#but it does make sense w/ the chemicals released and stuff

[cdarkheartzero]

Today’s theme- “Too far”

I was skimming through some comments and such and came across @the-garbage-is-my-fandom ‘s comment of “more horror art” on my “Bathtime” piece. And I was inspired. I’m especially excited for @melodyofthevoid to tear into me like I do her when she abuses my son.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen” Dib chanted to himself choking on what little air his lungs could grasp. He had never known fear like this and his body just had no idea how to handle it.

Dib mind raced, playing the previous weeks in his head, trying to figure out what went wrong. His master plan, a small gas bomb capable of temporarily paralyzing or knocking his enemy out, was finally complete. Many a sleepless night and wasted weekend on containment structure, chemical analysis and test runs. This was it. Finally, he could capture the alien menace and expose him. Finally, he would no longer be the crazy kid. Finally, the world would see the danger they were in all along. Finally.... he would be the hero.

But this wasn’t supposed to happen.

[[More]]

Dib snuck in through the front door after Zim’s idiot sidekick carelessly left it open, making haste to the neighborhood taco truck’s sirens blaring in the distance. He cautiously entered, realizing the Invader was no where in sight and gently placed the bomb in the center of the floor of the “living room”. Carefully he made his way up to the wires completely covering the ceiling for shelter. Soon enough, Gir threw the door open, Damn near ripping it off its hinges, absolutely covered in grease and meat. It seemed the taco run was a success.

He wandered over to the “box” in the middle of the floor and started screaming for his master. “MASTAAAAA!!!! A PRESENT!!!!!!” He shrieked and screeched. How did Zim deal with this all the time?

Within a moment or two, an undisguised Zim angrily emerged from the toilet in the kitchen (which was a sight Dib never really got used to. How does a WHOLE BODY fit down the small opening of a TOILET?!)

“Gir! What nonsense are you going on about!?”

“I gots a present! I’m the birthday boy!”

Zim quickly snatched the “gift” from the metallic hands, studying it’s shotty craftsmanship briefly and returning his full attention to the wide eyed robot standing before him. “What have I told you about bringing junk into this house? First that street lamp-” “But I wanted a nightlight to keep the monkey away.” Gir quietly and somberly interrupted.

Zim sighed. Was this conversation going to go anywhere? No. No, it wasn’t. He might as well talk to the jar of mayo still sitting open on the kitchen table from 3 days ago.

He bent down, clutching the box to his abdomen and give the robot a small pat on the head. “Zim told you he took care of the monkey. It can’t hurt you anymore. But please, Gir, refrain from bringing more stuff home.” He said calmly with a defeated tone in his voice. Gir’s face lit up with a wide grin spanning from “ear to ear” (had he had them anyway). “OKAAAAAY!” He screeched and wrapped his arms around his master. Dib could swear he heard something pop and squish under the groans and painful sounds Zim was emitting.

Then there was a click.

It seemed like the blink of an eye it all happened. An explosion unlike anything Dib ever thought possible by his hands unfolding around him. Windows shattered as glass slashed through the air in every which way direction. Chunks of flooring and wall violently slammed into anything unfortunate enough to come into their path. The fogged air was tainted with this disgustingly potent smell blanketing the entire room. The resulting shock wave flung Dib from his hiding spot, colliding with the cold tiles beneath him.

He blacked out for just a moment, his body on fire and his ears ringing loudly, drowning out all other sound. His eyes slowly opened and he worked up the strength to push himself to his feet. He noticed the blood on his hands as he lifted himself. He wasn’t surprised he got cut. He just couldn’t determain how bad. He was so disoriented.

He tried his best to scan the room, eyes adjusting themselves from the bright blast that had just assaulted them. A shine in the corner grabbed his attention in the sea of rubble and destruction. The robot, Gir, was crushed into the wall by large slabs of concrete and tiles. His once blue glowing eyes dim and cracked. He remained motionless.

“Oh, no.” Dib thought, realizing the severity of his actions. “Zim!” He cried out of instinct. There was no response. There was no movement in the cloud of smoke as it slowly decepated. The clearing air revealed Zim’s limp frame sprawled out within the neon-green splattered crater the explosion created by the front door. A gigantic hole displayed the vacant interior of his chest and abdominal cavity. Every bit of his internal organs were laid on the ground. His ruby eyes open and dull with his face resting almost peaceful. Dib’s stomach dropped.

THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN.

Panic was setting in. He wanted to get close to the alien but it’s like his legs forbid such an action. So he goggled. “WHAT DO I DO?!” He blurted out to no one. He backed into the kitchen, never taking his eyes off the crater of debris and guts. His breathing jagged, his pulse racing and his throat overflowing, begging to release its contents on the oddly colored tiling. He felt sick.

“INITIATING SURVIVAL MODE”

He jumped. A sudden noise in this deafening silence. It was a voice he instantly recognized. Zim’s Computer. But it wasn’t echoing from the darkness of the house... it was coming from Zim.

The once limp body slowly started to adjust itself, trying to sit itself up. The more it moved, the more it’s contents leaked out of the organic frame. Dib just silently stared in awe....in relief.... in disgust as his fallen rival stood up. Swaying slightly as it tried to regain its balance. Their eyes locked. A shutter violently shook Dib. Zim was a lot of things. A pain in the ass. An idiot. Selfish. A narcissist. Incompetent. But this wasn’t Zim. This.... was TERRIFYING.

The creature’s thousand yard stare prickled Dib’s skin with the feeling of a million bugs crawling on his person. The paranormal investigator watched-even from several feet away- the speedy throbbing of the veins protruding around It’s eyes. The alien opened his mouth to speak and all that came out through the river of brightly colored blood was the sound of static. It was painful. SO PAINFUL to hear. Dib wanted to shield his ears from the sound but his body stood there still.

The creature’s attention tore away from Dib for a moment, eyeing the damaged robot. His PAK opened up, aggressively flinging his long, thin, robotic legs outwards. The legs came down one by one, echoing a small “clink” on the floor as the razor sharp ends touched the tile. His body lifted and made his way to the faithful metallic companion. Without saying a word, Dib watched as Zim’s body pried the heavy debris pinning the small robot. Gir’s body was released and the gloved hands gently caught him before he could fall on the floor.

THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN

“Zim.... I swear.... I didn’t mean to...-“

He was caught off when the red eyes turned to his direction again. Even without pupils or Iris’, Dib could feel the daggers being thrown at him. The mouth opened to speak. “Gir.... why?”

Dib backed up one more step, further into the kitchen. Zim’s voice.... it was wrong. Metallic. Cold. Disoriented. Unlike anything he had ever heard before. Words caught in Dib’s throat but he mustered all his strength to release them. “It was an accident. It-it was just supposed to knock you out.” Dib continued to ramble. “I don’t know what happened!”

“Miserable”

Dib tensed up “W-what is?”

“Your existence brings misery. To your planet. To your family. To anyone unfortunate enough to come into contact with you.”

Those words cut Dib’s soul deep. It’s like Zim could read his worst fears. Something he kept hidden- that black stain in his heart-all this time. Exposed. Just like that.

Before he could say anything, the alien continued “ You have always been an annoyance, you sickening human. We cannot escape you. Your voice. Your presence. Your smell. Forever a thorn in our side. The reason my tallest find me nothing more than entertainment. Why Zim can never succeed in his goals. Now this....the only good Zim had...” he said staring at Gir’s face.

“What is he talking about? What did I do with his leaders?” Dib pondered, eyes frantically shifting between Zim’s body and the door behind him.

His neck snapped in Dib’s direction. “But that’s not the worst part. Zim always heard it. For years. It was always following me.” The legs carried him one step closer to the kitchen. Dib silently took a step backwards. “There. Annoying me. Attacking his senses. A constant reminder of the misery you cause. Zim will rid himself of this....this sound...”

Dib needed to flee. But how? This creature was in front of the door!

Zim’s lips curled up. His smirk growing, stretching wider and wider, tearing the ends of his mouth apart. Blood leaking down the sides of his face as the smile grew to sizes ever more disturbing. It was like he was trying to separate the top and bottom of head. There was a silence. With a grin unseen by human eyes before, The creature chucked.

“OnCe I sILeNcE tHaT hEaRt Of YoUrS, wiLl ZiM FiNaLLy bE FrEe?

As the creature leapt towards the investigator, his body (FINALLY) responded by quickly dodging out of the way, slamming into the sink. The thin, metallic legs crashed into the dining room table decimating it instantly. Without so much as a thought, Dib crawled into the trash can and landed into the claustrophobic elevator to the lab. He panted and shook. It was a terrible idea to go down to the labs. A territory not his. He was out of his element and he wasn’t sure how he would escape. But it beat staying up there and getting ripped to shreds. The pink glow of the elevator made him even more on edge.

The doors opened, startling Dib who was frantically lost in thought. He ran from the elevator, peeking behind tables, tubes and anything else while keeping his senses sharp and alert. Zim was somewhere. Maybe he could just take the elevator back up and leave? But what if he was still in the kitchen?

There was a high-pitched screech pouring from the shaft he had just exited. The elevator lights flickered, sparks raining down and the glow of Zim’s upside down eyes peeked through its opening. His legs slowly pulled him out, adjusting he and Gir (whom was still being cradled) upright. “Diiiiiiiiib.... I kNoW YoU aRe In HeRe....” it gargled.

Dib patiently waited, holding back his sobs and screams, for the towering monster to pass. He needed to keep running. Find the elevator to the toilet! It was the only way! He hid. And ran. Hid. And ran. It was the most horrifying game of cat and mouse conceivable. The longer it went on, the worse it seemed to get for him. He couldn’t find the exit. And he couldn’t find Zim. Not that he WANTED to find him, but at least pass him to know he was still in this metallic labyrinth. That the kitchen was clear.

Finally, he stumbled upon what he assumed was the elevator on the other side of a large room. He was so close-! Within a single second, his joy faded to nothingness by the familiar sound of scraping. He watched the shadow on the floor as it shakily passed by the table Dib had temporarily chosen as shelter. It stopped and stood still like a statue momentarily: Then went about it’s way. “Finally-! To that door!”

He sprinted to the exit, knocking a few items from a table and catching the beast’s attention. Running with all the strength his body had to offer, he was finally within reach of the button left of the doorframe. His fist slammed into it and the sounds of the creature hurried closer, bellowing his name in a mortifying shriek.

The double doors opened. Dib threw his body into the room only to hit into something and get pelted with tools and cans tumbling from above. Realization slapped him in the face. This isn’t an elevator....

This is a closet.

With heavy dread, Dib turned his face to see that he and the creature were mere inches away from each other. There was no where to go. Never taking his eye’s off Zim’s, he felt two sharp knives glide over his ribcage, gently banging on each bone as they made their way to their target. It’s face had a permanent smile, gradually becoming more and more uncontrollable the harder and faster the thrashing in Dib’s chest became. As the blades slowly began digging in and red blood mixed with green, 5 words continuously haunted his thoughts.

THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN

Thanks so much to anyone that read this! I hope you enjoyed!

[argylemikewheeler]

If you like is prompt or not that’s okay. Prompt: Mike’s parents finally take him to a therapist and he gets diagnosed with depression and gets proper treatment. Hope your having a lovely day.

[talks of depression/self-sabotaging behavior really briefly but still be aware xo]

Mike would never admit it beyond the bathroom mirror, but he had been so scared of going with his mother to the doctor. He knew who he was– maybe not what he was on Those Days– and wasn’t sure what a stranger could possibly tell him about it. But he had no choice: his mother had been given the name of the doctor from a friend of a friend of a cousin or something, and Mike fell victim to it whether he wanted it or not.

Which he didn’t.

The entire drive there, Mike kept planning all the ways he wouldn’t cooperate. He’d first start maybe speaking only in the bits of Spanish he’d been learning in school. Or maybe backwards– no, he wasn’t that good at it yet. Then he’d just stare out the window– if the room even had one– and count the number of animal-like clouds he could see.

