

The Doctor smiled and allowed his eyes to return to the screen "No victory this time" he repeated softly.

#doctor who #tom baker #fourth doctor #sarah jane #k9 #weeping angels #time rift

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classyklancey · 5 years

Text

The Thing | High school AU |

Pairing: Keith x Lance Genre: Angst Warnings: Possession?, somewhat self-harm (it’s The Thing causing it), anxiety mention Summary: Keith has something inside of him that he can just barely control. Lance helps keep him level-headed A/N: I made this forever ago and it wasn’t intended to be Keith and Lance. It used to be a lot more angsty but since I changed it to Keith and Lance, my poor heart couldn’t handle it the original version. If you want the other version too let me know!! If you want the original version where it’s not Lance and Keith, also let me know lol. Enjoy!!

Hundreds of screaming voices pierce my ears. The noise is so loud that I can barely focus on my own thoughts, beating down on me from all directions. My nails dig into my knees through the fabric of my black jeans, so hard that they threaten to draw blood.

“It’s a pep rally, Keith,” Lance says from my right side, where he is jumping, screaming, and just generally making a fool of himself as usual. “You know, fun stuff.”

Lance laughs and slings an arm around my shoulder, my torso slouching from the sudden weight. Sometimes, I forget just how much bigger he was than me. Lance didn’t have an abundance of muscles or anything, but his shoulders were significantly broader than mine and he was at least three inches taller.

“Get off,” I say gruffly, my face deadpan.

That earned a laugh from Lance. He looked like he wanted to say something, probably make a joke about my “dumb emo face” like usual, but the Headmaster’s booming voice interrupted him. He was announcing a school spirit contest, where the class that screamed the loudest won bragging rights. The freshman, my class, was first, and in typical freshman style, they gave a weak attempt with what sounded like only thirty students cheering and a few claps here and there.

“Better cover your ears, Keithy baby,” Lance said, before leaping to his feet again, clearing his throat in preparation. I go to respond when the Headmaster beats me to it.

“Now, let me hear my sophomores!” The Headmaster bellowed over the microphone, making me flinch from the loud volume. ‘Why is he talking so loudly when his voice is already being amplified?’

“The seniors are going to win,” I say, but he can’t hear me over the sound of his own obnoxious screeching. His voice could be heard over every other sophomore in the gym. I might have been impressed if I wasn’t preoccupied with a splitting headache that was only intensified from the noise.

I had been having an okay day for the first time in quite a bit. I didn’t have to run to the bathroom and vomit when I woke up this morning, which is an improvement from the past few days. I took some medication for my migraine and it had actually gone down a bit. For a little while, I actually believed that I was going to make it through the day without anything going wrong. But, of course, every time I think the universe is on my side, something happens and ruins everything. This time, it just so happened to be a surprise pep rally celebrating some kind of important win. Maybe football…or was it basketball? It could have been a chess tournament victory for all I care. All that I know is that I’m sweating out every bit of moisture in my body, Lance’s racket is going to make me deaf, the fluorescent gym lights are blinding, and I think I’m going to throw up my lunch. Every little thing is like a weight pressing against my head.

It’s all just another excuse for The Thing to show up.

I can’t remember a time when the Thing wasn’t with me. Ever since I was small, I was always plagued with migraines, but it wasn’t a stabbing pain like you get when you’re sick. It was a pressure, almost as if my skull was too full. Like there was something in there that wasn’t supposed to be.

The Thing rules my life. It keeps me awake at night, tossing and turning for hours. Even when I finally manage to fall asleep, it speaks to me in my nightmares. It digs around in my deepest insecurities and forces them into my head over and over again, so much that I dread going to bed at night. Whenever I wake up, there is always a fresh set of self-inflicted scratch marks on my abdomen and dried up tears in the corners of my eyes.

It doesn’t leave me alone during the day either, though. The migraines have become a constant at this point, along with a feeling of nausea, like The Thing is trying to escape from my body. It likes to play around with my personal anxieties, pointing out every little detail in the hopes that I will let my guard down enough for it to take control of my body.

The worst symptom of all happens whenever I get angry. The Thing thrives off of anger. Even the slightest hint of irritation is enough to feed its hunger for violence. The angrier I get, the more power I give it. It likes to whisper actions into my head and scream obscene words at my teachers and peers. Sometimes, if I’m angry enough, it can make things move without anyone touching them.

I’ve never been able to experience the things that most kids my age do. Up until this year, my first year of high school, I’ve never been able to keep a friend.

‘Except for you,’ I think to myself, glancing over to the boy next to me, a joyful grin plastered onto his face.

We met at the beginning of this school year, but you wouldn’t be able to tell by the way Lance acts around me. Out of all the people he could have latched onto, he chose me. A pale, shifty-eyed little freshman. I’m still not sure whether I should feel honored or extremely unlucky. Hanging around with me was probably a mistake on his part.

Lance is an idiot in the best of ways. He never noticed the way that my eyes would dilate so much that only a small sliver of gray-blue was left when I was struggling for control. He never took note of the self-inflicted scratches and picks that marked my arms and legs. After all of those times the two of us walked home from school in the afternoons together, he never realized that my shadow fell six shades darker than his own. All that mattered to him was that I was a fresh face and I could carry on a decent conversation, and he thought I was cute. I was thankful for the company, but sometimes I wondered whether extra stress was worth it.

The Headmaster is talking again. Though his voice is distorted by the aging sound system, I can still make out the words “relay” and “volunteers”.

At first, I pay no mind, but when Lance’s grin widens into something mischievous, my body tenses in a sudden sense of panic. Before I can stop him, he’s jumping up in the air and waving his arms to get the Headmaster’s attention.

“Lance, what are-”

“You can run fast, right?” he cuts me off. He already knew the answer to that. Before I can stop myself, I think back to one specific time when we were walking home.

“Keith! Start running! It’s about to start raining harder!” Lance shouts from far ahead of me, his long legs carrying him faster and farther away from me.

I roll my eyes at Lance’s shouting, figuring he was just over exaggerating since barely any rain was falling from the sky.

Suddenly, it started to pour, startling me. I gasp before quickly starting to run after Lance, almost instantly catching up to him. The Thing has given me strengths in certain aspects, such as running.

“Woah! You caught up quick!” I don’t say anything as I pass him, running all the way to my house. After a couple of minutes, Lance catches up to me, coming up to my patio instead of continuing to his house. “Thanks for leaving me...” he says sarcastically, panting as he tries to catch his breath.

I give him an apologetic smile as I unlock my door. “At least I waited for you. Want to come inside?”

Lance shakes his head as he points over his shoulder. “Nah, I shou- oh, you’re freezing.” My brows furrow at his words before I feel it, the shaking racking my body. It wasn’t because I was cold, but I couldn’t tell him that. Sometimes when I use my new strengths, it wakes up The Thing. I start to panic but try to keep it off of my face, praying he wouldn’t accept my offer to come inside.

“I’m fine,” I reassure with a soothing smile, hoping it looked soothing to him since in reality, I was panicking. Lance shakes his head as he takes off his jacket, draping it over me. “Nope. You’re cold. It’s okay to admit it.”

I roll my eyes and grumble to myself, feeling a blush take over my face as I look down at my wet shoes, momentarily forgetting about The Thing. My eyes widen as Lance’s lifts my face up to look at him, his bright eyes meeting my shocked ones.

“Red is a pretty color on you,” he whispers, his eyes moving to my cheeks. My blush only grows worse at his compliment. ‘Is he...no. He wouldn’t flirt with me. He could never like a monster like me...’

At the last part of my thought, I frown as I pull away. “Thanks for walking me home. Here’s your jacket. Be safe,” I say as I toss him his jacket back. Before he could respond, I close the door in his face. His hurt expression was all I could think about for the rest of the day. “I did him a favor...” I mumble before I let out a hefty sigh.

I quickly snap out of my thoughts when he grabs my hand. “I-I can’t!” I try to hide the desperation in my voice, but I can’t stop it from cracking. “I really don’t want-”

“Yes! Headmaster’s looking over here!” he cuts me off again, waving our clasped hands and his free hand into the air.

A spark of foreign anger pangs in the back of my head, a sickeningly familiar emotion.

Of all the times for the Thing to wake up, it has to be right now. Right now, when my nerves have already been ground down to nothing and the wild Cuban next to me has finally caught the Headmaster’s attention. I want to simultaneously scream at the top of my lungs and burst into tears. I loathe this feeling of being helpless. Lance is suddenly dragging me towards one of my biggest fears, and The Thing is dragging me towards the other, and I have no control.

‘Get rid of him,’ It says, ‘I don’t want to go out there.’

“Shut up, just shut up for once,” I hiss under my breath. Pain blossoms in my torso like a punch to the gut.

The Headmaster waves us over with a smile, and I’m suddenly pulled onto my feet. I try to resist Lance’s pulling, but he is quite persistent in getting me onto the gymnasium floor. As a final desperate attempt, I plant my beaten, dirty sneakers into the ground as hard as I can. Lance looks back at me, a little confused.

Our eyes meet for the briefest of moments. “Please,” I beg, “Please don’t do this to me.” Lance flashes me that signature bright smile and begins dragging me by the wrist to the center of the gymnasium floor. “You need to do something fun!”

It is far too late when I realize that the words never left my lips.

The hundreds of voices have turned into hundreds of eyes. I’m shrinking smaller and smaller, and everyone else towers over me menacingly. I look to Lance for support and comfort, anything to help ease this feeling of anxiousness. But he doesn’t even notice my gaze. He’s waving up at his other friends, completely enjoying the spotlight. At this point, The Thing is practically clawing at the inside of my skull, begging to be released.

I make the mistake of glancing down at my shadow on the polished floor. My eyes are frozen in horror on the dark silhouette of my left hand. I watch as the fingers clench and relax, clench and relax, clench and relax in a steady repetition. My actual hand is gripping onto the fabric of my hoodie and had been the entire time. The dread in my stomach drags every second into an hour as I realize what’s coming. Every instinct in my body is telling me to get out. I cannot break down here, not in front of these judgmental eyes, not in front of the only friend I’ve ever been able to keep.

“Don’t look so scared, bud.” Lance nudged my ribs gently with his elbow, “It’s just a little race.”

Time froze. I stared at him, my eyes blown wide and black from the dilation. “Don’t look so scared.” His voice was happy when he said it, completely carefree. Everything was just a game to him. He never took anything seriously, including me. Surely he could see the pain on my face. How could he not notice the way my body shuddered under this pressure. Maybe he just didn’t care enough to open his eyes.

I hate him.

The thought resonates in my mind, something I’ve never felt before. It wasn’t really true, well, for me at least. The Thing hated everyone and everything.

I hate him.

The phrase repeats in my thoughts, over and over and over again. It bounces around my skull in an awful dissonance until I can barely make out any words, mingling with the cheering voices of the student body.

I hate him.

Lance thrusts an object into my suddenly freezing cold hands. It’s a relay baton. The noise in my head is so loud I can barely hear him tell me that I am supposed to run first. My spine is stiff and I can feel my body go completely still, red creeping into the edges of my vision.

He gives me a look, I couldn’t tell what kind of look it was though. Concern? Confusion?

“You okay, Keith?”

I shake my head quickly, trying to control my breathing that was starting to become labored. Lance removes the baton from my hand with a nod of his head, dropping it to the floor.

“Okay, it’s alright. Let’s get you some air,” he says quietly to me, only loud enough for me to hear him over the roaring crowd. I nod my head as I let him lead me outside, leaning against him as we sit on the stairs that lead up to the gymnasium.

“Sorry...” I mumble. I don’t know why I was apologizing to him. I tried to tell him, no, but his stubborn self didn’t want to listen to me. He hushes me as he runs a hand through my slightly damp hair, rubbing my back with the other. “Don’t apologize. I should be the one apologizing. I didn’t realize you’d react like that. You have bad anxiety or something?” I sigh with a nod of my head, leaning into him more.

“Something like that...”

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myfriendpokey · 6 years

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receipt king

What's the difference between a paid game and a free one? In my opinion, one of them costs money, although various qualifications could be made. But maybe what's important is not the fact of purchase but the moment of purchase - that singular, legally recognised and binding moment where you hit the buy button or put the coin into the slot. Since after all the ways in which you really engage with, or even claim, a videogame can be spread out, blurry, diffuse.

Maybe it sits on your hard drive for a year before you play it, or in a notepad file full of steam keys, maybe you played it on and off in sessions too split up and individually indistinguished to solidify into a single instance. You can "own" both a paid gameand a free one but it's hard to feel your relationship to the former is not somehow more solid - maybe because it's founded on that moment of exchange, and not just the more transitory moments of lived experience. Experience comes and goes but purchases can be logged, tracked, indexed.

Maybe all the people who keep buying reissues of Chrono Trigger for every platform it comes out on are just laying a more 'real', economic foundation to support the expanded dream-Chrono Trigger that exists in their heads… Holding on to the receipts!

***

For a videogame to be sold is for it to exist in a network of exchange relations with, say, chairs, fruit, labour... And the implication is that these things can be compared but also that the comparisons can be quantified. A game is cheaper than a cup of coffee - or four times more expensive than a new movie, and both of these give us a picture of how it fits into the spaces of our life.

It also lets them take on a sort of objecthood-by-proxy, as another in the catalogue of commodities, which is increasingly important as the actual ontological status of a videogame gets ever more uncertain. Are you buying a program, an installer for a program, a temporary access pass for a program stored online, a program which runs using a server which remains in the company's control, a set of new assets, are you unlocking a set of existing assets which shipped with the game and were just stuck behind a paywall?

Emilie Reed has written about videogames in a museum context - with the expectation there that they get reframed as "singular objects", to fit the needs of an institution which has historically trafficked in singular objects. Maybe we can also think about this movement for objecthood in the context of the market - and that, since for at least forty years videogames have been a market artform, this movement was reflected on the aesthetic level as well. When people talk about a videogame as a "world", as a closed, alien space of object relations to be examined and explored at will, are they talking about the bare digital structures of the Game or about the mysterious opacity of the Object? Perhaps the unknowable heart of the commodity is the true "bonus room", ha ha ha 8p

***

(I remember when Mountain was something of a critical talking point, and at the time I maybe crassly wondered if it was the production values - since there were plenty of glorious trainwrecks games making basically the same nonsequitor joke but it somehow only merited attention coming from a paid game with stylised graphics and lotsa assets… Now I wonder if it was specifically the saleability of Mountain which generated that fascinated reaction, as the dismissal of not-games wrestled with the deference thought due to the commodity. Which makes all those posts about the zen qualities of staring at it seem much funnier in retrospect.)

***

Anyway.

The free game / paid game thing is something that interests me because it's basically something I grind up against all the time, when I'm making things, and slowly need to come up with the vocabulary to deal with. The dream is always to "just make things" - you'd work on what takes your fancy and then figure out at the end whether it worked as a saleable product or not, which environment to release it to. But the problem is that even speculating something could be a paid game is enough to drastically change how you view it. What works in a free game absolutely does not in a commercial game, and vice versa.

I don't think anybody at all would have played Magic Wand if it came out for free, for example - that game could get away with being tonally muted and laid back because it took place within the bubble of objecthood that comes with being sold, and those qualities are experienced much differently in a free game.

A free game is one with no immediate comparison points - it could end after 5 minutes, after 50, it could demand your time and energy to no return... it lacks the "guarantee" of a pricetag, the guarantee of existing in some stable relationship with other objects. A commercial game could be the barest early-access WIP, or just some printed screenshots in an envelope. But the fact that it was sold at all grants it some of the enclosed legibility of the object, while free games conversely exist in the world of pure experience, which I think Hegel memorably described as a bloody head flying at you through the dark. Dreams, hallucinations, memory, etc.

***

So maybe we can think of commercial status as part of what Michael Brough calls the "grain" of a work, part of that network of processes and feedback which we either glide with or grind against while producing a thing. To make a free game paid is to change how it's read. The gaps which your attention span could easily skip over in a free title become unbearable contained within a fixed, sealed object. You begin to draw the contours and to fill in the gaps... The game becomes more ornate, detailed, denser within this narrowed scope, with a kind of symbolist langour and inertia seeping into the whole thing - the inertia of the product.

It may be hard to make a videogame into a narrative but to be sure it's harder to turn a product into one, a product which necessarily has something circular and static within the very foundation. The presumed audience for a product is like the little dude in the middle of the panopticon - everything is arranged panoramically for their benefit, necessitating a certain vagueness of temporal relationship, while a free game is arranged for the less predictable, less reliable, eye of the attention span as it moves through an unknown space. I like making both types of games and don't mean to imply one is either more mature or more subversive than the other, whatever those terms mean in this junk-ass consumer format. But it's not quite a matter of pure preference, either.

***

Archiving games can be notoriously difficult and I imagine this goes double for free ones - it's one thing to document, say, the NES library which at least has some kind of fixed scope for inclusion, trade magazines to consult, physical copies to track down... and even then there's always the frontier of, yknow, bootleg Dendy cartridges, nobody knowing when Mario came out, stuff like that. At least in principle it can be boiled down to a finite list of titles and release years. Who wants to deal with the messier and more nebulous task of recovering all the RPG Maker projects that briefly got hosted on Rapidshare in 2007? And even then, would it make sense to organize these games by a similar neat list of release dates?

Commercial games can afford the pretense that they "happened" at a singular point in time and that this singular point takes priority over the broader mulch timeline in which they were stumbled across, played, looked at, made fun of. It's not that you can't make a similar claim for the release point for freeware - it's just that it might mean a different thing, and I think it can be valuable trying to think of those games as something other than "commercial games that happen to cost $0". If to be released for free is to engage with a fundamentally different context and set of assumptions - to deal with and work around a kind of vanishing experiential quality, rather than the fixed objecthood of the product - then it's hard to work out how to talk about and memorialise that without converting it into its opposite.

I've always wanted to write about more freeware games but how do you do it? Pick out a handful to talk about and avoid as much as possible the question of dealing with the endless churn? Elevate a few to ambassador standing? To pick a random RPG maker game and say "Crystal Masters 2 came out in 2008" can be to imply, like, a launch party, or some immediate impact, or that anybody at all paid attention or cared - which in turn can distort the actual expectations of how these things would be recieved that to some extent affected their aesthetics and structure. It’s still better than nothing, and I’m being pedantic – but it's hard not to think about it when at times it feels like the only way this stuff can be written about and preserved is as a set of attenuated best-ofs, by either becoming a product or by being treated as one.

I think if most of my games have been commercial lately it's less a question of expecting to get money from them and more because that sometimes feels like the only way they'll still have some kind of trail left in 10 years. I always liked the idea of making time capsules and just hiding them away in a rabbithole somewhere for people to find. Right now it feels like the types of videogame spaces I'm most comfortable in - the kind least hung up on ideas of importance - are archival ones, digging through the debris of the past, curious about what they'll find. In reaction I guess to what feels personally like increasingly calcified, unliveable contemporary or franchise-oriented spaces of culture it can feel freeing to think about the other ones, of things instantly forgotten or which barely existed at all. Blind albino cave salamanders - - 64!!

(images: castlevanias ii and bloodlines)

#caves #games #gamechat

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sciencespies · 3 years

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Who Were America's Enslaved? A New Database Humanizes the Names Behind the Numbers

https://sciencespies.com/history/who-were-americas-enslaved-a-new-database-humanizes-the-names-behind-the-numbers/

Who Were America's Enslaved? A New Database Humanizes the Names Behind the Numbers

The night before Christmas in 1836, an enslaved man named Jim made final preparations for his escape. As his enslavers, the Roberts family of Charlotte County, Virginia, celebrated the holiday, Jim fled west to Kanawha County, where his wife’s enslaver, Joseph Friend, had recently moved. Two years had passed without Jim’s capture when Thomas Roberts published a runaway ad pledging $200 (around $5,600 today) for the 38- to 40-year-old’s return.

“Jim is … six feet or upwards high, tolerably spare made, dark complexion, has rather an unpleasant countenance,” wrote Roberts in the January 5, 1839, issue of the Richmond Enquirer. “[O]ne of his legs is smaller than the other, he limps a little as he walks—he is a good blacksmith, works with his left hand to the hammer.”

In his advertisement, Roberts admits that Jim may have obtained free papers, but beyond that, Jim’s fate, and that of his wife, is lost to history.

Fragments of stories like Jim’s—of lives lived under duress, in the framework of an inhumane system whose aftershocks continue to shape the United States—are scattered across archives, libraries, museums, historical societies, databases and countless other repositories, many of which remain uncatalogued and undigitized. All too often, scholars pick up loose threads like Jim’s, incomplete narratives that struggle to be sewn together despite the wealth of information available.

Enslaved: Peoples of the Historic Slave Trade, a newly launched digital database featuring 613,458 entries (and counting), seeks to streamline the research process by placing dozens of complex datasets in conservation with each other. If, for instance, a user searches for a woman whose transport to the Americas is documented in one database but whose later life is recorded in another, the portal can connect these details and synthesize them.

“We have these data sets, which have a lot of specific information taken in a particular way, [in] fragments,” says Daryle Williams, a historian at the University of Maryland and one of the project’s principal investigators. “… [If] you put enough fragments together and you put them together by name, by place, by chronology, you begin to have pieces of lives, which were lived in a whole way, even with the violence and the disruptions and the distortions of enslavement itself. We [can] begin then to construct or at least understand a narrative life.”

“I love that [the portal] really educates people on how to read the record,” says Mary N. Elliott, a curator at the Smithsonian’s National Museum of African American History and Culture.

(Enslaved.org)

Funded through a $1.5 million grant from the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation, Enslaved.org—described by its creators as a “linked open data platform” featuring information on people, events and places involved in the transatlantic slave trade—marks the culmination of almost ten years of work by Williams and fellow principal investigators Walter Hawthorne, a historian at Michigan State University, and Dean Rehberger, director of Michigan State’s Matrix Center for Digital Humanities & Social Sciences.

Originally, the team conceived Enslaved.org as a space to simply house these different datasets, from baptismal records to runaway ads, ship manifests, bills of sale and emancipation documents. But, as Rehberger explains, “It became a project about how we can get datasets to interact with one another so that you can draw broader conclusions about slavery. … We’re going in there and grabbing all that data and trying to make sense of it, not just give [users] a whole long list of things.”

The project’s first phase launched earlier this month with searchable data from seven partner portals, including Slave Voyages, the Louisiana Slave Database and Legacies of British Slave-Ownership. Another 30 databases will be added over the next year, and the team expects the site to continue to grow for years to come. Museums, libraries, archives, historical societies, genealogy groups and individuals alike are encouraged to submit relevant materials for review and potential inclusion.

***

To fulfill the “important obligation” of involving researchers of all types and education levels, the scholars made their platform “as familiar and unintimidating as possible,” according to Williams. Users who arrive without specific research goals in mind can explore records grouped by categories as ethnicity or age, browse 75 biographies of both prominent enslaved and free people and lesser-known ones, and visualize trends using a customizable dashboard. Researchers, amateur genealogists and curious members of the public, meanwhile, can use Enslaved.org to trace family histories, download peer-reviewed datasets, and craft narratives about some of the 12.5 million enslaved Africans transported to the New World between the 16th and 19th centuries.