God, Mike missed old summers. The ones with his best friends and smiles that didn’t feel empty. The happiness Mike could feel without a hollow reminder that given a chance, a half crack made in the joy, and everything could break and he could be Like That again. He could be laying in bed, aching despite not having moved for days. Mike missed being happy in a way that wasn’t an oddity. When his parents wouldn’t be surprised by his laughter or a smile.

Mike’s mother didn’t try and coax him into being pleasant the entire ride up. She just drove and told Mike when they arrived. Mike didn’t try to look polite or even excited as his mom went to the desk to say they arrived for the appointment. Mike sat in his chair and kicked his feet harshly at the carpet.

How dare his mother take him here? She didn’t know what Mike was feeling– how could she ask him to share that with another person? Mike didn’t want to say it to himself half the time. What if someone told him he was crazy? What if they sent him away? Mike would only learn to swallow his heavy, black thoughts further. As if they weren’t already hidden somewhere dark Mike had only recently learned he had.

The doctor came out to get Mike and she wasn’t even wearing a lab coat. She had a cardigan and blouse on– she looked like a regular person. Mike didn’t trust it, but went anyway. Alone. Her office was small but well decorated. It felt strangely like a classroom, but less of the pressure Mike felt from school.

She asked him questions, too many if Mike was honest, about his daily life. How many days would he say he felt upset or sad– or a word Mike had never heard before– depressed. It sounded harsh. But then again, so were his feelings. He told her the number– out of two weeks, about ten days probably. Like, if he had to count. She wrote it down but didn’t change her expression.

Mike tried not to give her too much after that. He wanted to avoid her questions, but he felt bad being rude to a woman that was so kind to him. She didn’t ask for any of the gory details. She asked, once, if Mike had ever hurt himself on purpose– even if it was just to stay awake way past his bedtime to make himself tired the next day. Mike never considered being tired a way of hurting himself. It seemed pretty stupid, and he wanted to say as much, until he suddenly started to feel the heavy rings under his eyes. He realized then she was asking questions she already seemed to have the answers to.

Mike wasn’t upset after that. He figured he should have been, but if someone knew his answers, then he was free to finally speak it all out loud. He wasn’t the one giving it away, or blame, if it was already common knowledge between the two of them.

Finally, after an hour, Mike’s mom was called in.

“Karen,” she said, placing her clipboard on her desk. “I know it’s only been one session so I can’t diagnosis him right now with anything for sure, but–”

Mike crossed his legs twice, not sure which way would be the most comfortable to sit when he got turned into a monster. His mother gripped her purse tightly the skin around her nail bed going white.

“I think, Michael– can I call you Michael?”

“No.”

“Mike,” she suddenly redirected her attention to him. “you are showing signs of clinical depression and I think you could benefit from coming here to meet me– or any of my colleagues– regularly.”

“What does that mean?” Mike’s mother asked, although she sounded more relieved than disappointed.

“It means your son is healthy– it’s just a chemical imbalance in his brain. Your son is healthy, physically, Mrs. Wheeler.”

“I’m fine.” Mike meant the word in its totality. “I don’t need anything. I’m fine.”

“Mike,” His mother said firmly. “We both know that isn’t true.”

“Dad says I’m fine!”

“Well, your father doesn’t know you’re here.” She said quietly through clenched teeth.

“W-Why not?” Mike asked, turning to the doctor– she had said to call her Becca; her doctorate wasn’t in medicine.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Mike.” Becca said. “Some people just don’t respond well to the truth.”

Mike bit his lip. “You sound like my friend, Will.”

“Does Will go to a therapist too?”

“Maybe… I think so. But for something different.” Will and Mike definitely spoke about very different things, Mike was sure. Will didn’t sound like he ever stared up at his ceiling at night and felt like it was moments from sinking down onto him– that had literally happened to him, one way or another.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s good to have people in your life that understand– even just the healing process.”

Healing. The word followed Mike home. The entire car ride, Mike couldn’t stop thinking about the concept of him needing to heal something in him. He didn’t remember ever breaking anything. The alternative was that something in him was born broken. Or maybe things can break without any pain; they just slowly crack and the pieces drift apart like driftwood at sea. There was no pain in the beginning, but there would be in putting everything back.

That night, Mike tried to slip out of his parents’ sight early and go to bed. His father wasn’t paying attention and his mother nodded sweetly and kissed his head before letting him up the stairs. Mike climbed into bed and curled up with his SuperCom.

“Will? Come in, Will.” Mike said, saying his closing over after he was sure he’d called his friend enough.

“… Hey, Mike! What’s going on? Why are you using this channel? I have a phone, you know.”

“I wanted to ask you something.” Mike rolled over and put his back to the door.

“Go ahead.” Will said. He sounded cheerful. Mike was envious.

“Do you… go to therapy?” Mike asked slowly, cupping the receiver to his face. The word felt dangerous to let loose in his house.

“I do, yeah. Mom takes me like, bi-weekly now.”

“T-Twice a week!”

“Every two weeks, Michael.”

“Oh… Oh that makes more sense.” Mike sighed and let his head lull into the pillows further. “Does it help?”

“I definitely think so. Makes things quieter, you know? It’s not always rattling in my head. I get to talk to someone. About my nightmares, about stuff with my parents, about Jonathan– sometimes I complain about you too.”

“Hey!” Mike squawked jokingly. He released his button without saying over, knowing Will would click his button shortly to let him hear his bubbles of laughter. After a moment sitting with the happy static, Mike pressed the button again. “So, you just talk about… whatever you want?”

“Oh, yeah. Whatever is bothering you.” Will said. “Why do you ask?”

“Mom took me today.” Mike sighed, rolling onto his back. “Doctor says– sorry, Becca says– I’m like, depressed or something.”

Will’s static picked up before he spoke any words; silence he wished to share with Mike. “Are you okay, Mike?”

“Yeah.”

“Michael.”

“I’m going to work on it, okay!” Mike exclaimed. “I’m going back next week.”

“Call me after? Or come over if you want. I can have Mom make a dinner you like. You can sleep over.” Will offered. “It’s not that bad. I promise.”

“I know.” Mike nodded. He had one last question. “Nothing… Nothing’s broken, right, Will?”

“With who, me or you?” Will said, his voice shaking with a laugh. “There’s a big difference. I left this dimension… You’re completely normal.”

“I am?”

“Cross my heart.” Will said. Mike could practically hear Will moving his finger in an X across his chest. “It’s really going to help, Mike. Trust me.”

“I do.” Mike said. He lifted his finger and cut Will out. “It’s me I don’t.” He clicked it again. “Over and out, Will. I’m pretty tired.”

“Good night, Mike. Over and out.” He answered, clicking off the channel too.

Mike laid in bed, trying to figure out if he had the energy to heal in him. As unpredictable as his moods were, they were vivid to Mike. None of it felt like a dream. They were all incredibly clear and draining. On those days, the ones that made any single thought too overwhelming, healing would be impossible. Eating was too difficult then. But maybe that’s what made talking helpful; Mike finally had an audience with whom he could repeat his bickering brain’s thought. Maybe Becca could make sense of it all. Or at least shut it all up.

Mike knew the word would never be healed. It would constantly be in motion, constantly changing and growing, and maybe that was encouraging too? There was no race– he was going to be like this for a long time. It wasn’t like slapping glue on two snapped pieces, it was a rebuilding of something out of shifting parts that never intended to go together. He’d have to reintroduce different parts of himself to the New and Improved Mike Wheeler: the one that heals and cares and speaks and shares and maybe, just maybe, loves.

It sounded far off, but so did ever speaking his own hidden truths. But he did that today, didn’t he? Healing might have been continuous, but it also meant to be active. Just thinking about it was a bit of progress. A bit of a reward to throwing his hands up to his darkest days, but grabbing onto that small bit of light he found in his life– and maybe choosing to call every once in a while before bed.

ao3

[immortalcockroach]

Fic request! Anything Kabby, but preferably something during the bunker years w some angst

Dear Anon, hope this was angsty enough for you! I’m definitely not used to reading/writing Kabby stuff, so this might be a little OOC.

THEY MAKE IT EASIER

summary: Kane deals with the discovery of Abby’s addiction.

pairing: Abby x Kane

words: 937

Abby, Kane notices, has periods when it feels like she’s taking their situation well, better than Kane would expect from her. Then again, there are periods when she’s itchy, irritable and making scenes out of little, irrelevant things.

It takes him three months of this to realize she isn’t mentally ill, suffering some sort of PTSD – she’s battling addiction.

He consults with Jackson, first. He lists all the things he’s noticed, never mentioning her name or giving any signs of who they’re talking about, but by the time Jackson confirms his doubts, Kane’s almost certain they both know who he’s talking about.

Abby is good at deceiving – but not with people who know her almost as well as she does.

“How do we do this?” asks Jackson, about a week later, when Abby’s state became magically better. “It – it can’t go on.”

“I know,” Kane says. “I know.”

He looks at Abby—she’s working on one of the people who were injured in the most recent attack on the people from the Ark—and she smiles at him, giving him a small wave before diverting her attention back to her patient. Her hair is in the trademark braid and even though she hasn’t slept in over sixteen hours, she looks less tired than she has for the past week.

Kane likes seeing her thriving, but not like this. Not when she should have her head and her priorities straight. Not when she, of all people, should know the consequence of being a drug addict.

“We can’t allow her to do this to herself,” Jackson says. “If not for her, then for the medical supplies. We can’t have her steal more. We can’t have someone find out.”

Jackson is right and Kane hates it – he hates that it has allowed it to reach this point.

He loves Abby. But the neither the Abby on drugs or withdrawal Abby are the one he fell in love with.

And it’s dangerous.

“We’ll make her go cold turkey,” he says. It’s going to put a dent in their relationship, but it’s necessary. “We need her back with a clear head.”

Jackson nods. “Yes, sir.”

It takes Abby three weeks to realize what’s going on. She enters their sleeping compartments with a frown on her face, her braid long forgotten, and deep, dark circles framing her eyes.

She looks wretched and it makes him feel the same.

“Marcus, we need to talk.”

“Abby—”

She grabs his hand and digs her fingers into his wrist, and that’s how Kane knows he won’t have the heart to watch her like this. But he gives her a chance to explain herself or whatever it is that she’s planning to do – he owes her that much.

Outside their ‘bedroom’, they’re finally alone for the first time and he feels her hand shaking. She’s been busy with medical work and he’s been busy trying to talk some sense into Octavia and they’ve barely seen each other.

It occurs to Kane only now that this might have something to do with what’s happening to her.

“What are you doing?”

He looks into her eyes and tries to find the woman he fell in love with. Not this one, who grips his wrist so tightly it’s going to bruise, who clenches her teeth at him, who looks like she hasn’t slept in weeks, months.

Kane closes his eyes. The breath that passes his lips almost hitches in his throat. “I’m helping you.”

“You’re ruining me.”

“Abby, you’re not being yourself. I know they’re – they’re helping with Clarke and the chaos in here and with everything that’s going on, but it’s not the solution.”

“I know,” Abby says. She lowers her head and releases her grip, and when she looks up at him, he thinks he sees a glint of the Abby he loves. “It makes it easier to bear.”

“It’s just an illusion. They’re chemicals.”

“Happiness is only a chemical, too.”

Kane gives her a sad smile. He runs a hand over her cheek, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. Her skin is dry underneath his fingertips and he wonders when did she go astray.

Was it when they realized they lost Clarke?

Was it when they realized their rations weren’t going to be enough?

Was it when Octavia became Blodreina?

Any of these could be the cause, Kane thinks. As he looks at her, vulnerable in ways he wishes he could fix, he wonders how much of it is his fault.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “For not being there for you.”

Abby looks like she’s going to say something, but she doesn’t.

He wonders if he’s already lost her to the madness.

“You can help me now,” she says at last. She looks him straight in the eye with an intensity he’s rarely seen her use. “By giving back what I need. You and Jackson.”

“Abby—”

“It’s a crime, I know.” She smiles at him, but it’s the smile of an addict. “Are you going to turn me in?”

Kane sighs. “No.”

“Then give it back.”

“Abby, you’re strong.” He steps closer to her and she leans into his palm, eyes fluttering for just a second. “You can fight this on your own. With my help. With Jackson.”