At its core, says Rehberger, Enslaved.org is a “discovery tool. We want you to be able to find all these different records that have traditionally been out in these silos, and bring them together in the hope that people can then reconstruct what’s there.”

Albumen print of enslaved women and their children near Alexandria, Virginia, in 1861 or 1862

(Collection of the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture)

Mary N. Elliott, curator of American slavery at the Smithsonian’s National Museum of African American History and Culture, emphasizes the project’s potential to help the public “understand [history] in more nuanced and personalized, humanized ways.” Reflecting on the creation of the museum’s “Slavery and Freedom” exhibition, she recalls, “One of the things that people said was ‘Oh, there’s only so much you can say about the lives of enslaved people during the early period. There’s nothing that they wrote.’” But as both Elliott and the team behind the web portal point out, archival records—when read correctly—can convey a strong sense of lived experiences.

Some of the sources featured in the database “have the enslaved person speaking, or at least someone writing down what they said, or something close to their physical presence,” Williams says. By weaving these threads of information together, he adds, contemporary observers can gain a sense of everything from enslaved people’s personal sentiments to how the official record may obscure the reality of their lived experiences.

Individuals looking for stories of their own family history may end up empty-handed (for now) but still come across records that inform their understanding of the brutal reality of enslavement. If, for instance, someone searching for their great-great uncle Harry comes across a runaway ad for Ned, an enslaved man who lived in the same area around the same time, they might dismiss it as unrelated. “But if you look at Ned’s story, you start to read the record, and you [see] that he has a scar over his eye. He ran away twice before,” Elliott says. “He’s probably running toward his loved ones. … It tells you about how he had the ability to run away twice. And is this plantation near the one my family was enslaved at? And I wonder where he got that scar.”

For people to “read the record, in a way that they understand the humanity of African Americans under the most inhumane circumstances,” is key, the curator continues. “You’re not reading it for the sake of reading. You’re really connecting with this … man who [had] something traumatic happen to him within the framework of slavery.”

***

Enslaved.org traces its origins to the 2000s, when Hawthorne was researching a book on the flow of enslaved people from two ports in West Africa. Drawing on an archive of Brazilian state inventories, which listed enslaved Africans as property whose value was based on factors such as age and skills, he created a database with demographic information on some 9,000 individuals. This broad swath of data allowed the historian to run statistical analyses about patterns of enslavement, including “Where were people coming from? … Can I zero it down to a particular place? What … were they bringing with them across the ocean? What foods did they eat? How did they worship?”

Hawthorne adds, “You begin to see people coming [to the Americas] not as generalized Africans, … but as Balanta, as Mandinka, as Fulani, as Hausa, people who come with specific cultural assumptions, with specific religious beliefs. What did they preserve from the place [where] they came? What did they have to abandon based on the conditions in the Americas?”

In 2010, Hawthorne partnered with Rehberger and historian Gwendolyn Midlo Hall, who had created a similar portal featuring 107,000 records of enslaved individuals in Louisiana, to build a digital repository for both datasets. Funded through a $99,000 grant from the National Endowment for the Humanities, the resulting project, Slave Biographies: The Atlantic Database Network, laid the groundwork for Enslaved.org, a site capable of not only housing dozens of datasets but also placing them in interaction with each other.

Bill of sale with two transactions for an enslaved man named Joe or Joseph

(NMAAHC / Gift of the Liljenquist Family)

A decade ago, computing technology hadn’t advanced enough to interpret data on the scale used by Enslaved.org. Today, however, researchers can use semantic triples—three-part sentences that “define a particular moment,” like “Maria was baptized in 1833” or “Maria got married in 1855,” according to Rehberger—to create vast “triplestores” filled with linked information. Here, the site can parse out Maria, the religious rite (baptism or marriage), and the year as three distinct bits of data.

“I often think of … ripping apart the dataset into little bits and pieces of paper, and then taking a thread and trying to thread and bring them back together again,” Rehberger says. “That, in a sense, is what we’re trying to do.”

***

As Hawthorne notes, the team is still “in the early days of our project,” If an individual enters their family name in the search bar in the near future, they likely won’t find anything. “It’s possible that you will,” he adds, “but certainly as this project grows and expands, as more and more scholars and members of the public contribute, those possibilities [open] up.”

Enslaved.org welcomes data compiled by the public, but Williams emphasizes that the researchers aren’t “exactly crowdsourcing.” All submissions will undergo two levels of review; scholars can also submit their datasets to the portal’s peer-reviewed Journal of Slavery and Data Preservation. Another option for individuals with an interest in unearthing these kinds of hidden histories is to volunteer at local historical associations and museums, which can then collaborate directly with the Enslaved.org team.

The project’s launch earlier this month arrives at a pivotal point in the nation’s history. “We’re in a moment right now, of interest in slavery and slave histories and slave names, slave biographies,” Williams says. “It’s also a social and racial justice moment, … a family history, genealogy curiosity moment.”

One of Enslaved.org’s strengths, says Elliott, is its ability to map current events onto the past. Though the database’s focus is enslaved people, it also contains information on enslavers and individuals who participated in the historical slave trade. Slavery involved “all these different actors,” the curator explains. “And that’s vastly important, because it’s so easy for people to segregate this history. But … you cannot look at a bill of sale and [say] it’s only a black person on that document. Guess who signed it? The seller and the purchaser. [And] there’s a witness.”

By focusing on individuals rather than the overwhelming—and often unfathomable—numbers that tend to dominate discussions of slavery, the team hopes to restore once-anonymous figures’ identities and deepen the public’s understanding of the transatlantic slave trade.

“There’s a lot of power to reading about individuals as opposed to populations of people,” Hawthorne says. “If you look through the datasets, every single entry is a named individual. And there’s a lot of power to that, to thinking about Atlantic slavery, slavery in the American South, as being about individuals, about individual struggles under this incredibly violent institution.”

#History

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kunsart · 4 years

Text

Ant Man Goes AWOL, by Eric Wayne, digital painting, March 2020.

Finally completed, and it was as much of a battle creating him as he looks like he’s a veteran of. I used lots of new techniques which I’ve learned from professional illustrators, and incorporated into my own arsenal of digital and painting techniques. This is as far as I could take the image with my present skill-set, without getting absolutely finickity.

Followers of my blog may remember the initial line drawing, and early color phase:

I’m not the type of artist who rests on his laurels and does what he’s already good at, churning out variations on a theme as commodities for the marketplace. There always needs to be increased learning and experimentation: the carrot of mystery in what I can’t yet realize, and thus what I will manifest through my own endeavors. This, therefore, was as much an exercise in learning techniques as it was in making a monster.

Most monsters I see are kinda’ the same. They have tiny eyes, an overabundance of super sharp teeth, super muscular bodies, and exaggerated expressions of anger and evil. I sought from the beginning to invent my own monster, that was not derivative. I’ve never see the tubular nostrils like that, and the foamy green flesh between his outer, rougher skin, and his scaled underside is also a bit unusual. I even have a background story for him that’s, I think, a bit out of the boiler plate.

Big Details

These are screen shots of my workspace at full resolution. As with all the pics in this post, you can click on the images to see them sized for your screen in a new tab.

The blurring of edges creates a focal point in the more clear parts, and mimics how camera’s distort reality.

I invented my own methods for creating veins in the eyes and the striations in the iris.

Doing any kind of water drops, slime, blood, and so on is a little tricky, and something I’ve always wanted to get good at.

Smaller Detials in a Gallery

Why the Bit of Paint in the Upper Left?

It’s throwing in one of my signature techniques, which is digital impasto. Now, before I switched to working much more representationally (at least for this piece), I did really a lot of experimentation in digital impasto, and I am a bit of a pioneer in that direction (and in digital contemporary fine art in general). So this just adds a bit of pesonal flare.

It also — in regards to modern art — is a tacit recognition, and celebration of the breaking of the picture plane. It is on the surface of the image, and intrudes into the physical space of consensual reality. We look into the window of the “canvas” to see our monster, but the smear of paint sits on top. Nevertheless, the monster is so three-dimensional that his mandibles extrude beyond even the paint swatch.

Yes, clever reader, you are right, even the smear of paint is digital, but this adds another dimension. where the picture plane has been surmounted, but it is also an illusion. It establishes that while this is in many ways an illustration, and belongs to the paradigm of illustration, it is also fine art.

The Story

Someone asked, in the comments of an in-progress post, what the background story about the Ant Man was. I hadn’t bothered about it, because it’s not the real point, nor necessary. I remarked that when I was a kid I used to look at pictures — especially in an Encyclopedia of Sci-Fi and Horror neighbors gave me for a birthday — and scarcely even read a caption beneath them. There’s that love of the frozen instant, a sliver of reality spread on a slide and studied through a microscope. It’s a different avenue of accessing and assessing reality, and the foundation of visual art (no matter how many conceptualists will say that the idea is more important than the image, and that not only are images and paintings unecessary, they are redundant and not the real art of our times). But, I made up a story on the fly, which I rather like.

The Ant Man was a front-line grunt, and everything he did was for the Qeen, the colony, and the larva. He battles other ant tribes, and worked incessantly, all for the pleasure of being able to continue to do so until he would eventually be torn apart by rival ant species.

And then he became self-aware, perhaps after that chunk was taken out of his head (signifying an opened mind, escaped immaterially into a broader, more universal perspective). He saw no purpose in serving Queen and colony. He just wanted to step out of formation and wonder off, taking in all the rich colors and textures of his external world, which before were just objects that had represented obstacles, tasks, goals, and rewards.

Here we see his moment of awakening, when he looks in the sky at his sun, is awestruck, and can no longer go back to what he was before.

He quickly scurries up a tree, and his former ant army down below can’t find him, simply because he has done something completely outside of conformity. He is not missed, except as a nameless presumed casualty picked off by some predator or rival ant patrol.

He lives as a fugative, avoiding all ant men and other dangerous creatures. He eats leaves, bark, sap, fungi, moss, pollen, and other inanimate things only. He sees the beauty in the nature that surrounds him, but also the horror. He ponders, basks in the sun, enjoys cool breezes, and develops a fondness for berries.

Prints

~ Ends

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New Art: Ant Man Goes AWOL Finally completed, and it was as much of a battle creating him as he looks like he's a veteran of.

#art #contemporary art #digital art #digital painting #horror #illustration #painting #sci-fi

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tsuede · 4 years

Photo

Change of shades

Tripunithura is a temple town much obsessed with it's past - a town in perpetual rumination. The place takes on the persona of that old lady who talks about her ancestral home's 'pathayam' full of rice reserves when she was young. The thin, pale, peripheral branches of a kshetreya legacy - the town's favourite residents. Vestiges of this aristocratic legacy are preserved in structures of brick, blood and society.