When she opens her eyes, there is no trace of Abby who was there just for a fleeting moment – his Abby. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

He doesn’t want to believe it. But she walks away from him and they both know he’s going to give in just because he doesn’t want to believe it.

Maybe she’s already succumbed to the madness.

[lids-flutter-open]

writing bloggin ignore if u want

so after listening to a ton of rpg live play podcasts the thing i think i’ve taken away from it is that the dynamics between characters and character choice and motivation cannot be underestimated ever at all and that you can set up a plot but your characters have to take you thru it and you can’t force them to make certain choices, and i think this is gonna rlly help w my titus reno story--

in making jenny and reno come alive and be equally like, legible for me like titus, i rlly wanted like to figure out how and why they were all originally hanging out and what they want and what their longterm goals are. initially i conceptualized jenny as this sort of punk hermione who is chaotic good and breaks the rules for the sake of justice and benevolence etc but i couldn’t figure out how jenny would get like that or develop those principles in the context of the medical compound and i also didnt find that like, a compelling character arc. BUT i have a new idea where jenny is like, this drug dealer turned accidental but passionate prophet and it has just tied my whole thing together in a way that i hope is gonna help me actually get this stuff on paper+ it also provides a GREAT underlying dramatic arc and a good rationale for the dynamic of titus and reno to work as a couple the way i want it to

so: in this future world, everyone, human and mutant laborer alike, has this parasitic worm living in them that’s impossible to kill which makes people infertile, causes nerve damage, and finally eats your brain, some fifteen years after your initial infection. Because the worms lay thousands of eggs in all kinds of water supplies, most people are infected within a few years of birth, except some hastily quarantined human children. Super secret scientists know the worm is an alien and this fact has only recently been released, but it doesn’t make much noise because at this point there are multiple global crises threatening civilization--climate change that has flooded cities and made agriculture on industrial scales impossible in many areas, total breakdown of all democratic governments, and now almost universal infertility. Pig-human mutants, who had been raised as laborers in dangerous lines of work, continue to be produced even as human mothers fail to concieve; these piggos are taken to be tested on, and each year as more die others are brought in. The scientists are working on trying to find something to kill the parasite that everyone on earth has. 

Jenny’s roommate in the medical compound realizes, through an accident, that the worms release hallucinogenic chemicals when you eat potassium fertilizer. She starts tripping and then begins dealing potassium fertilizer (to which she has restricted access as a specially authorized gardener). When she becomes too sick to continue, Jenny takes over. The position of dealer affords piggos status and power, and Jenny even deals to nurses, without telling them what the substance is. But gradually as time goes on she begins to be curious about the visions everyone has on this drug--because they’re all the same. 

When people take the fertilizer and ingest it and the worms release hallucinogens, people see pretty much all the same thing. they see alien landscapes and waterfalls and a sky with two moons and a distant red sun. It drips and spasms and is intermingled with other kinds of LSD type visions, but in general people see the same thing over and over. Jenny becomes convinced that the visions are a link to the world the alien worm came from, and she starts making all her clients draw their visions in an attempt to catalogue them. At the same time, the visions start to shift, and people start to see weird humanoid aliens, and increasingly, start to see visions of strange vines growing into what look like large organic structures. When, shortly afterward, the doctors announce they have cloned an alien humanoid from DNA left in the asteroid /ship? that hit Earth and brought the worm, and are using this clone to create antibodies to the worm, Jenny realizes that the alien is one of the humanoids from her visions, and becomes determined to figure out a way to contact the aliens. 

Reno is one of Jenny’s clients. He is hooked on the hallucinogen because he likes her sense of purpose but also he likes to escape and draw his visions and feel that there is something in the world besides the limited medical compound and the adolescent power struggles that surround him. He also has a little crush on Titus, who as Jenny’s bff is a supplier for a lot of the dorms and who is, while not very well liked, and not part of any male friend group, semi- respected based on his activities.

Reno keeps borrowing things to pay Jenny with, and his roommate/dorm head Rustler gives him an ultimatum--pay it all back with the fertilizer hallucinogen, or fight Rustler in a public match to settle the debt. It isn’t mean spirited but it’s like an adolescent maintenance of the status quo thing. Reno determines to get the drug and pay people back. 

When Jenny notices some of her stash is gone, she stakes out the shed she keeps it in overnight and she and Titus ambush Reno and threaten him with: knives, blackmail, the suggestion they could alter his medical records to make him look sicker than he is and have him removed to the late-term infirmary, etc etc. Titus sees Reno is genuinely scared and that he also is really miserable to find himself on Jenny and Titus’s bad side, and feels a little proud and excited and drunk with power, and is like, “ok, we don’t have to do all that, but you do need to either work with us and act as a supplier or just tell Rustler you have to fight him and we’ll supply hallucinogens to whoever wins.” reno does this partly bc he wants to impress titus. after he wins the match he asks titus to be his boyfriend, which surprises jenny and titus. when titus realizes reno has a crush on him he is also stoked, proud, flattered etc... though he is initially motivated primarily by lust, self interest and self preservation, and his romantic feelings only really emerge later.

sorry for this long ass post but im so glad to like work all this out and establish the ways that my characters’ personalities work--

[spidergvven]

tips for dealing with depression and suicidal ideation

given todays news i thought some people might need this, all of it is based of my personal experience w depression and mental illness so here goes:

things that are easy for everyone else will be insurmountable obstacles for you, people will definitely make you feel bad for this whether they intend to or not, look in a mirror and say “fuck them!” say it again, yell it as loud as you can, FUCK THEM!

you probably haven’t showered in a week and thats ok, baby wipes and dry shampoo are your friend

feeling grimy and gross will make you more depressed though, if you can get up and brush your teeth and splash water on your face you will feel better if only because you accomplished something (if you feel like brushing your teeth isn’t an accomplishment go back to tip one, it is and you are doing great!)

take care of what you can when you can, remind yourself to not feel bad for not doing what you cant today

your room/apartment/house is probably a mess, thats ok. don’t try to clean up everything at once, you will not be able to do it and you will get more depressed when you don’t succeed. clean up one (1) thing and i truly do mean one, put a dirty item of clothing where your dirty laundry goes (not a pile on the floor, get a hamper/basket/cardboard box anything that will help your brain file it as organized instead of clutter) put one cup from your room in the dishwasher. the magic of this is once you do one thing you start to feel a sense of accomplishment and the bigger tasks don’t seem as scary, before you know it all the dishes are clean or you’ve done all the laundry.

reward yourself for doing the hard stuff, even if thats just getting through another day. you do not have to suffer a certain amount before you deserve nice things that make you feel good.

get some vitamins. depression destroys whatever healthy eating habits you may have had and honestly no one is getting enough vitamins these days anyways. vitamin b and d deficiency can contribute to fatigue, chronic pain and depression. 15 minutes in the sun gets you your daily dose of vitamin d, so get a sun lamp or just sit outside once a day, you don’t have to do anything, except maybe drink some water since its july. vitamin b supplements are pretty cheap, they taste like candy and give you an immediate energy boost. a multivitamin w iron will help your body get the nutrients it needs and give you more energy as well. no vitamins wont cure mental illnesses but when your body feels physically like crap along with your mind it makes everything that much worse.

exercise if you can. the catch 22 of depression is that everything that will make you feel better is almost impossible to do when you’re depressed. the reason exercise is always recommended though is because it does help release those happy little chemicals in your brain as well as helps you form a routine. which means anything that gets your heart rate up and that you can commit to doing on a regular/semi regular schedule counts as exercise. dont think you have to become a gym rat or someone who loves running to get this benefit. anything you can do to get your body moving is a good thing.

square breathing and mindfulness will reduce tension in your body and mind (it should be noted that if you are prone to dissociation traditional mindfulness can make that worse but you can also practice a modified mindfulness while doing a task to keep you present and in your body) for square breathing- sit up straight or lie on your back and breathe in through your nose to the count of four, hold for a count of four, breathe out through your mouth to a count of four, then hold for a count of four and repeat. if you cant do a four count three or two is also fine, the idea is simply that you are breathing in and out and holding for the same count. breathe as deeply as you can from your diaphragm, since so many of us spend so much time hunched over devices and computers you may need to use a back roller or a particularly firm pool noodle to open up your chest cavity and breathe properly. (this will also help your body not feel like crap because so many people have alignment issues without even realizing it, straightened out your spine and and tailbone can affect your brain patterns so much it’s almost unbelievable) its laughable when you’re supper depressed and people try to ask you “well have you tried meditation/yoga” but yoga breathing techniques and practicing being present and feeling your body and the sensations you are experiencing is actually helpful. theres a reason yoga is such a culturally important practice that has existed for centuries and its only now that western medicine is starting to recognize the science of treatments that have long been dismissed as homeopathic folk remedies. most of my physical therapy exercises now include yoga breathing and square breathing to retrain my body’s neuromuscular patterns and they always leave me feeling better emotionally too. how you breathe really does affect your brain waves.

being present in your body is hard but it helps, turn on a fan and lie in front of it, concentrating on how the air feels on your skin, the sound of the fan that you hear, your hair moving in the breeze, reconnect with your senses and surroundings. also you get the added benefit if lying in front of a fan when its hot as hell which is always nice.

dont feel bad for wanting to hurt yourself because it will only make you want to hurt yourself more

snap a rubber band against your skin or hold ice in your hand to simulate the feelings and relief of self harm without doing permanent damage buy cheap dishes from goodwill and smash them all to relieve the impulse to destroy without hurting yourself (dont do this if youll be tempted by the sharp edges of of the broken dishes) write everything you hate about yourself, your life, and the world down, then destroy it, rip it up or burn it and breathe. imagine letting it all go. you wont let it all go but it might feel a little lighter and thats good too.

make a list of reasons to stay alive, like not some philosophical big deep reasons for living, just shit you want to do. really love marvel and cant wait to see the movies they’re releasing next? thats a reason to live. cant go to the premiere of infinity war if you’re dead.

despite what some might say feeling suicidal absolutely can be triggered by other peoples actions. this doesnt mean other people are responsible for your mental health but you don’t deserve to be treated badly because your depressed and if you’re in an abusive environment you dont deserve how you’re being treated at all, you deserve to live happily and safely.

if none of these tips work for you it’s not your fault. you’re not broken. this is what ive found helps me but treatment and recovery look different for everyone and you’re not a failure bc a list of tips didn’t cure your depression. you are trying and thats what counts. please keep trying, try someone else’s tips, try therapy, try some shit that you just made up because it hurts no one and helps you even if it feels silly. just keep trying because you are worth it.

[ecotone99]

[FN] Man in a Box - LUDIMΔGIK

I guess I'm as good a place to start as any. When I say "I" I don't mean the guy who was just speaking to you in the Introduction. I'm Chance, King of Queens. Is my name really Chance? Yes, but I’m not a rapper. Am I really a king? Yes, of the Queens of Kings. I don't want to tell you my real name. Where I’m from, everyone knows me as Chance. And by everyone I mean by you. Not "you," you but yeah, well, you. You from another time and dimension. You in another time and dimension know me—in another time and dimension. BUT before you roll your eyes and return to Facebook or Twitter, or, I don't know, TMZ? (Do people still use Gawker at this point? I'm still getting acclimated.), I know what I said sounds crazy. I know. And, while I do acknowledge that this might put this little story in the "fantasy" genre of your mind, I do encourage you to bear with me, because— because—actually, screw it! Ha! I can see already that most of you barely made it through the last guy's ramblings. Now this?! Well I'll have you know that I did not exactly ask to be in this position either, but here we are, with me in your hands! If you want to close me like a window, then do it! I was already out the door anyhow! But if you close that window, and I close that door, with me on the other side of it, we could be trapped! As I don't think we'll make much use of that hole in the wall, like with Pyramus and Thisbe, one of us would ruin this love affair!

Excuse me. I—I lost myself for a moment there. I think it knew I was talking to you. Whatever “it” is. That seems to be happening, ever since I got here. For one, I don’t mix metaphors. Often. And who the heck is Primus von Frisbee?