Towards the end of November is 'vrishchikotsavam,' the temple's anniversary, a week of chaos. The whole temple compound gets a golden glow at night, yellow luminance invading into the privacy of the black night sky. Camphor soot and dust, disperse the yellow light from the sodium vapour lamps propped on bamboo poles. Everything, and everyone, becomes beautiful in that light. I spend the nights near the wooden stairs of the West gate. They're relatively less crowded. It's not easy, you know, existing as the omnipresent like me. It's very distracting, and also, you don't have as much freedom. Everything becomes decided for you, you are restricted by the imagination of the dumb few who made you up - your shape, name, mobility, sexuality, where you exist, who you can see, who can see you - everything. It's hard. On the third day of utsavam I saw him in his favourite black tee and 'kaavi mundu.' His goatee is catching up since the last year I saw him. He knows I don't exist and hence doesn't bother visiting, except for these yearly visits. He's here for the 'panchavadyam' - the orchestral drum music. He stands away from the rush, in a clear patch, looking down at the sand moist with elephant pee, cross-armed, taking in the rhythmic beats of the chenda. But, today he's disturbed - too conscious of his presence. She is the reason. She's there standing by the gallery wall, with an ease which he can only dream of, and she's beautiful. Her sharp nose with a bump at 1/3rd the length, her exotic pale grey eyes, bony fingers with closely cut nails and her lilac chiffon churidar with floral patterned baggy salwaar. She waves at her sister who along with the rest of her family is watching the procession from the gallery reserved for the royal families. Privileges of your ancestors being fucked by some Aryan. Maybe it's these privileges that let her exist at ease in this crowd and maybe the lack of which makes him conscious of his presence in the same crowd. The space itself is new to his ilk. They are strangers, at least in the broader sense of the word. For her, he is just another face illuminated in yellow. But he knows her face a bit more thoroughly, maybe a bit too well, well enough to sketch it on a Monday morning from memory. He used to enjoy his bus rides back home from Palarivattom, after those wretched classes, with a curious sense of achievement. It was his reward for sitting through 8 hours of depressing lessons in cramped classrooms - his way of unwinding. One day she gets on his bus and sits a few seats ahead of him. He observed every curve on her head's silhouette. Next morning he woke up at 4 and started sketching it down so that he wouldn't forget how it looked. This was 5 years ago. He hasn't seen her since, until today. That face he sketched from memory, the only one he could - the bump on her nose, the grey in her eyes, everything was before him again. The chenda beats were muffled. He watched her as she sat down on the moist sand, cross-legged, leaning back on her hand propped on the ground. Then she closed her eyes, raised her head up and tried to read the beats. ..... Day 5, he came early. The panchavadyam wouldn't start in another 2 hours. He went to the koothupura to see the kathakali. 'Baali-vadhanam' is playing today. She is sitting at the back, in a corner. She recognizes his face from a dream she once had. The boy who painted her in the light of a kerosene lamp. Every stroke on the cotton rag canvas gave new colours to her skin. She got maroon hair, grey skin and yellow eyes. She loved how she'd changed, she wished she had maroon hair, grey skin and yellow eyes. She believed it was the light from the soot-covered glass shade of the lamp that gave her her new colours. She saw his face in the flickering glow of the 'aatavillaku,' and she felt the joy of having a chance to get the colours she never had. She relished the possibility in all its absurdity. The handheld curtain is let to fall and the music became louder, a few hurried stomps of the feet, and he looks back over his shoulder. Two beats skipped, two breaths stuck half-way, and two pairs of eyes averted. The first set of sticks fell on the chendas - panchavadyam has started. The Kathakali crowd started shrinking. She stood up, dusted her bottom and walked to the front. She introduced herself, 'Durga.' Two wide-opened eyes met the outstretched hand. 'Hey, I'm Tejus,' he shook the hand. 'You wanna sit?' She sat beside him. He's amused by Ravanan's face patterns, a bit of extra black and red, violent and threatening. This is the part where he abducts Sita to the forest confinement in Lanka. What if Sita wanted to be with Ravanan and the whole Ramayanam is a distorted version of the story - an elope rather than an abduction? The panchavadyam beats were getting intense, but neither of them felt like leaving. 'Do you draw?' Durga asked, noticing the black-bound sketchbook jutting out of his satchel. 'Yes... I like to sketch, yeah.' He was always reluctant to acknowledge his taste in art. I bet he felt noticed and exposed. 'What kinda things do you sketch?' 'I like doing portraits, illustrations, ...that kinda stuff.' 'Can you draw me?' Durga asked. A question that he's heard an umpteen times before, and yet, this time it was different; for both of them, both knew he already had. 'Yes... sometimes,' he replied with a shy nod. Tejus' phone rang, True caller tab popped up red, 'Bsnl telemarketing,' it read. 'Wow, Yumeji's theme? From "In the mood for love?" Are you a Wong Kar Wai fan too? They gushed over their love for Wong Kar Wai movies. They both thought they were the only ones to see all 10 of his features. Tejus' favourite was 'Chungking Express' and Durga's was '2046.' They talked about the omnipresent elements in his movies: the rain, mirrors, unrequited love, stop printing and catchy pop songs. When the nuances of Wong Kar Wai movies were exhausted they bitched about almost everyone who was sitting there - the GoPro techie who had brought the whole product box with him, the aunty with jasmine flowers on her head that had started to rot, the bald guy who ironically had scored most number of mosquitoes circling his head, the butt crack guy with a fluorescent 'Jockey,' the over engrossed mom whose kids they planned to murder, the sorority of princesses with matching blouses, and the oldie, who for some reason kept calling me, only interrupted by the periodic scoffs of disappointment at the mumbling two. They hardly cared anything about the grieving Ram(easily an 8) who just lost his wife to the dark evil Ravanan( a 5, at most a 6). The Kathakali performers bowed and left the makeshift stage. A few of the audience had come with bed-sheets to sleep on, which they spread over the floor and slept. Durga and Tejus left the koothambalam. It was 3 in the morning, the panchavadyam was over long back, and the temple grounds were deserted except for the footprints from the night. They decided to sit and talk for some more time before they went home. They sat at the west gate, on the black rock platforms on which people, and I, usually sit. It'll glisten ever so lightly in the moon, the oil from the lit lamps would mix with the dew and give a greasy coating to it. Durga started, 'Have you seen ''Begin Again?" Yeah? So, there's this scene in which they talk about how you can know so much about a person from their playlists.' Durga looked at Tejus intently, waiting. '...Oh, you wanna know my playlist? Okay cool, how about we play one song each from our playlists, alternatively. How's that?' 'Cool, works. You wanna start?' 'Yeah, sure.' Tejus started with 'Angela' by The Lumineers. They played Angela. I liked that song. Something about tree logging. 'Wasteland baby, by Hozier.' 'Okay,...Hero by Family of the year.' 'Coastline by Hollow Coves.' 'Cherathukal...?' ... Tinges of orange spread in the sky and suddenly there were rays of sunlight creeping in from behind the silhouette of the clock-tower. Savithri had started sweeping the stone pavements. She's a friend. We talk often about her grandkids. Pigeons stirred from under the clay-tiled roofs. Durga rubbed her eyes and took a few deep breaths of the cold morning air. She looked at Tejus sleeping on her calves, waited a moment, and then woke him up. A bit embarrassed by the drool on her salwaar he gave her an awkward smile. He lazily sat up. 'Oh, shit..! We're back in real-time.' 'Do you hear a Harpsichord playing? We can dance maybe,' She asks with an animated face of sarcasm. Tejus spurts out a laugh, 'It's funny you said that. I've always had this fantasy of having a sunrise-esque moment. You know, in some foreign city, walking around the streets - connecting with a person...Oh, and then I want the sequels too. I really love them, Jesse and Celine. They put everything good in those movies, and now, that's my scale, you know what I mean?' 'Yeah, I guess so. Yeah...But, you're gonna be disappointed my child. I don't think it ever works that way. Probably why the movie is special, right? I mean - you'll probably be perpetually disappointed in whatever you'd have - I guess...' 'Yeah...I guess. Anyways it'd be something I'd be looking for I guess.' Durga jumps down from the platform they were sitting on, 'well, this was close, right?' They shared a smile. They and I knew it was; the closest. The sand was cold - pleasant to walk on. They got a morning tea from the stall at the gate and decided to leave for their homes to sleep the day off. As they parted and Durga walked to her home, she looked down at her feet - there was a patch of grey on her skin - like a brushstroke. I watched on as the maroon at the ends of her hair glistened in the sun.

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neuxue · 7 years

Text

Wheel of Time liveblogging: The Gathering Storm ch 1

Chapter title says it all, really.

Chapter 1: Tears from Steel

The prologue chapter title may have been a bit lacklustre, but “Tears from Steel”? Even without having read the chapter, I would already put that high on the list of contenders for most beautiful chapter title of the series thus far.

It’s lovely in its own right, but it’s one of those titles that, even with no context but the Dragon icon, speaks to so much more because of everything that has been built into those words. Tears, which Rand has lost. Steel, which he has so long sought to become. And both of those threads have been built for so long now, and have become so central to his character arc, that all it takes to evoke an entire mindset and sense of heartbreak and futility and pain is those three words.

It reminds me of ‘Mashiara’ that way. Or ‘The Golden Crane’. Or ‘The Dedicated’. Elements of story that have filled individual words with far more meaning than they had on their own, and have thus given those words the power to convey all of that in a glance.

Anyway. It’s been a while; let’s get on with reading, shall we?

The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass…

I imagine it would be somewhat…reassuring, I suppose, as an author stepping in to finish another author’s series, to have the first paragraph written for you. There’s still the rest of the book, of course, but at least that’s a way to ease into it.

And this time the wind is beginning around the White Tower. That seems appropriate. Especially since last book it was Dragonmount.

It’s almost strange to not have half-page sentences in this opening bit.

Tar Valon has seen better days, is the general idea here.

It actually makes Egwene’s task into another parallel with Rand’s; where he had to cleanse the taint from the male half of the Source, she must now essentially cleanse the power that claims the female half of the Power.

Tar Valon had repelled every enemy.

Yes, well, so did Aridhol.

Aes Sedai were in control. Always. Even now, when they had suffered an indelible defeat: Egwene al’Vere, the rebel Amyrlin Seat, had been captured and imprisoned within the Tower.

And imprisonment seems to be working about as well on her as it has supposedly worked on Semirhage in the past.

So the wind blows onwards, from the White Tower to Dragonmount. The Tower, pristine and outwardly perfect, but inwardly crumbling. Dragonmount, with its shattered peak. The two symbols of two great powers that must stand together, whole, and yet are broken and all but irreconcilable.

Time for spring to come, hmm? With its new life and rebirth and all that? No wonder it’s a bit delayed, what with the Fisher King feeling…somewhat less than springlike.

The land was still dormant, as if waiting, holding its breath.

Yeah, that. The Dragon is one with the land, so the land is waiting for…what was it? ‘Let the Prince of the Morning sing to the land that green things will grow and the valleys give forth lambs.’ Sorry, he’s a bit preoccupied at the moment, but I’m sure if you leave a message he’ll be with you as soon as he can.

To the west, as it approached the land known as Arad Doman – cresting hills and short peaks – something suddenly slammed against it.

Wait what?

Soemthing unseen, something spawned by the distant darkness to the north. Something that flowed against the natural tide and currents of the air. The wind was consumed by it, blown southward in a gust, across low peaks and brown foothills

We’re fucking with the wind now? The wind that begins every book, untouched and unchecked and sometimes gentle, sometimes violent, but always free? Well then. That’s…new and interesting and I suppose it goes well with the black and silver clouds and the gathering storm and the fact that we are rapidly approaching the ending.

Rand al’Thor, the Dragon Reborn, stood, hands behind his back as he looked out the open manor window. He still thought of them that way, his ‘hands’, though he now had only one.

It’s okay, Rand, you’re in good company. The Skywalkers, Maedhros, Tyr…

Steel, he thought. I am steel. This cannot be fixed, and so I move on.

He is steel, and steel does not know tears. And he’s so close, at this point. He’s been dragging himself through hell and leaving pieces of himself behind for so long, and now he’s drawing close to an ending. He’s made a promise to Lews Therin, he’s not-quite-but-mostly given up on any hope of living afterwards, or wanting to. This cannot be fixed, and it is almost the end. All he has to do is carry on now, for however little time is left. Though of course, a breaking point is almost sure to happen before that, but as far as his current state of mind…yeah, he’s just dragging himself the last bit of the way, and little else matters.

It was the Dark One’s touch, and it grew with each passing day. How long until it was as overwhelming, as oily and nauseating, as the taint that had once coated saidin, the male half of the One Power?

Breaking the normal flow of time wherever it touches, breaking order, leaving chaos and entropy. Much, I think, like the taint did to the minds of those exposed to it. It was a…contained version of the Dark One’s touch on the world. Contained being a very relative term, here.

“The boughs,” he said, nodding out the window. “You see those pines, just to the side of Bashere’s camp?”

“Yes, Rand, But—”

“They blow the wrong direction,” Rand said.

There’s an immature ‘who broke the wind’ joke in there but for real WHAT IS HAPPENING TO THE WIND. Now, it’s possible I am a bit too attached to the wind that begins every book, which is largely the fault of another series entirely, but in my mind it’s linked with Rand and I find all of this wind blowing the wrong way stuff VERY DISCONCERTING.

All three [banners] flew proud…yet just to the side of them, the needles on the pines blew in the opposite direction.

Boughs – the land, the world – are blowing one way and his banners – power, force, pride – are blowing a different direction. I see what you did there. I actually really like this image, and the idea behind it.

He could almost think these winds a result of his own ta’veren nature, but the events he caused were always possible. The wind blowing in two directions at once…

Well, how many people do you have in your head right now, Rand, if we’re talking about ‘possible’. But I’m with him on thinking it’s not really ta’veren at work here, though I’m not convinced it’s the Dark One. That’s an option, but there’s also the possibility that it’s to do with his own divided nature, and the way he’s on a course of fighting everything, fighting himself, fighting the world, trying to force something that perhaps cannot be forced. Trying to fight the wind.

His eyesight hadn’t been the same since the attack on that day he’d lost his hand. It was as if…as if he looked through water at something distorted.

Fitting, and again no doubt representative of something deeper and more pervasive. Everything has been distorted, especially in his outlook and even his character. Plus the Dragon-Land thing yet again, with everything being stretched and warped and distorted as reality is strained. I like the way distortion and reflection is used in this series in general. It’s not the most prevalent theme or anything, but it crops up here and there and ties in nicely with the broader issue of perception and its biases and flaws and shifts.

He’d wanted to keep moving, jumping from location to location

Fisher on white… (Oh, look, Lia made a sha’rah reference. How many is that now? Twelve past too many, no doubt).

Rand needed his army to be strong. Need. No longer was it about what Rand wanted or what he wished. Everything he did focused only on need, and what he needed most was the lives of those who followed him.

This has been his path for a while now. He is a weapon against the Shadow, a prophecy made flesh, a figure of salvation and destruction, a power. He is the Dragon Reborn, something both more and less than human in the eyes of most. He said it himself – I don’t know how human the Dragon Reborn can afford to be. The world demands the Dragon Reborn, and in becoming that he has all but lost Rand al’Thor, for his life is no longer truly his. As Moiraine said, he belongs to the Pattern, and to history.

Also I do love ‘what he needed most was the lives of those who followed him’. Not them, but their lives. And it doesn’t even spark a thread of self-admonishment for thinking about using them; he crossed that line a long time ago, out of necessity, and he will use anyone and anything he can, himself included.

(To quote another work entirely… ‘who cares about your lonely soul / we strive towards a larger goal / our little lives don’t count at all’).

Just outside the window, the winds suddenly righted themselves, and the flags whipped around, blowing in the other direction. So it hadn’t been the needles after all, but the banners that had been in the wrong.

Doesn’t really get plainer than that, does it?

Aviendha’s on her way here? Why but also yay.

But the truth was that he needed Min, needed her strength and her love. He would use her as he used so many others. No, there was no place in him for regret. He just wished he could banish guilt as easily.

Rand, there’s a difference between using people and letting loved ones help and support you.

Thoughts of guilt of course lead to Lews Therin crying about Ilyena, which leads to Rand thinking about what Semirhage said and trying not to think about it. Because that’s always a successful approach to problems.

Besides, he didn’t need to understand women in order to use them. Particularly if they had information he needed.

He gritted his teeth. No, he thought. No, there are lines I will not cross. There are things even I will not do.

I don’t think he’s ever stated it quite that plainly before, that this is the line he will not cross. Some of the directness is very likely Sanderson – it does fit more with how he portrays characters’ mindsets – but I think it can also work with where Rand is right now. He has gone so far, and he has so much blood on his hands – er, hand – and he is so deep in self-hatred that he barely even notices it anymore. He has crossed so many of the lines he once tried to draw, and every time he does, every step he takes, this one last threshold stands out even more clearly as he draws closer to it. So it would make sense that here, now, standing on the brink of irredeemability, he would state it very clearly to himself. This is it.

And I think I’ve said it before, but the fact that this final line is drawn at hurting or killing a woman is, as I see it, only partly linked to the frustrating chivalry he was raised with. That plays a role, but so, I believe, does Ilyena. Lews Therin’s breaking point was seeing and realising that he had killed Ilyena. Had killed everyone he loved, but she was sort of the…representative of that. And it’s such a deep, horrifying guilt that Rand carries it too, across the barrier between lifetimes that is falling away.

(Here’s a thought: what if, instead of focusing all his guilt and horror on Ilyena, Lews Therin had fallen to his knees next to his children, also killed by his hand. If they had been the deaths that broke him, if they had been the ones of whom he begged forgiveness before killing himself. If, then, Rand’s one last line in the sand was killing or harming a child, rather than killing or harming a woman. Of course, that could get either very dark or excessively sentimental, but still).

Now everyone’s thinking about the male a’dam that Semirhage had and YEAH THAT’S STILL NOT EVEN REMOTELY OUT OF PLAY, THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NO WAY FOR THIS TO END WELL.

The exchange had ended with Rand losing a hand but gaining one of the Forsaken as his prisoner. The last time he’d been in a similar situation, it hadn’t ended well. He still didn’t know where Asmodean had gone or why the weasel of a man had fled in the first place, but Rand did suspect that he had betrayed much about Rand’s plans and activities. Should have killed him. Should have killed them all.

There’s something surprisingly sad about this, that Rand’s perception of Asmodean is coloured by his belief that Asmodean betrayed him. There was such a fascinating and complicated dynamic between the two of them, especially towards the end of…er…Asmodean’s life, but it ends with Rand believing the worst.

Rand nodded, then froze. Had that been Lews Therin’s thought or his own?

Yes.

Burn you! Rand thought. Talk to me! The time is coming. I need to know what you know! How did you seal the Dark One’s prison? What went wrong, and why did it leave the prison flawed? Speak to me!

I…don’t think that’s going to work, Rand. You need to know what Lews Therin knows – or knew – and I think the only way to truly do that is going to be to let yourself remember.

Yes, that was definitely sobbing, not laughter. Sometimes it was hard to tell with Lews Therin.

Meanwhile Rand cannot let himself do either. Both have been relegated to Lews Therin, and Rand can no longer distinguish between them within himself because they are both…lost to him.

Rand continued to think of the dead man as a separate individual from himself, regardless of what Semirhage had said.

Huh. I don’t think that’s ever been stated quite so plainly either. I also don’t think he’s entirely right about that. Different lifetimes, yes. Different individuals? Not…precisely. Lews Therin is Rand’s past and Rand is Lews Therin’s future and it’s complicated because how are we defining ‘individual’ in this case? Personality? The sum total of a person’s experiences? A single soul? If the barrier between lifetimes hadn’t been eroded it wouldn’t be a problem, but it has and it is, and Rand’s mind doesn’t know what to do with that. Where do these experiences and personality traits go? Rand has his own and now he has more and there are no holes in his memory for them to fill in like they did with Mat – sort of – so where do they fit? How can he be Lews Therin Telamon and Rand al’Thor without losing one of them? How can he carry two lifetimes, to selves that are both ‘true’, and still hold himself together? Add to that the fact that one of those lifetimes ended in Kinslayer, and it’s no surprise, really, that his method of dealing with this has been to maintain some kind of barrier between them with everything he has. To hold Lews Therin as a separate entity, and fight so hard to keep it that way.

North and east. He had to force the lands into peace, whether they wanted it or not.

‘For his peace was the peace of the sword…’ He has to force peace, so that he can bring them all to face battle. The whole situation is full of sad irony.

And what were those Borderlanders up to? They had left their posts, joining together and marching south to find Rand, but giving no explanation of what they wanted of him. they were some of the best soldiers west of the Spine of the World. Their help would be invaluable at the Last Battle. But they had left the northlands. Why?

This has got to be THE MOST FRUSTRATING set of circular miscommunications. The Borderlanders want Rand in the Borderlands to fight the Last Battle, so they leave the Borderlands to tell Rand to go to the Borderlands, which confuses and frustrates Rand, who wants the Borderlanders in the Borderlands but hasn’t gone to the Borderlands to tell them so, because he assumed the Borderlanders would stay in the Borderlands.

In summary: YOU ALL WANT THE SAME DAMN THING, BUT NO ONE EVER TALKS TO ANYONE ELSE SO HOW WOULD YOU KNOW.

Light! He would have thought that, of all people, he could have depended on the Borderlanders to support him against the Shadow.

Why on earth did Lan not say anything to him? Lan was frustrated with him for much the same thing as the Borderlanders are, and he said as much to Nynaeve, but why not talk to Rand? Ask him what his plans are for the Borderlands? Advise him? Lan used to do many of those things, and Rand used to listen, more or less. And despite everything, there is still trust between them. So WHY NO COMMUNICATION? Argh.

I suppose the answer is that Lan is not entirely rational when it comes to Malkier and his own death-wish, and Rand is not entirely rational when it comes to people suggesting things to him, and there were a lot of Trollocs at the time. Which does tend to complicate things.

Every time he thought he had a nation secure, it seemed a dozen others fell apart. How could he bring peace to a people who refused to accept it? […] He could not fight both the Seanchan and the Dark One. He had to keep the Seanchan from advancing until the Last Battle was over. After that, the Light could burn them all.

This is just…sad. It’s the salvation-destruction duality again, in variation. He is trying so desperately to force peace – though peace through battle – but they will not accept it. He is trying to lead them to battle, but they fear it. And that battle itself is to secure a future in which there can be peace, but he doesn’t even believe in that much right now. He just has to get them there, and then…the Light could burn them all. There will always be another battle. He is giving everything he has to this and all he sees is despair and he can’t let himself care because he has to get there anyway. Has to get there and win, even if he has all but lost sight of – or lost hope in – why. All that is left is necessity.

And that ties back to the idea that if he continues along this path, his victory will be as dark as his defeat. He is so focused on the necessity of winning Tarmon Gai’don, and doing whatever is necessary to get there, that it has become his entire purpose. It’s the ‘what are you fighting for?’ question. Right now…nothing. He is fighting because he has to, because he has to win. That’s the goal, the destination, the end, and he’s stopped letting himself think about or hope for anything after. He’s lost the ‘why’ of it all, along with laughter and tears.

“I wonder if we’ll find Graendal here,” Rand said thoughtfully.

“Graendal?” Min asked. “What makes you think she might be?”

Rand shook his head. Asmodean had said Graendal was in Arad Doman, though that had been months ago.

Only months, since Rand was still learning how to channel from Asmodean. Not even a full year, and in that time he’s done so much and so much has been done to him and he’s had no time to rest before the next catastrophe and then the next and the next. He just keeps pushing onward because it’s all he can do, and only months ago he was the boy who fought his reflections out of a mirror and tried to turn feathers into a flower.

Wait he has a new sword now? Huh? When did that happen? Also where and why and what and who and how?