I’ll be honest. It’s exhausting. Did it work on you? The reverse psychology? The scare tactic? It got me before. You could stop, you know. You could stop reading. Possibly it’ll be too much. Possibly it’ll be too confusing. I can’t though. I’m stuck here. There’s no turning back. Is the desperation evident? I. am. thirsty. Burning up. You see, I'm really not used to this. Where I'm from, I'm a star. Like, I don't know. I can't say who I'm like because I'm just me. It'd be like if George Clooney suddenly said, "Who am I? I'm like Bradley Cooper." We'd all be like, "Um, what are you talking about, George Clooney? Are you okay? You're both very essential, incredibly sexy, talented m—theatre par excellence—you—" okay maybe this isn't the best example. But you get it. You got it, right? Ugh. It'd be like if Meryl Streep said, "I'm like Leo Messi!" (Though, come to think, she probably could play Leo in a movie on or on the field, the woman can do anything. Good point. Well, a point. Okay, focus! Me, Chance. I'm like...who am I like?) So I guess, in a way, where I’m from I'm like Andy Warhol, but more awkward? Or maybe more like a not-so-genius Leonardo da Vinci? Without the impeccable charisma, smoking body and that whole Renaissance-man quality that he was known for. Wow! Really not selling this well here. I’m like—I’m like an innovative Norman effing Rockwell, okay! Just—kind of commenting on and changing the times through painting, you know? I’m me! Just me. Imagine you, famous, and you’ll more or less get me. Does that make sense? Yes? No? Anyone?

Gah! It's so hard! You see, how can I explain to you that you already like me? Most of you, anyway. How can I explain that others before you, your ancestors, already have? (Some, not so much.) I guess I really can't, can I? I'll just have to show you. I'll just have to tell you about what happened in my dimension. How it's differed from yours.

In my dimension, the tension…the tension is very different. Kind of funny but, in my dimension Twitter banned Donald Trump from using the site during the middle of his presidential campaign (for obvious reasons) and he lost. But not because of being banned from Twitter. He wasn’t even a contender. I’m not going to go into all the details now, but the history of the USA during the last twenty years has been immensely different, because in the year 2000 of my dimension George W. Bush suffered a serious heart attack on Election Day and did not move to halt the recounting of Florida’s votes in the Supreme Court, which ultimately secured Al Gore the electoral college votes needed for victory.

For the past several years we’ve been turning methane released from livestock into renewable energy. Which sounds like some wacky Willy Wonka nonsense, I know, but US scientists collaborated with researchers in Argentina who had already developed a similar technology on a smaller scale, and together they made a device capable of extracting the gas out of the atmosphere. The federal government actually incentivized farmers to use the technology to make money. And there’s a lot of new building going on, even skyscrapers covered in plants. Companies also extracting carbon from the atmosphere. Landfills which double as power plants but are treated so they don’t release toxic chemicals…that triple as city attractions and tourist destinations. All of that is barely happening here, if at all. It’s kind of surreal to witness your world; it’s almost the opposite of mine. Partly due to Gore convincing one conservative billionaire (whom I’ll not name) that the future could and should be green, and that the moment was the optimal time to invest. Of course, it was the story of it that made any difference. The headline was enough to freeze the country’s broken, partisaned ice and allow politicians and private interest to skate to greener pastures, or whatever. I should add, by the way, that I’m not even some big environmentalist nerd. I mean, I care! I’m just telling you how it’s different in my place and time.

Regarding the small stuff, I really don't need to spend paragraphs describing it. Celebrity gossip is all kind of the same, isn’t it? You’re probably more curious as to how I got here, from another dimension. Or why? Lean close to the screen, let me tell you a secret. (I’m not doing that.) The secret is: I have no effin’ idea! Like, did I die? I passed out one night and I woke up in another version of me. How would you feel if you woke up in your body, but it wasn’t yours, and you couldn’t even talk or control it? You just sit there and watch this…buffoon of yourself go about all day mucking just about everything up. Barely getting a word in. I feel like I’m stuck inside a copy of myself here, is what I’m saying, a version of me in serious need of an upgrade. I feel like I’m on layaway. I’m half-convinced I’m dreaming. I’m struggling more than a bit, truth be told. You can probably tell, I don’t have a lot of answers. Really, very few. I’m kind of just rolling with it? Low-key losing my mind a bit but in a really controlled way. Maybe I just have to do something here, then I can go. Complete some task. I don’t know. What I do know is that one tiny BIG difference between your dimension and mine is me. Why does that matter? I think part of what's brought me here is the same thing that brought you to where you are now, that which brings us such joy yet so often gets in our way of passions pursued and unrealized alike. Any guesses as to what it is? I'll give you two hints. It doesn't grow on trees and it makes the world go round.

You guessed it! Love! You can't buy it, ya know. (Oh, and the money was a bit of a problem, too.) You see, in your dimension, a battle never occurred. A king was taken prisoner, in a sense, before it could. The me who used to inhabit this body solely, before I arrived. I guess I should give him a name, shouldn't I? To make this easier. We'll call the pre-Me me "Alex." Yeah. I like that. Alexander! It sounds honorable enough. Alex, he was a good guy. Is, I should say. I mean he's not gone. I’m Alex. I’m Alex from another dimension, one in which he had a lot less problems and did a lot more painting. He’s here. I, Chance, am an altogether different Alex, an Alex he could have been if he had gotten the...well, hopefully you're starting to get it. I don't know what to tell ya. Go back and reread, or I don't know, ask a friend. As for Alex, that cruel, blind love struck him at his core, just once in his life (his faulty tortoise shell never was very thick). Boy, did it mess with his brain. By the time it was finished with him, he was writhing on unable to get on his feet again and finish the race.

Because of love, because of a card in the deck remained blank. A king card was missing, never entered a battle. It was reshuffled, reshuffled, from one relationship to the next, one job to the next, one drink to the next. One joint, one cigarette. Then reshuffled some more. And yea I feel I should make it clear that when I say shuffle I mean drink, drink...drunk. Alex’s dream of being a novelist

Unfortunately, for Alex—let's see. How can I phrase this with self-compassion? We're a mixed bag. The roller-coaster ride was fun before it coasted right off the tracks. Or maybe it was that at a certain point Alex "forgot" to pull the safety bar down tight enough. And maybe the ride safety inspector was careless, carefully so. In the realm of looks, let's just say we’re kind of handsome and kind of ugly. In the realm of personality, a real fly guy and hella awkward. Brains? Smart enough to be writing this and dumb enough to be writing this. (And don't forget the dose of crazy!) What else? Virtue? Check +! In the realm of physical prowess? We’re the crouching tiger and the hidden dragon, caged at the zoo. We’re part beauty, part beast. Finally found, but so lost here. Y'all, there's giant wave about to lurch out of this great big length of ocean, and we’re just as liable to get carried away with it as you are. How do you see us, though? That strange, magical interplay between your mind, body and soul: how does it reflect us back to you?

Maybe if I let Alex explain it will help. OH. But first there's an important detail I'm leaving out. These "dream battles"—Rounds—in our story affect the real world in real ways, all too real. You know how you go to sleep and dream about the events and people of the past? Maybe about your problems, worries, sexual repressions...the subconscious is a jungle and the machete that is your conscious allows very limited access to it, for most of us. It's different with the Players in our story. Whereas most of us dream with little control over our actions in them, the outcome of their dreams, which they navigate with lucidity, can affect our culture, our politics, our every day to day. Success for these stars in the Ludimagik realm translates to success in the real world.

But Alex? Poor Alex. He never stood a chance. It’s almost as if the Universe said, what an infant, he’ll never grow up, and so it set about making him cry. Of course, he didn’t exactly make anything easier on himself, either. Let me ask you: How often do you remember your dreams if you get hammered, if that's an occurrence for you at all? Much less know that you're dreaming and control the dream? How much do you think your brain is developing, as it does throughout our twenties, when it's constantly being drenched in booze and beer? We're here to tell you: not as much as if you're living right, not by a long shot. For the longest time he had no clue that he could dream with any lucidity. And he’s still doesn’t have the full picture.

See, without saying too much yet, what I can tell you is that a good deal of people know a lot more about Alex than he does. They have been trying to orchestrate his fate, manipulating him into playing their games. Exploit what he doesn’t know. Or maybe they think he’s a bad guy. I don’t know. It’s pretty messed up when you think about all he’s been through. But hey—power corrupts! Someone’s got to have it.

In his defense, had the “demon” of alcoholism not gotten to him, things would be different. I’m proof of that. It’s hard to fight something you can’t see. The point is that drinking, getting drunk, every day, for years, up until the point when he nearly died, afforded him no second thoughts about dreaming. He’s getting there, though. Soon, he’ll play Ludimagik. Soon, he’ll be just aware, as soon you will be, of what he is capable of building, of creating.

Shall we meet Alex? Just be warned: he’s a little—what’s that word we heard the other day?—”extra.” But that’s just me. Here, decide for yourself.

Continue reading here.

See the previous section, the Introduction, here.

Please share and subscribe if you enjoy. Thanks for reading.

submitted by /u/nick_boatwright [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2QOZbvu

[americanduckling]

I guess I wrote something

I dunno. It's Jerry again. How he, Jonny, and Rockelle met Ocean. Potentially.

Hope you like. Assuming you read it.

Anyway, this is Jerry & the Robot Part 1

_____________________________________

The dark van sped off, from a location it wasn't supposed to be at.

Jerry, Jonnathan, and Rockelle were hiding in the bushes, trying their best not to be noticed by the people clearly trying to rob the somewhat technologically advanced shed about 20 feet away from them. The kids were successful, barely.

"Why couldn't we hide behind a tree or something," Jerry whined, scratching his arms and picking leaves and broken twigs out of his orange hair. "Those bushes were ITCHY! They look way more comfortable in cartoons."

"Yeah, well, real life sucks huh?" Jerry's cousin, Jonnathan, was having trouble removing a larger twig from one of his antennae. It had applied a sticky residue to him, and it seemed like it had no intention of releasing. "Besides," he continued, "the trees wouldn't've hid all three of us nearly as well. We woulda been had, no doubt." He ran a hand through his hair, hoping to cover up the twig with a mess of pink instead. "You see that shed, right? Those guys probably took some kind of crazy invention or weapon; we'd definitely end up as test subjects."

"Hmmm, maybe," the soft voice of Rockelle piped up. Her hair definitely had the most junk in it, due to how curly it was. Despite this, she focused on removing the leaves and twigs from Jonnathan's head first, and used magic to help alleviate Jerry's itch. "It looked like Xander and Lucy weren't taking any weapons; it seems to me that this was a kidnapping."

Xander was, in essence, the kids' arch-nemesis. A powerful vampire that has repeatedly attempted to take over their kingdom, Marin Valley. They'd bested him twice before, and Jerry had just assumed he would have taken a longer break to take care of his young sidekick, Lucy the Lema, who was a humanoid with certain lemur attributes.

"Whoa whoa, hold up." Jerry's eyes widened in the moonlight. "What makes you so sure it was Xander and Lucy?"

"Well," Rockelle began, furrowing her brow, "the last time we went to investigate something, it was them. And when you and Jonny went trying to save the Kingdom that first time, it was them, too. Their escapades always seem to attract you two, like some kind of... Adventure Magnet." She paused, lost in thought for a moment. Then her whole face brightened, and she began clapping her hands like a gleeful child. "That must mean I'm part of the magnet, too! We're Adventure Buddies by fate's design!"

In that moment, Jerry had an epiphany. "Wow, when you put it like that, it makes perfect sense! Rock, you're a genius!"

"Actually, yeah," Jonny mused in agreement, without his usual snarky comments. "It does seem incredibly likely that we're dealing with Xander and Lucy again."

Jerry blinked, eyes dull as an old emerald. "...Oh. Right. Xander and Lucy. We weren't talking about the magnet theory. Of course." A pause. Then, a question. "You said you thought it was a kidnapping, Rockelle?"

The question startled Rockelle, who was playing with a snakefly that had landed on her arm. "Hm?"

"What made you think it was a kidnapping?"

"Oh, I heard muffled yelling. You guys were too busy shushing each other to really notice, I guess. Probably worth it though; we didn't get caught! I'm sure you guys quieting each other made us go unnoticed!"

Jerry's and Jonny's cheeks flushed purple, the telltale sign of an embarrassed Ami. Any other person would think Rockelle was being passive aggressive or sarcastic, but Jonny knew sarcasm.

Rockelle legitimately believed their incessant bickering was what kept them all safe in that moment.

Her eyes practically glowed in the moonlight. "You guys really are experienced adventurers!"

Jonnathan took a moment to compose himself. "A-anyway," he stammered, still feeling a tad self-conscious, "we should probably go check out that shed. Make sure everyone's okay, and all that stuff."

"Oh, yeah," Jerry said, looking over at the mysterious small building. "Everyone's probably... huh. The lights are still out."

As the kids approached the gleaming metallic shed, it grew apparent that no one was awake. The lights were all out and there was no commotion either. It was almost as if the place was... empty.

Rockelle took the liberty of knocking on the door (the classic "Shave and a Haircut" rhythm, of course), but nobody answered. The vibe had dipped considerably. The lack of echo from the door created a harsh clanging noise when Rockelle knocked which, combined with the soft glow of Tente's moons, created an eerie feeling.

"M-maybe nobody's home?" Jerry offered, voice shaky and concerned. "Whoever was kidnapped p-probably lived by themself, or something."

"I hope not, man," Jonny responded grimly. "If that's the case, we don't have many leads on where Xander and Lucy are headed. Xander doesn't typically operate from his house, y'know?"

Rockelle choked out a question. "S-so... do you th-think that he..."

Jonny could see the fear in Rockelle's eyes as her dark skin went pale. She was so scared for the people she looked like she was about to cry. "Oh, nah," he reassured her. "No! Xander's a jerk, but he wouldn't just hurt people like that. He's got strong magic though. Maybe they're all under a sleep spell or something."

That seemed to mollify her, at least a little bit. "R-right," Rockelle sighed, relieved. "You're right, Jonny. Everyone's okay. Yeah."

Jerry, seeing his friend so worked up, managed to put on a serious face, which is pretty unusual. "Again, that's assuming anybody's even in there." He pushed on the door, but nothing happened. He continued to push and push, but was unable to budge the door. Still, though, Jerry was nothing if not determined, and he continued to try his hardest to open the door.

This went on for several minutes.

Jerry stared at the metal door for maybe 7 seconds, then looked back at his companions. "...This was supposed to be my cool action hero moment."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't," Jonny quipped.

"Maybe it's locked?" Rockelle wondered aloud. "I wouldn't know how to unlock a high tech scientist's door though."

"Xander and Lucy were in a hurry though, Rock," Jerry countered. "I doubt they would have time to re-lock the door."

"Well," Rockelle responded, "maybe it locks on its own?"

"Is that possible?"

"The captive is clearly really smart; he probably has some sort of precautionary mechanism to make sure it automatically locks."

A pause.

Jerry stared at the girl. "You sure they're male?"

Now it was Rockelle's turn to blush. "W-well, uhm... I mean, I heard the struggling, and when the kidnapee would make a noise it sounded masculine so I just-!"

"Yo!"

Jerry and Rockelle jumped. They looked towards the source of the outburst. Jonny stood in front of the door, facing them, and pushed it to his right.

"It's a sliding door."

As Jonny walked through the shed's entrance, Jerry looked at Rockelle.

"I feel stupid," he said.

"You're not stupid, Jerry," Rockelle reassured him. "Many people make that mistake. Now let's go."

Trekking into the darkness, the children began calling out to anybody who might hear them within the dwelling. However, nobody called back. No matter how earnestly they tried, it seemed that no one was around. Eventually everyone decided it would be wiser to reserve their efforts to look for clues.

It could be assumed there was much to be seen inside of a high tech shed. But even in the moonlight, the room just wasn't very well lit. Jerry and Rockelle used light magic to create makeshift flashlights out of their respective weapons: the Wonder Blade for Jerry, and Marin's Wand for Rockelle. Jonny, who didn't really use magic, found himself bumping into everything.

"Can one of you guys find a light switch?" he called, exasperated. "I'm shocked I haven't tripped over my own feet and cracked my skull in half."

"I thought you had unusually good night vision, or whatever," said Jerry, absentmindedly.

Jonny sighed. "Yeah, well, it's not working tonight. Please find a light switch."

"Alright then, will do," offered Jerry.

Jonny tensed. "Wait, actually... not you."

"What?" Jerry was offended. "Why?"

"Because you're gonna touch something you ain't got no business touching. We're trying to not break things. Rockelle, try and find a light-"

"Oooh!" The Princess squealed in delight, her reflection bouncing off of a collection of colorful chemicals in meticulously stacked beakers. "Wow, look at this thing! It's got all these colors and bubbles and... and..."

Jonny stared at her. Turning the light towards his face, Rockelle could see an odd mixture of confusion, annoyance, and... concern?

"...What happened?" she asked.

Jonny remained silent for a few seconds. "...Jerry go find a light please."

"You got it."

Jerry began to look around at the walls, scanning for a switch to turn on the lights. He couldn't find a switch near the door they entered through, and most of the walls were covered by either a bookshelf or a chalkboard. Rockelle continued to marvel at the display of beakers on a table in front of the right side wall, while Jonny was sitting in a sort of "cooler" version of the fetal position on the floor, telling Rockelle not to touch anything.

The room overall had a sort of rectangular shape. Between all of the books and shelves, there were doorways leading to other rooms, but the walls were too cluttered on the left or right sides to have any light switches.

"I think there aren't any switches Jonny," Jerry said, absently scratching his head.

"Dude," Jonny breathed, "that's stupid. There's not a house in the world that doesn't have lights."

"I doubt that this room has no lights, man. I said I couldn't find a light switch. There's a difference."

Rockelle managed to pull herself away from the chemical display. "Guys," she gasped. "Look there! Above the door!"

Jerry turned to look at where Rockelle was directing him, and noticed something broken hanging off of the top of the doorway. He directed his flashlight towards the point of interest.

"Oh, huh," Jerry said. "Looks like it's some kind of sensor."

"A motion sensor," Rockelle explained. "The lights were probably automatic. The sensor being broken seems like evidence of a big struggle."

"Ugh," groaned Jonny. "So I'm just blind then, is that it?"

"Probably not, Jonny," Rockelle soothed. "I'm sure there's a manual switch somewhere, like... at the far end of the room over there." She pointed her wand at the other side of the room, finding a switch on the wall, a large lever, and next to that... something on a table?

"...Um...? What is that?" Rockelle tensed.

The three of them inched closer to the other side of the room, with Jonnathan in front in order to shield the two younger kids from... whatever it was that surprised them. It looked like a raised platform with glass around the top, likely to contain something within.

As they edged closer and closer, it quickly became clear that there was a person lying on the platform within the glass. A girl, in fact. She couldn't have been much older than Jerry, who's 12. And that's assuming she was older than him at all.

She looked like she was in a coffin.

Rockelle was dumbfounded. "Why... is there a girl... in a glass coffin...?"

"And why didn't she hear us with all that yelling we were doing?" Jonny was beside himself, mostly in confusion. "Hey!" he yelled. "Little Miss! Wake up! Are you okay?!"

The girl didn't stir. It didn't seem like she was moving at all. Her chest and stomach weren't rising and falling through her yellow shirt, which had white sleeves. Yet she didn't look dead. Just... in stasis?

The kids continued to stare at her. Right away, one of the things they noticed was this girl's ears. Mostly because she actually had ears; pointed ones. So right away, it was obvious she wasn't an ami like them. A smaller detail that was easy to miss were these thin lines on her face. They seemed to start at the bottom of her head and travel up to the bottoms of the girls eyes. The most egregious detail that most other people would probably notice first was the large, poofy, wolfish tail she had. It was blue, the same blue as the hair on her head, and had a white tip.

"A werewolf?" Jerry asked, though really it was a rhetorical question. "Is she okay?

"We should probably turn on a light to get a better look at her, wink wink."

Jerry and Rockelle shot confused glares at Jonnathan.

"...It's annoying being the only one without a magic flashlight," he griped.

"Well then," Rockelle chirped, "let's get this boy some light!" She giggled as she flicked the switch on the wall.

The giggling ceased when a loud hum began to nearly vibrate the air.

All of a sudden, blue lines of light began to flow from the wall to the coffin, which itself was actually more akin to a sort of large control panel of some sort. The process was slow, and the light took many different paths on its way to the platform. It reached the platform, crawling up on its way to... the girl in the glass?

The werewolf girl immediately began to twitch and spasm, almost vibrating in place. Her joints began to glow with the same color of the lights surrounding her, soft and blue. All the while, the loud mechanical humming sound reverberated throughout the room, and the air seemed to crackle with electricity.

All three of the kids were completely nonplussed.

"What. Is. Happening??" Jerry nearly shrieked. "Is she a robot? Did we just activate a robot??"

"Rockelle???" Jonny asked, actually shrieking. "What did you do??"

"I don't know!" Rockelle squeaked out. She was defensive all of a sudden. "I thought it was a light switch! It was small, and on the wall! I've lived in a castle my whole life but I'm pretty sure that most light switches are like that!!"

"Rockelle!" Jonny yelled. The humming was so loud he had to, but still would have if it was quiet. "You activated a ROBOT! Someone else's robot!"

"I'm sorry! Sheesh!"

The humming quieted down. Then, for a brief moment, silence.

Jerry spoke up. "...Who maps a big giant fuction like 'activating a robot' to a switch that small anyway?"

Jerry never got an answer to that question. Now, don't freak out, he's fine. Jerry is okay. Everyone's okay, as a matter of fact. But, when the words left his mouth, there was a hissing sound. The glass casing on the large metallic platform raised itself up.

The girl within opened her eyes.

Slower than any other person would, she sat up. Then, she blinked. Her eyes glowed blue as she (quite literally) scanned her surroundings. The robot girl opened her mouth.

[Ocean Unit activated.] She stated this in a matter of fact way. This "Ocean" unit sounded just like a kid, but her voice had very little inflection. It was easy to see there was no emotion behind it.

[All systems: functional. Location: Papa's house. ...Unauthorized personnel detected.]

Rockelle gasped, softly. "Papa's house...?"

Suddenly, the robot turned towards the kids. [Unauthorized personnel detected. Error. Unit mode lock enabled due to improper shutdown during combat mode.]

Jonny gulped. "...Locked into combat mode...?"

The robot, Unit Ocean, reached out her arm out and pushed the lever.

...The lights came on.

"Oh!" Jerry exclaimed. "So the big switch was the light switch?"

Unit Ocean began flying, using rockets in her feet. Her fists clenched and crackled with electricity. Her eyes changed color, glowing red.

With Jonny and Rockelle poised to do battle with the killer robot before them, Jerry only had one thing to say.

"...Y'know what? Yeah the whole light switch sitch can probably wait until later. I think we have bigger fruit to pick."

[Unauthorized personnel detected... prepare for combat.]

[hottytoddynews]

Anne McCauley, assistant director in the Office of Sustainability, isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty during a composting demonstration set up in front of the Union.

Green Team Turns Food Waste Into Nutrient-Rich Soil Amendment

This story was originally published in the Ole Miss Alumni Review Magazine’s Summer 2015 Issue. Story by Lindsey Abernathy. Photography by Robert Jordan 

Like many college students, University of Mississippi senior Victoria Burgos heads to work after a full morning of classes. However, Burgos’ job leads her to an unconventional locale — the numerous mounds of compost, all in various stages of decomposition, near the edge of campus. Where some see trash, the recreation administration major sees an opportunity for Ole Miss to reduce waste and create a usable product for community gardeners.

“Food waste isn’t actually waste,” explains Burgos, a founder of UM’s composting program, an initiative that has diverted nearly 34,000 pounds of campus food waste from the landfill since 2013. “It can be remade and reused into nutrient-dense, potable soil, and it sequesters greenhouse gases.”