The weapon was long, slightly curved, and the lacquered scabbard was painted with a long, sinuous dragon of red and gold. It looked as if it had been designed specifically for Rand – and yet it was centuries old, unearthed only recently. How odd, that they should find this now, he thought, and make a git of it to me, completely unaware of what they were holding…

He had taken to wearing the sword immediately. It felt right beneath his fingers. He had told no one, not even Min, that he recognised the weapon. And not, oddly, from Lews Therin’s memories – but Rand’s own.

He took to wearing it immediately, when in Far Madding he didn’t want to fight five at once because he was worried about the possiblity of having to abandon his sword, which was a gift from Aviendha. Yet there’s nothing at all in his thoughts about that now, about putting aside the sword she gave him and taking up this one, given to him by…um…?

Still, it’s clearly an Important Sword. And he recognises it from…wait, is this Justice? Artur Hawkwing’s sword? Rand saw that at Falme, after all (and I seem to recall it shining like a mirror, which is another fun and kind of fitting play on reflections) and there’s the early Prophecy fragment about ‘let the arm of the Lord of the Dawn shelter us from the dark, and the great sword of justice defend us.’

But why and how would it have dragons on it? I’m very confused about this sword.

Nynaeve was expected; she often followed Cadsuane these days, like a rival cat she found encroaching on her territory. She did it for him, likely. The dark-haired Aes Sedai had never quite given up being Wisdom of Emond’s Field, no matter what she said, and she gave no quarter to anyone she thought was abusing one under her protection.

And how important that is, even when it’s a flaw as well as a virtue. It’s not that she’s clinging to her past, really; she has grown and changed and become so much more, but this is part of her and always will be.

Alivia would help Rand die, eventually. That had been one of Min’s viewings – and Min’s viewings were never wrong. Except that she’d said she’d been wrong about Moiraine. Perhaps that meant he wouldn’t have to…

No. Anything that made him think of living through the Last Battle, anything that made him hope, was dangerous.

Oh, Rand. He can’t let himself hope, because he’s afraid it will break him, but abandoning hope is perhaps even more dangerous because again, if he doesn’t let himself hope for anything, what is he fighting for?

So Cadsuane’s been in charge of questioning Semirhage, and I’m rather amused at the notion of those two facing off. Not in a fight, precisely, but in a…staring contest, as it were. Adelorna regretted that Cadsuane wasn’t in the Tower because she thought it would be interesting to see her try to deal with Egwene, but I rather think Cadsuane’s found herself enough of a challenge.

“How did the questioning go, Cadsuane Sedai?” he asked in a more moderate tone.

She smiled to herself. “Well enough.”

“Well enough?” Nynaeve snapped. She had made no promises to Cadsuane about civility. “That woman is infuriating!”

Cadsuane sipped her wine. “I wonder what else one could expect from oen of the Forsaken, child. She has had a great deal of time to practice being…infuriating.”

“Rand, that…creature is a stone,” Nynaeve said, turning to him. “She’s yielded barely a single useful sentence despite days of questioning! All she does is explain how inferior and backward we are, with the occasional aside that she’s eventually going to kill us all.”

Have I mentioned that I kind of love her?

“For all the girl’s dramatic talk,” Cadsuane said, nodding to Nynaeve, “she has a reasonable grasp on the situation. Phaw! When I said ‘well enough’ you were to interpret it as ‘as well as you might expect, given our unfortunate constraints’.”

Okay, no. There’s no way any Aes Sedai, much less Cadusane, would say ‘when I said this, you were supposed to interpret it as this…’ Nynaeve’s phrasing was slightly off but enjoyable. This is just…off. I feel like Cadsuane would have been more likely to let Nynaeve finish, give her a look, and then pick up as if she hadn’t spoken at all with a ‘Well enough, that is, given our unfortunate constraints’.

…and now I’m doing exactly what I said I was going to try not to do, with the nitpicking the change in authors. Sorry. Moving on.

“This isn’t art, Cadsuane,” Rand said dryly. “It’s torture.” Min shared a glance with him, and he felt her concern. Concern for him? He wasn’t the one being tortured.

The box, Lews Therin whispered. We should have died in the box. Then…then it would be over.

This is well done, with that sense of disconnect between what Rand feels from Min and his understanding of it – or lack thereof. It’s that sort of layering of PoV, where Rand is unable to perceive or recognise certain things in himself or his thoughts, so instead we see them through Min, but through Min via Rand, and the disconnect itself emphasises Rand’s state of mind.

Also Lews Therin’s oh-so-helpful commentary reminds me of when Rand was in the box and he thought about how he had hallucinated just...walking free. Nothing else, just walking. He’s kind of in a similar place right now in the sense that there is nothing left to him but necessity, nothing left of what he wants or wishes, very little left, as far as he can see, of him. All there is is pain and an impossible task, and so much of him just wants it to be over.

For all that Cadsuane feels constrained by Rand’s prohibition on torturing Semirhage, I have to wonder if torture would even work on her. There are two ways that could go, really. One would be that having her own power and expertise turned on her, holding her under the very tool she once used to assert her own dominance and superiority, would break her. The other would be that it would do absolutely nothing at all, and she would laugh at their attempts. I’m thinking in this case it’s probably more option B. Pain isn’t going to work on her, I don’t think. (There’s of course also the more modern argument that torture is ineffective in getting useful and accurate information, but in this setting I think we’re meant to accept it as a useful but morally difficult tool).

“I am aware of the threat,” Rand said flatly

Are you though? Are you really? You’ve lost a hand to her but she could do so much worse and I’m all but convinced she’s going to.

“I said no!” Rand said. “You will question her, but you will not hurt her!” Not a woman. I will keep to this one shred of light inside me.

Yeah, that. The one line he will not cross. It’s not so much about what that line is specifically, as it is about keeping that one shred of light, that one last threshold. It’s not even rational, really. It’s just a desperate attempt to hold on to himself, to believe that he is not lost, to believe that there is something distinguishing him from that which he fights. One last line.

So Cadsuane says they may as well turn her over to the White Tower and…oh.

“Would you entrust her to Elaida? Or did you eman the others? I doubt that Egwene would be pleased if I dropped one of the Forsaken in her lap. Egwene might just let Semirhage go and take me captive instead. Force me to kneel before the White Tower’s justice and gentle me just to give her another notch in her belt.”

Nynaeve frowned. “Rand! Egwene would never—”

“She’s Amyrlin,” he said. […] “Aes Sedai to the core. I’m just another pawn to her.”

This…was inevitable, really, but it’s still sad to watch it happen. To see Egwene in the last few books thinking about the rumours of Aes Sedai kneeling to Rand, and assuming the worst. To see Rand now returning the same doubts and distrust. To see both of them certain that the other means to use them, means to force them to submit. To see both of them responding to that with distrust and anger.

Yet it’s been so beautifully done, over the course of eleven books now. The childhood friends, all but betrothed, slowly and naturally and inevitably becoming this. Growing up and growing apart and changing, each following their own path and each making so many sacrifices and each absolutely dedicated to their cause. Each acting out of perceived necessity and each doing the best they can, and yet, through circumstance more than individual fault, ending up…not quite enemies. Not that. Not yet. But close.

Part of what makes it so lovely and so sad is that the blame doesn’t really fall on either of them. On both of them, somewhat, but more on the fact that they’ve been apart too long, on different paths for too long, faced with different tasks and demands for too long. They’ve each had to become something so much more than themselves, and in doing so have had to give up much of who they were or might have once wanted to be, and whatever bond Rand al’Thor and Egwene al’Vere shared, it hasn’t been enough to hold the Dragon Reborn and the Amyrlin Seat together.

Yet at the same time, I think the friendship and love between them, strained as it is, will be of the utmost importance in the end. Because they need to be able to face Tarmon Gai’don as allies, this time. They need to be able to stand together, unlike Lews Therin Telamon and Latra Posae Decume. And if there were nothing binding them together at all, I don’t think that would be possible. They’re too far apart, too opposed, and there’s too much between them. As it is, I think it will be almost impossible, but that one thread of love and friendship between Rand and Egwene will give them something to hold on to, something to turn near-enmity into tenuous alliance. A small and strained thread, against everything that has come between them, but at least it’s something.

And then I can’t help but think back to TGH, where Egwene went to Almoth Plain because she was told Rand needed her help, and Rand went into Falme largely because he couldn’t forgive himself if he left Egwene there. They’re bound together, even if everything since then has pulled them gradually and naturally and inexorably apart, and I think they will reconcile and understand, in the end. They’ve both had such individually excellent character arcs, and the way they’ve crossed and collided, converged and diverged, opposed and reflected, is so well-developed, and I’m very much looking forward to seeing how it plays out in the end.

Yes, Lews Therin said. We need to stay away from all of them. They refused to help us, you know. Refused! Said my plan was too reckless. That left me with only the Hundred Companions, no women to form a circle. Traitors! This is their fault. But…but I’m the one who killed Ilyena. Why?

But this is not then. It’s a different Age, and Rand and Egwene may well be Lews Therin and Latra Posae reborn – guessing on Egwene there; I like it but I have no real evidence besides thinking it would fit nicely – but they’re different. It can be different, this time, and they are not bound by their past mistakes or choices.

“Tell me!” Rand yelled, throwing his cup down. “Burn you, Kinslayer! Speak to me!” The room fell silent.

So there’s that. And of course they have far less context than he does, so it looks even stranger and likely worse from the outside, and Rand’s afraid of what they see and think, and he’s afraid of his own mind and of madness, and desperate for answers because he doesn’t know what to do, only that he has to do something, and it’s all too much.

Light! He thought. I’m losing control. Half the time, I don’t know which voice is mine and which is his. This was supposed to get better when I cleansed saidin! I was supposed to be safe…

Ah, the beautiful ambiguity of that last sentence. Safe from the madness? Safe from Lews Therin’s fate? Safe in the sense that others would be safe from him, that he would be safe to be around, safe from the world? All of the above?

And he is losing control. There’s too much…pressure…built up on that barrier between him and Lews Therin, a barrier I’m convinced he’s largely put there himself and is trying to hold because he cannot accept fully who and what he is, because if he does it will break him. But the refusal is now breaking him anyway, and nothing he does is enough, and the world is balanced as precariously as his own mind and he’s trying to hold it all, trying to keep everything together when reality is tearing it apart, trying to do the impossible because there’s nothing else he can do, and still it’s not enough. And he knows it.

I can’t keep this up. My eyes see as if in a fog, my hand is burned away, and the old wounds in my side rip open if I do anything more strenuous than breathe. I’m dry, like an overused well. I need to finish my work here and get to Shayol Ghul.

Otherwise, there won’t be anything left of me for the Dark One to kill.

Again it’s stated rather more plainly and directly than previously, and this whole chapter has felt at time like Sanderson is…writing his way into Rand’s mindset, I suppose. But for the most part it works, because Rand is at this point of…very nearly coming undone. He’s been on a dark path for a long time now, and I’m certain a breaking point is coming soon, because there’s not much further he can go. He has so little left, and at this point it makes sense, in a way, that he would know that and be unable to shy away from it. He’s slipping and he knows it, knows he’s falling apart, knows there’s only so much longer he can hold on to everything before something shatters and it all collapses.

That wasn’t a thought to cause laughter; it was one to cause despair. But Rand did not weep, for tears could not come from steel.

For the moment, Lews Therin’s cries seemed enough for both of them.

That is lovely. Lovely and awful and more or less perfect.

Next (TGS ch 2) Previous (TGS prologue part 3)

#I return!#Wheel of Time #neuxue liveblogs WoT #The Gathering Storm

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rhinointherain · 4 years

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5-8-2020

Every coherent though is a chain of smaller thoughts Every (thought) is a combination of (feelings that you sense) Every (feeling that you sense) is an (amount of heat in a neuron) every (amount of heat in a neuron (degrees)) is a total sum of energy every total sum of energy is a neuron firing or not firing every neuron firing or not firing is the signal cells being released from the last neuron or not etc etc

Its all either off or on, one or zero, and the derivatives of them. It goes into the FOURTH dimension, the x axis is length (or time, the units) the y axis is x width (2d space) the z axis is x, height (3d space) and the other axis is derivative of x (4d space)

Every thing is a spectrum of itself underneath the 1

Each (x derivative) is an (x), each (x) is an (intergral/anti-derivative) of (x double intiderivative) and so on

Many peoples third eyes open within their lifetime, but only a fewer amount of people actually have the means tools etc to communicative what they understand effectively with the world and possibly harness it for productivity, which is what makes the difference between one of the greatest humans in history and a weird junkie

Kinda impressed by the fact that even despite having no language like this whatsoever to communicate with junkies can find a way to express these things in a way that other people whove gone through it can somehow recognize it

Or maybe they dont recognize what im recognizing at all, they are just communicating other more sensory aspects of “it” (act of third eye being open) and the people whose third eyes actually opened recognize these aspects

I can do anything now if only i remember what this was/is like. I can succeed in any field because I understand how all of them work in principal. Or at least if i remember what i recognize now well enough and can decipher it with enough focus to find a coherent way to use it

Being smart is the ability to recall them more quickly or the ability to understand their connections with each other better or understand them on a “lower” level ( the integral of x, x being thought). Maybe there is no “third eye opening” but its just that you get down on a level few people ever do. But there is no bottom it is an infinity of x into itself, also known as x derivative of x over x intergral of x

Hang on im starting to think of aspects of this i dont understand. Like what are coderivatives or whatever you call them. I cant understand where they fit into this because i dont remember exactly what they are. And time and space being two different dimensions (x and y) or space (y) being the derivative of time (x) oh wait that is exactly what im trying to say, i feel like it could be easier if writing by hand bc i could draw actual derivative symbols instead of counting on words u can type to express what im trying to say

(Wrote this last but put it here bc of organization) Remember this to help you understand: it isnt a chain bc its not just a line its in multiple dimensions. I.E. space. But it is because neurons fire in a chain I.E. time. We can only measure one direction in time but three in space.

Ok this is gonna make me sound even crazier as if I wasnt sounding crazy already. But time travel is not “movement” (one point to another) in the fourth x dimension aka 4th derivative of x (which would be to us like a wormhole), it’s movement in derivative of y? I think y, maybe i have this wrong. Neurons are oriented in space time. The amount of energy they have in them, their location in space (x,y,z coordinates), their location in time (along the x dimension) are all ways to describe the “point” they occupy in all dimensions. (Is the space time continuum represented by the x times xyz space section of all dimensions?)

Time travel is not just derivative of x, which is moving forward aka to the future, but integral of x which is moving “backward” in time aka the past

So not only can you move “outside” i e 4th derivative of x aka the fourth dimension of space (i didnt finish this thought. earlier and am trying to remember deeply enough what it said. It looked like it was a summary of the main idea that not only “” , but also you can move y derivates .” So you actually have an infinite number of dimensions being the derivative of one another in an infinite number of directions)

When they said everythings a fractal that was real

Things go in every direction all at once. And all those things go in every direction of their direction, which is infinitely more times greater than the first “every direction all at once” (which was infinity). Do you understand?

Good god. How did they figure this out. Like when you see media depictions of being high like tool album covers and stuff they have all that fractal stuff and when a sci fi movie wants to convey something deep the zoom in on the molecules until it looks like the universe zoomed out. They understand at least some aspect of this idea.

If i actually wanted my realization to be a groundbreaking thing i would probably need to spend a lot of years trying to convince people i wasnt crazy and only if i eventually effectively communicate my ideas across and spend a lot of time and energy to would it actually later seem like i were a tragic genius rather than a crazy person. also id need to try to hold on how i felt like when i was high for so long it would have a chance of disrupting my mental health/ability to function in society (same thing obvs) and driving me toward like hard drugs and that would not be good

Its so hard to explain the fourth dimension like i really dont think i could try to draw a representation of it like some people do (those cube things, i cant remember what theyre called), my conception of it is a lot more mathematical and verbal. But i still am pretty certain I understand it whether un-high me believes me or not

When youre trying to think about this stuff and you look away at your environment and think about memories and do other complex things that require much deeper chains of neurological communications in order to process them, it becomes a lot harder to focus in on these ideas because the complex things require a much higher/broader/vaguer level of though (higher broader vaguer being words we can use to try to understand what it means to be on a “higher level” as in OUTSIDE OF, DERIVATIVE OF X, IN THE FOURTH DIMENSION etc, just as like (above) and (below) describe location along the z axis if you think of the xy plane aka z equals zero as the “ground” and above means positive z and below means negative z.)

Its going to be harder than i thought to communicate this when sober lol but its still nice i was able to experience it lol

Other things to mention 1. Up until this point (but not after), some pieces of text are out of order than they were written, usually the paragraphs were all written together though not always 2. I wasn’t hallucinating per se but I understand how they work now bc some of the things in the corners of my vision, where my eyes are giving less attention to their light receptors, I’m seeing things off from how they actually are: I turn toward them and perceive them normally but when I turn away and theyre in the corner of my vision i see the distortion again. Its not like scary hallucinations or anything like for example I perceived a giant black slab like in space odyssey in place of the dark doorway, or a wall where there wasnt one. Its because my brain was focusing/thinking in different ways than its used to and so its less sensitive to the type of information it usually takes in from its environment and its interpretations of it are less precise and thus not entirely “correct”. Its a really interesting way of thinking about what it is that you actually notice and perceive. Like the experiment where they switch out the person asking for directions and the majority of people dont actually notice its a difference person

Yeah ok i cant really write much more bc im significantly less high rn, I could sit here the whole rest of the time and try to make sure I understand all this well enough each time I get less high but I really don’t feel like doing that its like, drifting farther and farther away and taking more effort to really grasp it with each drift towards sobriety and while thinking about how I might not understand all this stuff soon I’m tired lol and I appreciate the experience. Anyway yeah

More things I was thinking in the shower: Everything is a direction? And so everything is a dimension? Not just in space or time, thats only one section of it which can be described by a “shape” with three dimensions in the space orientation and one in the time orientation. All categories are their own dimension. In any given moment you are at an intersection of a certain (point) on [the shape representing the space time continuum] and all the other infinities

Question. Does the idea of god fit into all of this. “Who is doing the moving”—that would be god? “What is “moving””, etc. ? If “everything” is all infinities of infinities and this goes on infinitely, there is no possible way to be “outside” that infinity. Therefore you cant possibly “move” it all bc movement requires a force, and that force cant come from “outside” of it so therefore it all “moves” itself? How accurate is the term “movement” to describe what i am referring to? Which is our existence. Aka where the space time continuum is oriented within the “everything”. And by extent, where we ourselves are oriented within the space time continuum. I feel like i could represent this well with a 3d image. We are each our own space time continuum? With all this being understood i believe there is no possible way for us as humans to answer the question of whether there is a god, or what god is. I could be wrong about this but I dont think I personally would be able to. Same with the question of free will. The two are definitely interrelated. I feel like the ideas ive been saying can provide a different framework for talking about questions like this about god and free will and stuff, but the new framework would have to be engaged with/understood more fully in order to get any answers significantly more substantial than what we as humans have already.

“Third eye opening” is what i refer to this experience as but thats just an expression. The eye opening metaphor doesnt hold up super well when i actually think about what i mean by it. What i mean is the moment that you started to understand existence {in a certain way}, more “deeply”/“outside of just perceiving the space time continuum. But i dont think it actually necessarily refers to a specific threshold thats being passed, i just feel like ive reached a level today that is noteworthy because of how much i am able to understand. {In a certain way} is purposefully vague because again im not really sure if there is a threshold for what that certain way actually is, or how you might determine it. Its more that i reached a significant level of understanding existence today. But when people talk about the “third eye being open”, and they actually mean it, this is definitely in the realm of what they mean. Out of all the people in the world who make claims about having their “third eye open”, probably not very many of them mean something similar as i do when I talk about my experience of the third eye being open.

I was thinking about some other stuff as i was lying in bed i didnt write it down unfortunately as i was thinking it but i think it was pretty much repetitions of earlier ideas but elaborated in slightly different ways. overall the final thought was that in sum here are was that i not only can finally conceive of the idea of the fourth (spatial) dimension properly, but i also finally understand that the spatial dimensions are only one tiny “branch” of the many infinities of dimensions that branch into infinitely more infinities of dimensions. I understand now what is meant by “space time continuum” in relation to “everything else”. Oh one other thought i do remember having is that human “religion” (we talked in one my classes how difficult that word is to define) has very little to do with the actual god questions, i.e. what god is and what movement is and how god “works”, but not absolutely nothing to do with them. It’s our (humans’) very very very imprecise way of trying to address these questions.

And one other final thing. My first instinct was to spend hours thinking about how to best and most precisely communicate my understanding so that other people (and sober me) can understand it. I don’t understand why thats what I immediately jumped to doing and still feel the urge to do, when I could much more easily have decided that I was content with just understanding it myself and spending the rest of life knowing that I now have this special knowledge. I always thought i saw knowledge for the sake of knowledge as the ultimate pursuit but I guess I also have the drive to apply it somehow. I wonder if this is true for everyone on some level or not. Oh yes I also had been thinking about how difficult human language is to express what I’m trying to say because its not really equipped for it. like i just want to put quotations around every single word because words are just approximations for the ideas they are trying to express even when talking about ideas that our language is actually designed to describe, not even to mention trying to talk about stuff that it isnt. math concepts (even the few that I actually know anything about) are super super helpful to me in trying to think about and communicate these ideas and now I completely understand what people mean when they say that math is our best bet for being able to communicate with extraterrestrial intelligent life seeing as we have no way of knowing how other beings might perceive information. Wait a minute. Whos even to say that even if our definition of “life” didnt ever evolve anywhere else in the universe, there couldn’t be something else that wasn’t “alive” by this strict definition but not exactly “not alive” either. Like it didnt have “cells” exactly like earth organisms but it was somehow distinct from “not alive” things just like earth organisms are. Like the same way that viruses are neither alive nor not alive.

That article i had to read in cog sci about the “levels of understanding” (i.e. sociology is an abstraction of psychology is an abstraction of biology is an abstraction of chemistry is an abstraction of physics) is something that can fit into this understanding and probably led me to it too, seeing as I have thought about it a good deal since when i read it a few years ago. “...Is an abstraction of” is kinda like saying “is the derivate of”. Or is it like saying “is the integral of”, sorry I’m getting really tired.

Is “How” the integral of “what”, or the derivative?

Ok NOW i am going to actually sleep and instead of trying to think about this more i am going to be content with the fact that i now have all this knowledge.

Your neurons take a snapshot

Even if i am right about all this there isnt actually a point in conveying it and making it understood by other people. Even if it is an extraordinary feat to be able to understand all this it wont be seen as extraordinary (whatever that means) unless enough other people can understand it well enough to understand its significance, or someone who does understand it can make it relevant in some way to the rest of humanity and the functioning of society. I can wake up tomorrow and choose to say “lol i was so high and just rambling nonsense” and choose never to engage with these ideas again and go about my life like normal, or i can take on the burden of choosing to believe they are real, and then deciding whether i need to make them and their significance known (I dont even know if i know what their “significance” is, or if they have one). I dont know which one would overall be the better thing to do.