According to the Environmental Protection Agency, food in landfills is a significant source of methane, a greenhouse gas that is 25 times more potent than the carbon dioxide that decomposing food gives off when breaking down naturally in a compost pile. After six months, the compost, which began as food scraps such as banana peels, onion skins and coffee grounds, ends up looking and smelling like dirt. The finished product is distributed to campus and community members for use in their gardens.

“The product we get after composting, called humus, is really nutritious dirt that can help in soil amendment,” says Erik Hom, UM assistant professor of biology and a member of the compost program’s advisory board. “When mixed with soil, it helps retain moisture, provides important plant nutrients and is chock-full of beneficial microbes that improve plant growth. Among many benefits, it’s a great fertilizer, meaning we don’t have to use as many chemicals.”

Burgos first began working on the compost project as a freshman in 2012, when she proposed the idea to the newly established UM Green Fund, a donation-based funding source for innovative sustainability projects on campus. The pilot program launched in fall 2013 as a program of the UM Office of Sustainability and works in collaboration with Ole Miss Dining Services, operated by Aramark, and the School of Pharmacy’s Maynard W. Quimby Medicinal Plant Garden, where the compost piles are located. For Richard Bradley (MBA 10), Aramark marketing manager, the partnership with the Office of Sustainability just made sense.

“We want to make sure that we’re reducing our waste,” Bradley says. “When we’re preparing food, any waste of the product — a fruit rind or trimmed piece of vegetable — is already being weighed and documented. We had that part of the system in place. Once we were done weighing it, we just had to put it into a receptacle that could be picked up by the Office of Sustainability.”

During the first year, the compost team employed four student interns who picked up kitchen scraps from the Marketplace at the Residential College, which serves about 1,500 students daily. The team composted nearly 3,500 pounds of food that year, creating 19 cubic yards of finished compost that was distributed to the Residential College Garden Club and other area gardens.

Tiara Mabry (left), Victoria Burgos and Robert Lucas, students on the UM compost team, haul buckets of pre-consumer food waste (kitchen scraps) to the compost piles behind the Maynard W. Quimby Medicinal Plant Garden.

“That first year, we started [picking up food] just from the RC, which was awesome,” Burgos says. “We were a pilot program, and we had so many other issues to iron out that if we took on another place it probably would have been overwhelming. But, it was always written into the project to expand.”

At the end of the first year, students in associate professor of civil engineering Cristiane Surbeck’s environmental engineering course conducted an environmental impact analysis as a class project, making a strong case for expanding the program. The analysis took into account vehicle emissions, water use and emissions from the decomposing food.

“What we learned from Dr. Surbeck’s engineering students was that the environmental effect of our composting program with the volume from the pilot year was about even with the environmental effect of landfilling that same amount of waste,” says Anne McCauley, assistant director of the Office of Sustainability. “But, we learned that if we increased our volume even a small amount, it would tip the scale toward composting having an environmental benefit. We already had the operations in place, and we felt like we had the capacity to take on more.”

Following the analysis, Burgos and team members Tiara Mabry, a then-freshman psychology major from Tupelo, and Katelynn Dillard (BS 15), a then-junior biology major from Metairie, La., reapplied to the Green Fund to request funding for expansion. After a summer of planning — including registering the program with the Mississippi Department of Environmental Quality — the team began picking up food from Rebel Market in August 2014, a 1,030 percent increase in monthly volume. To accommodate the expansion, the Office of Sustainability increased food pickups from three times weekly to daily.

“I wasn’t expecting nearly as much food as we ended up getting,” says Dillard, a former member of the compost team. “We had a projection that we were going to fill up this designated space for our first pile in seven weeks, and it took three weeks. That was sort of a wake-up call, like ‘Wow, we’re really composting a lot of food.’”

During the 2014-15 academic year, the team picked up an average of 1,065 pounds of food waste weekly, sometimes transporting more than 30 buckets to the piles at the Medicinal Plant Garden. In just one year, team members composted nearly 30,000 pounds of food waste and are in the process of preparing it for distribution.

The increased volume did have a positive effect on the project’s emissions — the 2014 environmental impact analysis found that the project reduced greenhouse gas emissions by more than 17 tons, compared to the alternative of sending the food to the Three Rivers Landfill, located in Pontotoc.

As the program enters its third year, it continues to expand. Beginning in August 2015, the project will include The Grill at 1810, located in the Olivia and Archie Manning Athletics Performance Center. The team will also pick up coffee grounds from two Einstein Bros. Bagels locations and two Starbucks locations on campus.

“Starting off, I really wasn’t expecting to undergo expansion every year,” says Burgos, who is entering her senior year. “I kind of thought I would see some upgrades before I graduated, but it’s actually grown every single year, which is really exciting. I think the sheer amount of waste we’ve taken in is a huge success.”

Robert Lucas, a member of the compost team during spring 2015, adds leaves, wood chips and other ‘brown materials’ to the compost piles, providing a vital source of carbon to the nitrogen-rich organic matter.

Digging In 

A typical day for Burgos and the other members of the compost team entails donning mud-caked boots and setting out to collect buckets of kitchen scraps from the loading docks behind Rebel Market and the Residential colleges. The 5-gallon buckets are stacked and waiting, filled with anything from pineapple tops and mango peelings to chocolate chip cookies, depending on the day. The team measures, weighs and inspects each bucket for usability — the project does not compost meat or dairy products, which might attract pests — before transporting it to the Medicinal Plant Garden for composting.

“Composting is a really natural process,” says UM biology instructor Tiffany Bensen, who also serves on the project’s advisory board. “Decomposers like bacteria and fungi do this really good job of breaking down old, unwanted, decaying organic matter into raw materials that we can reuse again.”

At the garden, the team mixes the food with leaves from the City of Oxford, wood chips provided by Landscape Services and other “brown material,” which adds a source of carbon to the nitrogen-rich organic matter. Another vital step in the process involves turning the compost piles to allow for oxygen flow, one of the major differentiators between composting food and sending it to a landfill, Hom says. Currently, Medicinal Plant Garden staff handles turning the piles for the team.

Each year, Americans send more than 30 million tons of food waste to landfills, which account for more than 20 percent of the nation’s methane emissions, according to the EPA.

“The concern people have with this is that methane is a ‘greenhouse gas’ — which means that it effectively traps heat generated on this planet, which thus leads to global warming,” Hom says. “Suffice it to say, excess methane in our air is not a good thing and is a substantially more potent greenhouse gas than carbon dioxide. Composting, on the other hand, does not lead to methane production because the sort of degradation that goes on there is largely aerobic — it takes place with oxygen present. The main gas coming out of compost piles is carbon dioxide, the stuff that we breathe out, which is far better than methane release.”

Composting 101 – Educating The Campus Community 

In addition to reducing the university’s environmental impact, a large focus of the UM composting program is outreach and education. The team sets up educational displays during campus events, and signage in Rebel Market and the Marketplace explains the purpose of the program.

“Our outreach and awareness efforts are one of the most important things,” Burgos says. “As long as people know this is actually happening on campus, it becomes a part of campus culture. It will just come to be readily accepted as something that we do.”

In April, the team’s members sifted a portion of the finished compost, a process that removes larger particles and results in a better product for gardens. To increase the project’s visibility, they set up a display on the Student Union Plaza. Landscape Services transported 16 cubic yards of compost to the plaza, where student volunteers and Office of Sustainability staff sifted and explained what they were doing to onlookers.

“We thought that sifting in front of the Union would be a great place because it’s very visible to the students,” says Ellen Olack (BA 15), who interned in the Office of Sustainability during spring 2015.

“I enjoyed it because while I was sifting, a lot of students came up to us not knowing what we were doing or why we were doing it. They got to learn the importance of composting and see how easy and fun it could be to compost.”

Will Bedwell (BA 15), a former student member of the Green Fund Committee, says that, in part, the potential for educational impact was what got the attention of the committee. “We liked that it was very educational,” Bedwell says. “The program operates where students are eating, so it’s something that is apparent to students. It was also an educational opportunity for Burgos, who ran it, and the chemical engineering students who also got involved.”

Outreach extends beyond the student body. During the first year of the program, the team tossed out 35 percent of food it collected due to contamination by meat scraps, dairy and other substances. To address the issue, Burgos and McCauley conducted orientations for kitchen staff, explaining the purpose of the project. Following the orientation, the percentage of usable food scraps increased to 99 percent.

Growing Pains

A common theme among those involved in the program is the desire to see it continue to operate and grow.

“I would think that within the next five years, most every dining location could be a part of the program,” Bradley says.

“Long term, I’d like to see us create a zero-waste facility. Right now when I say it, it’s a very big goal to set, but if we keep taking these small steps, I think we could accomplish things like that.”

However, as the operation grows, the compost team is faced with new challenges, ranging from locating space for more piles to the need to identify a new funding source. As the Green Fund, which receives a $15,000 baseline donation from the university each year, gets increased project proposals, funding the compost project long term will no longer be feasible.

“The idea with the Green Fund is that it helps projects get started, and then they get institutionalized into the university,” Bedwell says.

Additionally, the expansion to The Grill at 1810 has put the project at capacity in terms of space at the Medicinal Plant Garden. The Office of Sustainability is working to identify space that can be used in addition to its current location. But creative problem solving is a mainstay of the compost program. The team’s primary vehicle, a well-used truck bearing the words “OG DEPT.” on the side — the only letters left in “biology” in its past life as a biology departmental vehicle — is continually presenting problems; this fall, the team will pilot a hybrid electric bicycle equipped with a trailer as a potential replacement.

Robert Lucas (left), Tiara Mabry and Victoria Burgos conduct daily food pickups in a hand-me-down truck, donated by the biology department.

“From the beginning, everything about this project was new to us,” McCauley says. “We’ve not allowed uncertainties or challenges to intimidate us from going forward.”

As for Burgos, she will spend her senior year orienting a new team of student interns, whom she hopes will value the program as she has and see it through new growth after her graduation.

“This experience has been pretty transformative,” Burgos says. “I’m really proud of where we are, and I want to see the program grow more and more. The end goal is to take every bit — pre-and post-consumer — from every place that has food on this campus.” 

For questions or comments email Hottytoddynews@gmail.com. 

The post Ole Miss Alumni Review: The Dirt On Composting appeared first on HottyToddy.com.

[cstesttaken]

Magic Leap’s new marketing boss has a tough challenge: Trying to sell an amazing product you can’t see

How do you market a company that says it has a mind-blowing, world-changing product — that it can’t show you?

That’s the challenge facing Brenda Freeman, the chief marketing officer for Magic Leap, the much-hyped “mixed reality” startup that has raised $1.4 billion from Google, Alibaba and other investors.

Freeman started at Magic Leap this fall, replacing Samsung veteran Brian Wallace, who the company says was “terminated without cause” in September; Wallace is now working at a startup run by former Android boss Andy Rubin.

In the midst of the shuffle, a widely read story from The Information reported that Magic Leap was struggling to turn its technology — which lets users import animated characters into their field of vision — into a consumer product, in the form of glasses or goggles. That report has heightened industry skepticism that Magic Leap can deliver on sky-high claims and ambitions.

Magic Leap

I talked to her this week about the challenges she’s facing. Here’s an edited transcript of our conversation:

Peter Kafka: It seems like being a chief marketing officer at a company that has a lot of attention focused on it, but doesn’t have a product it can show off or really talk about in much detail, is a real challenge.

Brenda Freeman: I don’t think it’s a challenge as much as it forces the marketing strategy to perhaps pivot, until you actually have a product to experience. There’s marketing to the promise of what it is, and the fact that those who actually have experienced it, basically are amazed by it. But what we do in terms of creating early awareness and interest and intrigue is based on the promise of what it can do.

So the efforts in the beginning are more about educating that audience that we think is going to be actually interested in buying the product.

You mentioned a pivot. What are you pivoting from? It seems like you’re talking about what Magic Leap has been doing for more than a year: Showing a relatively small group of people the product who say that’s it’s amazing, but can’t go into details because they’ve signed NDAs.