#journal #aug 2020 #🌿

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amalachi70-blog · 4 years

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Get best photo editor for PC the photo editor or brand-new best photo editor for PC for PC for pros to uncomplicated flip images and functional perspective distortion. Cut a picture is really easy with the best photo editor for PC. Free download best photo editor for PC for experienced and software to edit a picture to resize pictures or photos solarization. Just one of my own personal petty nuisances in taking photos is when the perspective band in a photo is certainly not level. Occasionally whenever we are taken up in the moment, this simple rule is forgotten however the bright side is such modifying your images with the photo editor to make them grade is likewise very basic. Stabilizing the cam on the edge of the boat dock implied that the picture was not degree that is notably recognizable to the eye anytime the image has actually a plainly specified horizon line, like the sea. A degree tool is element of the cut out technique, as well as you may simply just revolve the pic to suit. The moment you use the pointing tool, a grid will seem to help you become the alignment proper.

Regularize a photo is an actually basic job this will certainly get just a couple of moments, resulting in a much a lot more visually hitting the spot image. Occasionally when we take a shot, sections of the picture can finish up being normally darker than we want. I refer to the gloomy spots of the picture as shadows, and also the brilliant areas of the photo as high light.

Compare has to do with highlighting the distinction in between the brightness and also darker sections of the photo. Raising the variance of a picture can dramatically boost the graphical influence in which had, by creating the borders between those light and also dark parts clearer.

Shade adjusting is another useful component related to the best photo editor for PC. You can easily readjust photograph color scheme in every kind of methods, from changing the whole heat of the photograph such as exactly how red or green it shows up, to individually altering the tone and also concentration of certain shades within a photo. I only desire to talk about a few extremely basic shade changes you are able to use to make your photos just a little bit much more visually impressive.

The fastest solution to change the coloring related to an image is simply with the saturation device of the photo editor. This alters the appearance related to every single color or texture within a picture to produce it basically condensed.

Just like lots of edits, the solution is to find a good equilibrium too much saturating the images have a tendency to look instead unusual. Saturating photography can be actually extremely reliable, and obviously white and dark is a superb decision for every type of scenarios, particularly, family portraits, and also specific surroundings scenes.

Best photo editor for PC

Easy best photo editor for PC with many practical options to powerful flip photos

Once in a while there certainly may be a thing within a picture that you definitely do just not want to be right there, just like an annoying white spot on someone else's face. This is simple to erase in almost all the main photo editor.

It is usually simple to clear away any kind of objects out of a photography yet the photo editor functions great on unique, little things that are probably covered by consistent shades. This is due to the fact that the recover device has to change the area you wish to remove with something else, and also this functions finest when it has a location close by that looks comparable. For example, red spot on a face is bordered by a lot of in a similar way tinted skin, so the heal tool can quickly calculate what to change the white spot based on the surrounding area. That is simply for the photo editor needs to replace the area you need to erase along with another thing else, and also that runs optimal if it has an area nearby that looks very similar. Best photo editor for PC has actually turned into absolutely intricate as well as effective and it is feasible to manipulate pictures and so they become totally different out of the original. There actually are loads of best photo editor for PC and also plenty of techniques of accomplishing the very same or similar end results.

My objective most for a lot of photographs I post procedure is normally to help make them look being natural as feasible. I have no doubt this is an exceptional position to make a beginning, even if you would like to continue on as well as develop much more unique looking pictures. Coloration variation at a picture is one of the biggest worries. You can generally see a broader series of tone than your camera possibly shot. The definition of photo modifying is the act of altering a picture, simply put. Still that is oversimplifying an issue which is extremely problematic. You can generally carry out basic photo editing techniques such as photo crop rather quickly as well as quickly but complex methods and digital editing might call for photo editor and even more years of experience.

Best photo editor for PC is a helper which anyone able to make use of to adjust and beautify images. Since photos contain an increasing amount of usages, even more services are exploring means to reuse pictures as well as use them on a few channels. Obtain your download for this photo editor and top best photo editor for PC for experts for professional edit a photo and convenient photos color adjustment. Resize a picture is top with the best photo editor for PC. Download for free this best photo editor for PC for prompt and smart enhance an image.

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Best photo editor for Windows 10

Best photo editor for Windows 10 to invert photos and software to edit photos to perspective distortion for amateurs

Get this best photo editor for Windows 10 and easy best photo editor for Windows 10 for Computer to convenient write text in photos and simple blur photos. Simple soften an image with a best photo editor for Windows 10 for pros to photo draw. Download best photo editor for Windows 10 for professionals and edit an image software to brighten an image and add symbols in a photo.

If someone shooting an image at a particular span, it's tempting to focus in on something specific you are trying to get. As an alternative, try get very near to your thing, beside it's a wild bird, in this case we would recommend keeping your range or make the image in a special distance, as well as plant it later. Best photo editor for Windows 10 performs have several of the components is actually effectively recognized for, which comes very useful when you've decided on you have actually like to make an effort your hand on something more elegant than sharpening and change color depth. Best photo editor for Windows 10 may likewise bring in stills from video clip, as properly as various documents. And when you're experiencing a little lazy or even it is merely plain ignorant regarding exactly how to utilize a few of the resources, a wizard can easily assistance you to change the basics just as illumination, focus, color, and also sharpening of photos. For them that like their pictures in other screen versions, the software program function helps you easily set up photos to create a spectacular photo. And also when it's a chance to unveil off your photography skills, you may pick among the photo package layouts to right away publish them in a certain measurement.

Best photo editor for Windows 10 free download or software edit photo to sharpen a picture

This photo editor is actually better for eager pupils with a good deal of attend their workflow to body out the too technical attributes that will frighten quite very first time photo changing individuals. It similarly comes geared up along with a 360 scenic view system. Most probably the gleaming treasure in the package deal will be the beautiful skin end result, which removes red locations as well as evens out the skin layer tone. As there is actually no mechanically color fixing selection very necessary to remedy the poor lighting most electronic cams record, there are actually still the typical functionalities of insert objects into photos. Either the most misunderstood components of digital photography is what takes place after you made the shot actually modifying your image. That is the moment where you edit the images you have actually taken, to develop the end product. Editing your pictures is the matching of the dark chamber from the time very long time ago. We are going to be covering some suggestions for editing and enhancing your pictures, from the essentials like print photo and also image manipulation, via extra complex effects. The cropping tool enables you to transform the size of your picture, as well as additionally to alter the element ratio. For example, you can cut out a photo from a rectangular form to a round shape. There are numerous reasons you would certainly intend to crop, including for posting in various formats and also aspect ratios. Compared to the original, I have cropped the photo with photo editor to get rid of the lightning component of the right side of the photo and recomposed making use of the rule of thirds. It makes the coloring screw extra the emphasis of the shot. You may ask yourself why I did not simply make up appropriately when making the picture. Well, in this case, I was actually working on a very long direct exposure photo shot without any a camera stand, so had the video camera stabilized on the edge of the street for security. That very much limited my capacity to completely frame the moment, so I just shot broader, knowing I had the ability to chop the photo shot appropriately following the truth. In the two cases, cutting out is extremely simple as well as it is just entails you choosing the crop appliance and after that choosing the area you intend to maintain with your PC mouse. You use the modifications as well as your brand-new chopped picture is finished. Get more info to saturate images with the photo editor download and brand-new best photo editor for Windows 10 for PC to resize images. Intelligent flip a photo with a best photo editor for Windows 10 for pros to photos color key. Download for free the best photo editor for Windows 10 for fast and smart invert a photo.

Best photo editor for Windows 10 for amateurs

When the perspective contour in a photo is not even level, a specific of my own casual nuisances in photography is. Occasionally whenever we are actually captured up in the minute, this fundamental guideline is failed to remember yet the bright side is such modifying your shots with the photo editor to make them degree is also really easily done. Adjusting the electronic camera on the corner of the boat dock meant that the photo was not level this is especially noticeable to the vision anytime the photo has actually a plainly identified perspective line, such as the seashore. This leveling device is component part of the cut out item, as well as you can easily just spin the pic to fit. Whenever you take the pointing tool, a grid will turn up to help you become the alignment right. Pointing an image is a really basic task in which will certainly take just a number of moments, resulting in a lot more aesthetically hitting the spot picture. In certain cases when we take a picture, components of the shot may finish up being actually gloomier than we need. I refer to the less colored parts of the shot as shadows, and the colorful areas of the picture as highlights. Contrast is concerning accentuating the distinction between the brightness as well as dark areas of the photo. Increasing the comparison of an image can dramatically improve the visual effect in which had, by making the limits between these light and also dark components more clear. Shade adjusting is one more significant piece related to the best photo editor for Windows 10. We can easily change photo color or texture in all kind of methods, starting with altering the entire charm of the photograph such as how blue and yellow it appears, to individually transforming the hue and saturation of particular colorings within an image. I simply intend to talk about a few really useful color scheme adjustments anyone can easily use to help to make your pictures simply just a little best photo editor for windows 10 bit extra aesthetically impressive. The simplest means to readjust the different colors related to an image is actually using the shade device of the best photo editor for Windows 10. This changes the appearance related to any color within an image to make it essentially saturated. As with numerous changes, the key is to choose a good harmony way too much shading the pictures have a tendency to look rather unusual. Shading photos may be extremely reliable, and also obviously white and also black is a superb decision for all kind of scenarios, in certain, snapshots, as well as various surroundings views. Additional info to enhance a picture or softening photo with the photo editor free download or comfortable best photo editor for Windows 10 for PC and experienced for powerful cut pictures. Best photo editor for Windows 10 or software photo editor to improve an image and photo manipulation. Download for free the photo editor for prompt and intelligent rotate an image.

Often there may be a single thing in an image that you absolutely do not really desire to be there, like a disturbing pimple on another person's forehead. This is simple to erase in almost all the significant photo editor. It's simple to clear away any sort of items taken away an image yet the photo editor functions perfectly on unique, small items that are usually circled by the same shades. This is because the recover tool has to change the location you wish to remove with something else, and also this works finest when it has a location close by that looks similar. For instance, a pimple on a face is surrounded by a lot of similarly tinted skin, so the heal device can quickly calculate what to replace the bright spot based on the bordering area. This specific is normally for the best photo editor for Windows 10 needs to change the sector you will to erase with another thing, as well as this works finest whenever it gets a section close that looks relatable to each other. Best photo editor for Windows 10 has become really complicated as well as effective and it is feasible to manipulate photos and so they come to be entirely various out of the initial. There are dozens of photo editor and also multitudes of means of getting the exact same or very much the same outcomes. The purpose most for the majority of pictures I post process is generally to make them seem being normal as actually possible. I know this is a really good spot to make a beginning, also if you wish to continue on and also create more unique seeming photographs. Shade array inside a picture is generally one of the key worries. Your eyes are able to usually see a wider variety of coloration than the cam possibly record. The significance of picture editing is the process of modifying an image, basically put. Still, that is oversimplifying a topic which is fairly complicated. You can typically implement simple picture modifying techniques just like photo orientation fairly conveniently as well as swiftly yet intricate techniques as well as digital editing may require photo editor as well as more practical experience. Best photo editor for Windows 10 is a helper which you can utilize to manipulate as well as increase pictures. Because photos contain a boosting variety of uses, even more businesses are finding methods to reutilize photos and also utilize them on different ways. Download now the photo editor free download for amateurs and pros with a lot of new features or brand-new photo editor for Computer with a lot of useful gadgets to practical colorize images. Best photo editor for Windows 10 for pros and edit image software to sharpen pictures or noise reduction. Download for free this best photo editor for Windows 10 for quick and smart resize pictures.

#best photo editor for windows 10

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