I’d say the team has got a great start. The first thing you have to do is establish the brand. And I think the team did a really great job of creating a brand voice that’s unique in the marketplace. [We need to] make sure that we’re talking to the right audience, with a tone that’s befitting of the brand.

And as you know, at Magic Leap, we’re very much about the fact that it’s not hardware-first, it’s about using technology and what it can do for your life. So I think the idea of having a very humanistic approach to the overall marketing message has been actually very good.

What’s the most concise way to explain what Magic Leap is, to someone who hasn’t seen it?

It’s technology that is basically going to allow you to enhance your life. What we’re trying to do is — we’re on a mission. We want to create the best mixed-reality light field experience for the world. That’s how I would describe it.

When are consumers going to be able to touch this stuff?

As you can imagine, we feel really good about the fact that we’re on track. Our investors are very happy about the timelines that we’re working against. We feel really proud of that. We can’t actually say, exactly — we can’t share that yet publicly, but just know that we’re very much on time, and we’re on track.

But is it a year out? Two years out? Five years out?

We are racing toward launch. That’s why I was brought on board. My background is very much in the entertainment and content space and being able to drive marketing in an eventful sort of way — that’s why I was brought onto the team. We are racing toward launch. And we’re very much on track.

Is it frustrating that because this company has raised so much money, and because the initial descriptions of the product are so evocative, that it’s difficult for you to do your job, because you can’t let people see the product? It seems like you’re setting yourself up, because there could be a gap between what people are actually going to use and the expectations around that. How do you manage that?

I don’t believe that to be the case at all. I’ve actually experienced the product. That’s one of the reasons I decided to join. Because it’s all about amazing technology, but it’s also about the amazing content that’s going to be brought to life with this great technology.

I’m a left-brain, right-brain type of marketer. I was actually a chemical engineer; I actually designed rocket motors in my early career [at Atlantic Research Corp.] before I went into marketing. That’s why this is an amazing place to work, because it’s basically the best of both worlds.

The Information’s story talked about the gap between what you’re talking about and what you’re actually developing. I’ve heard similar things. Is that a fair description of where you guys are at?

I’m so glad that you asked question. We feel like that narrative that’s been created is just completely untrue. I think there’s been a lot of conversation about a video that was created. [Magic Leap’s] technology is optimized for the eye-brain system. And so it took a little bit of time to capture the right technique to capture what you experience through the system — to make that translate to video. So we released a concept video, which is very representative of what we can do. It’s nothing less than what all of our competition does as well.

But there’s also a sense the company’s ability to make a consumer product isn’t as far along as it needs to be. I talked to one of Magic Leap’s investors recently, and they said that [CEO Rony Abovitz] “has no focus.” They described a company that has really cool technology and is struggling to productize it.

I would say that’s completely untrue. The good news is we have a founder who’s a visionary, and he’s a creator. But he also is a left-brain, right-brain brilliant person. And he’s got the technical chops, and he hires the best of the best, in terms of building our hardware and our software systems.

So we are absolutely on track, our investors who come down on a regular basis have experienced our product, we’ve walked them through the timeline. Our timelines have not changed one iota. We are racing toward launch and we’re meeting our goals.

You’re replacing Brian Wallace. What are you doing differently than he did?

Absolutely. My point of view, in terms of how I market, is probably very different than Brian’s. I’m not a hardware-first type of marketer. I’m very much an emotive type of storyteller. It’s using the technology, and [explaining] how the technology is going to enhance my life. So it’s about bringing it to life in a very interesting, never-been-done-before type of way.

So it’s a very high bar. Never been done before.

Anything else we should know?

No, other than the fact that it’s an amazing team. And, quite frankly, sometimes there’s changes that have to be made. You may have heard about the fact that there were some changes on the team quite recently. And with new leadership, change is inevitable. But we’re very much about strengthening our team, and making sure that we have a culture of those that are entrepreneurial and scrappy.

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Source

http://www.recode.net/2016/12/22/14058314/magic-leap-marketing-brenda-freeman

[ecotone99]

[FN] LUDIMΔGIK - Man in a Box

I guess I'm as good a place to start as any. When I say "I" I don't mean the guy who was just speaking to you in the Introduction. I'm Chance, King of Queens. Is my name really Chance? Yes, but I’m not a rapper. Am I really a king? Yes, of the Queens of Kings. I don't want to tell you my real name. Where I’m from, everyone knows me as Chance. And by everyone I mean by you. Not "you," you but yeah, well, you. You from another time and dimension. You in another time and dimension know me—in another time and dimension. BUT before you roll your eyes and return to Facebook or Twitter, or, I don't know, TMZ? (Do people still use Gawker at this point? I'm still getting acclimated.), I know what I said sounds crazy. I know. And, while I do acknowledge that this might put this little story in the "fantasy" genre of your mind, I do encourage you to bear with me, because— because—actually, screw it! Ha! I can see already that most of you barely made it through the last guy's ramblings. Now this?! Well I'll have you know that I did not exactly ask to be in this position either, but here we are, with me in your hands! If you want to close me like a window, then do it! I was already out the door anyhow! But if you close that window, and I close that door, with me on the other side of it, we could be trapped! As I don't think we'll make much use of that hole in the wall, like with Pyramus and Thisbe, one of us would ruin this love affair!

Excuse me. I—I lost myself for a moment there. I think it knew I was talking to you. Whatever “it” is. That seems to be happening, ever since I got here. For one, I don’t mix metaphors. Often. And who the heck is Primus von Frisbee?

I’ll be honest. It’s exhausting. Did it work on you? The reverse psychology? The scare tactic? It got me before. You could stop, you know. You could stop reading. Possibly it’ll be too much. Possibly it’ll be too confusing. I can’t though. I’m stuck here. There’s no turning back. Is the desperation evident? I. am. thirsty. Burning up. You see, I'm really not used to this. Where I'm from, I'm a star. Like, I don't know. I can't say who I'm like because I'm just me. It'd be like if George Clooney suddenly said, "Who am I? I'm like Bradley Cooper." We'd all be like, "Um, what are you talking about, George Clooney? Are you okay? You're both very essential, incredibly sexy, talented m—theatre par excellence—you—" okay maybe this isn't the best example. But you get it. You got it, right? Ugh. It'd be like if Meryl Streep said, "I'm like Leo Messi!" (Though, come to think, she probably could play Leo in a movie on or on the field, the woman can do anything. Good point. Well, a point. Okay, focus! Me, Chance. I'm like...who am I like?) So I guess, in a way, where I’m from I'm like Andy Warhol, but more awkward? Or maybe more like a not-so-genius Leonardo da Vinci? Without the impeccable charisma, smoking body and that whole Renaissance-man quality that he was known for. Wow! Really not selling this well here. I’m like—I’m like an innovative Norman effing Rockwell, okay! Just—kind of commenting on and changing the times through painting, you know? I’m me! Just me. Imagine you, famous, and you’ll more or less get me. Does that make sense? Yes? No? Anyone?

Gah! It's so hard! You see, how can I explain to you that you already like me? Most of you, anyway. How can I explain that others before you, your ancestors, already have? (Some, not so much.) I guess I really can't, can I? I'll just have to show you. I'll just have to tell you about what happened in my dimension. How it's differed from yours.

In my dimension, the tension…the tension is very different. Kind of funny but, in my dimension Twitter banned Donald Trump from using the site during the middle of his presidential campaign (for obvious reasons) and he lost. But not because of being banned from Twitter. He wasn’t even a contender. I’m not going to go into all the details now, but the history of the USA during the last twenty years has been immensely different, because in the year 2000 of my dimension George W. Bush suffered a serious heart attack on Election Day and did not move to halt the recounting of Florida’s votes in the Supreme Court, which ultimately secured Al Gore the electoral college votes needed for victory.

For the past several years we’ve been turning methane released from livestock into renewable energy. Which sounds like some wacky Willy Wonka nonsense, I know, but US scientists collaborated with researchers in Argentina who had already developed a similar technology on a smaller scale, and together they made a device capable of extracting the gas out of the atmosphere. The federal government actually incentivized farmers to use the technology to make money. And there’s a lot of new building going on, even skyscrapers covered in plants. Companies also extracting carbon from the atmosphere. Landfills which double as power plants but are treated so they don’t release toxic chemicals…that triple as city attractions and tourist destinations. All of that is barely happening here, if at all. It’s kind of surreal to witness your world; it’s almost the opposite of mine. Partly due to Gore convincing one conservative billionaire (whom I’ll not name) that the future could and should be green, and that the moment was the optimal time to invest. Of course, it was the story of it that made any difference. The headline was enough to freeze the country’s broken, partisaned ice and allow politicians and private interest to skate to greener pastures, or whatever. I should add, by the way, that I’m not even some big environmentalist nerd. I mean, I care! I’m just telling you how it’s different in my place and time.

Regarding the small stuff, I really don't need to spend paragraphs describing it. Celebrity gossip is all kind of the same, isn’t it? You’re probably more curious as to how I got here, from another dimension. Or why? Lean close to the screen, let me tell you a secret. (I’m not doing that.) The secret is: I have no effin’ idea! Like, did I die? I passed out one night and I woke up in another version of me. How would you feel if you woke up in your body, but it wasn’t yours, and you couldn’t even talk or control it? You just sit there and watch this…buffoon of yourself go about all day mucking just about everything up. Barely getting a word in. I feel like I’m stuck inside a copy of myself here, is what I’m saying, a version of me in serious need of an upgrade. I feel like I’m on layaway. I’m half-convinced I’m dreaming. I’m struggling more than a bit, truth be told. You can probably tell, I don’t have a lot of answers. Really, very few. I’m kind of just rolling with it? Low-key losing my mind a bit but in a really controlled way. Maybe I just have to do something here, then I can go. Complete some task. I don’t know. What I do know is that one tiny BIG difference between your dimension and mine is me. Why does that matter? I think part of what's brought me here is the same thing that brought you to where you are now, that which brings us such joy yet so often gets in our way of passions pursued and unrealized alike. Any guesses as to what it is? I'll give you two hints. It doesn't grow on trees and it makes the world go round.

You guessed it! Love! You can't buy it, ya know. (Oh, and the money was a bit of a problem, too.) You see, in your dimension, a battle never occurred. A king was taken prisoner, in a sense, before it could. The me who used to inhabit this body solely, before I arrived. I guess I should give him a name, shouldn't I? To make this easier. We'll call the pre-Me me "Alex." Yeah. I like that. Alexander! It sounds honorable enough. Alex, he was a good guy. Is, I should say. I mean he's not gone. I’m Alex. I’m Alex from another dimension, one in which he had a lot less problems and did a lot more painting. He’s here. I, Chance, am an altogether different Alex, an Alex he could have been if he had gotten the...well, hopefully you're starting to get it. I don't know what to tell ya. Go back and reread, or I don't know, ask a friend. As for Alex, that cruel, blind love struck him at his core, just once in his life (his faulty tortoise shell never was very thick). Boy, did it mess with his brain. By the time it was finished with him, he was writhing on unable to get on his feet again and finish the race.

Because of love, because of a card in the deck remained blank. A king card was missing, never entered a battle. It was reshuffled, reshuffled, from one relationship to the next, one job to the next, one drink to the next. One joint, one cigarette. Then reshuffled some more. And yea I feel I should make it clear that when I say shuffle I mean drink, drink...drunk. Alex’s dream of being a novelist

Unfortunately, for Alex—let's see. How can I phrase this with self-compassion? We're a mixed bag. The roller-coaster ride was fun before it coasted right off the tracks. Or maybe it was that at a certain point Alex "forgot" to pull the safety bar down tight enough. And maybe the ride safety inspector was careless, carefully so. In the realm of looks, let's just say we’re kind of handsome and kind of ugly. In the realm of personality, a real fly guy and hella awkward. Brains? Smart enough to be writing this and dumb enough to be writing this. (And don't forget the dose of crazy!) What else? Virtue? Check +! In the realm of physical prowess? We’re the crouching tiger and the hidden dragon, caged at the zoo. We’re part beauty, part beast. Finally found, but so lost here. Y'all, there's giant wave about to lurch out of this great big length of ocean, and we’re just as liable to get carried away with it as you are. How do you see us, though? That strange, magical interplay between your mind, body and soul: how does it reflect us back to you?

Maybe if I let Alex explain it will help. OH. But first there's an important detail I'm leaving out. These "dream battles"—Rounds—in our story affect the real world in real ways, all too real. You know how you go to sleep and dream about the events and people of the past? Maybe about your problems, worries, sexual repressions...the subconscious is a jungle and the machete that is your conscious allows very limited access to it, for most of us. It's different with the Players in our story. Whereas most of us dream with little control over our actions in them, the outcome of their dreams, which they navigate with lucidity, can affect our culture, our politics, our every day to day. Success for these stars in the Ludimagik realm translates to success in the real world.

But Alex? Poor Alex. He never stood a chance. It’s almost as if the Universe said, what an infant, he’ll never grow up, and so it set about making him cry. Of course, he didn’t exactly make anything easier on himself, either. Let me ask you: How often do you remember your dreams if you get hammered, if that's an occurrence for you at all? Much less know that you're dreaming and control the dream? How much do you think your brain is developing, as it does throughout our twenties, when it's constantly being drenched in booze and beer? We're here to tell you: not as much as if you're living right, not by a long shot. For the longest time he had no clue that he could dream with any lucidity. And he’s still doesn’t have the full picture.

See, without saying too much yet, what I can tell you is that a good deal of people know a lot more about Alex than he does. They have been trying to orchestrate his fate, manipulating him into playing their games. Exploit what he doesn’t know. Or maybe they think he’s a bad guy. I don’t know. It’s pretty messed up when you think about all he’s been through. But hey—power corrupts! Someone’s got to have it.

In his defense, had the “demon” of alcoholism not gotten to him, things would be different. I’m proof of that. It’s hard to fight something you can’t see. The point is that drinking, getting drunk, every day, for years, up until the point when he nearly died, afforded him no second thoughts about dreaming. He’s getting there, though. Soon, he’ll play Ludimagik. Soon, he’ll be just aware, as soon you will be, of what he is capable of building, of creating.

Shall we meet Alex? Just be warned: he’s a little—what’s that word we heard the other day?—”extra.” But that’s just me. Here, decide for yourself.

Continue reading here.

See the previous section, the Introduction, here.

Please share and subscribe if you enjoy. Thanks for reading.

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[ecotone99]

[FN] LUDIMΔGIK -- "One: Introductions"

I guess I'm as good a place to start as any. When I say "I" I don't mean the guy who was just speaking to you in the Introduction. I'm Chance, King of Queens. Is my name really Chance? Yes, but I’m not a rapper. Am I really a king? Yes, of the Queens of Kings. I don't want to tell you my real name. Where I’m from, everyone knows me as Chance. And by everyone I mean by you. Not "you," you but yeah, well, you. You from another time and dimension. You in another time and dimension know me—in another time and dimension. BUT before you roll your eyes and return to Facebook or Twitter, or, I don't know, TMZ? (Do people still use Gawker at this point? I'm still getting acclimated.), I know what I said sounds crazy. I know. And, while I do acknowledge that this might put this little story in the "fantasy" genre of your mind, I do encourage you to bear with me, because— because—actually, screw it! Ha! I can see already that most of you barely made it through the last guy's ramblings. Now this?! Well I'll have you know that I did not exactly ask to be in this position either, but here we are, with me in your hands! If you want to close me like a window, then do it! I was already out the door anyhow! But if you close that window, and I close that door, with me on the other side of it, we could be trapped! As I don't think we'll make much use of that hole in the wall, like with Pyramus and Thisbe, one of us would ruin this love affair!

Excuse me. I—I lost myself for a moment there. I think it knew I was talking to you. Whatever “it” is. That seems to be happening, ever since I got here. For one, I don’t mix metaphors. Often. And who the heck is Primus von Frisbee?

I’ll be honest. It’s exhausting. Did it work on you? The reverse psychology? The scare tactic? It got me before. You could stop, you know. You could stop reading. Possibly it’ll be too much. Possibly it’ll be too confusing. I can’t though. I’m stuck here. There’s no turning back. Is the desperation evident? I. am. thirsty. Burning up. You see, I'm really not used to this. Where I'm from, I'm a star. Like, I don't know. I can't say who I'm like because I'm just me. It'd be like if George Clooney suddenly said, "Who am I? I'm like Bradley Cooper." We'd all be like, "Um, what are you talking about, George Clooney? Are you okay? You're both very essential, incredibly sexy, talented m—theatre par excellence—you—" okay maybe this isn't the best example. But you get it. You got it, right? Ugh. It'd be like if Meryl Streep said, "I'm like Leo Messi!" (Though, come to think, she probably could play Leo in a movie on or on the field, the woman can do anything. Good point. Well, a point. Okay, focus! Me, Chance. I'm like...who am I like?) So I guess, in a way, where I’m from I'm like Andy Warhol, but more awkward? Or maybe more like a not-so-genius Leonardo da Vinci? Without the impeccable charisma, smoking body and that whole Renaissance-man quality that he was known for. Wow! Really not selling this well here. I’m like—I’m like an innovative Norman effing Rockwell, okay! Just—kind of commenting on and changing the times through painting, you know? I’m me! Just me. Imagine you, famous, and you’ll more or less get me. Does that make sense? Yes? No? Anyone?

Gah! It's so hard! You see, how can I explain to you that you already like me? Most of you, anyway. How can I explain that others before you, your ancestors, already have? (Some, not so much.) I guess I really can't, can I? I'll just have to show you. I'll just have to tell you about what happened in my dimension. How it's differed from yours.

In my dimension, the tension…the tension is very different. Kind of funny but, in my dimension Twitter banned Donald Trump from using the site during the middle of his presidential campaign (for obvious reasons) and he lost. But not because of being banned from Twitter. He wasn’t even a contender. I’m not going to go into all the details now, but the history of the USA during the last twenty years has been immensely different, because in the year 2000 of my dimension George W. Bush suffered a serious heart attack on Election Day and did not move to halt the recounting of Florida’s votes in the Supreme Court, which ultimately secured Al Gore the electoral college votes needed for victory.

For the past several years we’ve been turning methane released from livestock into renewable energy. Which sounds like some wacky Willy Wonka nonsense, I know, but US scientists collaborated with researchers in Argentina who had already developed a similar technology on a smaller scale, and together they made a device capable of extracting the gas out of the atmosphere. The federal government actually incentivized farmers to use the technology to make money. And there’s a lot of new building going on, even skyscrapers covered in plants. Companies also extracting carbon from the atmosphere. Landfills which double as power plants but are treated so they don’t release toxic chemicals…that triple as city attractions and tourist destinations. All of that is barely happening here, if at all. It’s kind of surreal to witness your world; it’s almost the opposite of mine. Partly due to Gore convincing one conservative billionaire (whom I’ll not name) that the future could and should be green, and that the moment was the optimal time to invest. Of course, it was the story of it that made any difference. The headline was enough to freeze the country’s broken, partisaned ice and allow politicians and private interest to skate to greener pastures, or whatever. I should add, by the way, that I’m not even some big environmentalist nerd. I mean, I care! I’m just telling you how it’s different in my place and time.

Regarding the small stuff, I really don't need to spend paragraphs describing it. Celebrity gossip is all kind of the same, isn’t it? You’re probably more curious as to how I got here, from another dimension. Or why? Lean close to the screen, let me tell you a secret. (I’m not doing that.) The secret is: I have no effin’ idea! Like, did I die? I passed out one night and I woke up in another version of me. How would you feel if you woke up in your body, but it wasn’t yours, and you couldn’t even talk or control it? You just sit there and watch this…buffoon of yourself go about all day mucking just about everything up. Barely getting a word in. I feel like I’m stuck inside a copy of myself here, is what I’m saying, a version of me in serious need of an upgrade. I feel like I’m on layaway. I’m half-convinced I’m dreaming. I’m struggling more than a bit, truth be told. You can probably tell, I don’t have a lot of answers. Really, very few. I’m kind of just rolling with it? Low-key losing my mind a bit but in a really controlled way. Maybe I just have to do something here, then I can go. Complete some task. I don’t know. What I do know is that one tiny BIG difference between your dimension and mine is me. Why does that matter? I think part of what's brought me here is the same thing that brought you to where you are now, that which brings us such joy yet so often gets in our way of passions pursued and unrealized alike. Any guesses as to what it is? I'll give you two hints. It doesn't grow on trees and it makes the world go round.

You guessed it! Love! You can't buy it, ya know. (Oh, and the money was a bit of a problem, too.) You see, in your dimension, a battle never occurred. A king was taken prisoner, in a sense, before it could. The me who used to inhabit this body solely, before I arrived. I guess I should give him a name, shouldn't I? To make this easier. We'll call the pre-Me me "Alex." Yeah. I like that. Alexander! It sounds honorable enough. Alex, he was a good guy. Is, I should say. I mean he's not gone. I’m Alex. I’m Alex from another dimension, one in which he had a lot less problems and did a lot more painting. He’s here. I, Chance, am an altogether different Alex, an Alex he could have been if he had gotten the...well, hopefully you're starting to get it. I don't know what to tell ya. Go back and reread, or I don't know, ask a friend. As for Alex, that cruel, blind love struck him at his core, just once in his life (his faulty tortoise shell never was very thick). Boy, did it mess with his brain. By the time it was finished with him, he was writhing on unable to get on his feet again and finish the race.

Because of love, because of a card in the deck remained blank. A king card was missing, never entered a battle. It was reshuffled, reshuffled, from one relationship to the next, one job to the next, one drink to the next. One joint, one cigarette. Then reshuffled some more. And yea I feel I should make it clear that when I say shuffle I mean drink, drink...drunk. Alex’s dream of being a novelist

Unfortunately, for Alex—let's see. How can I phrase this with self-compassion? We're a mixed bag. The roller-coaster ride was fun before it coasted right off the tracks. Or maybe it was that at a certain point Alex "forgot" to pull the safety bar down tight enough. And maybe the ride safety inspector was careless, carefully so. In the realm of looks, let's just say we’re kind of handsome and kind of ugly. In the realm of personality, a real fly guy and hella awkward. Brains? Smart enough to be writing this and dumb enough to be writing this. (And don't forget the dose of crazy!) What else? Virtue? Check +! In the realm of physical prowess? We’re the crouching tiger and the hidden dragon, caged at the zoo. We’re part beauty, part beast. Finally found, but so lost here. Y'all, there's giant wave about to lurch out of this great big length of ocean, and we’re just as liable to get carried away with it as you are. How do you see us, though? That strange, magical interplay between your mind, body and soul: how does it reflect us back to you?

Maybe if I let Alex explain it will help. OH. But first there's an important detail I'm leaving out. These "dream battles"—Rounds—in our story affect the real world in real ways, all too real. You know how you go to sleep and dream about the events and people of the past? Maybe about your problems, worries, sexual repressions...the subconscious is a jungle and the machete that is your conscious allows very limited access to it, for most of us. It's different with the Players in our story. Whereas most of us dream with little control over our actions in them, the outcome of their dreams, which they navigate with lucidity, can affect our culture, our politics, our every day to day. Success for these stars in the Ludimagik realm translates to success in the real world.

But Alex? Poor Alex. He never stood a chance. It’s almost as if the Universe said, what an infant, he’ll never grow up, and so it set about making him cry. Of course, he didn’t exactly make anything easier on himself, either. Let me ask you: How often do you remember your dreams if you get hammered, if that's an occurrence for you at all? Much less know that you're dreaming and control the dream? How much do you think your brain is developing, as it does throughout our twenties, when it's constantly being drenched in booze and beer? We're here to tell you: not as much as if you're living right, not by a long shot. For the longest time he had no clue that he could dream with any lucidity. And he’s still doesn’t have the full picture.

See, without saying too much yet, what I can tell you is that a good deal of people know a lot more about Alex than he does. They have been trying to orchestrate his fate, manipulating him into playing their games. Exploit what he doesn’t know. Or maybe they think he’s a bad guy. I don’t know. It’s pretty messed up when you think about all he’s been through. But hey—power corrupts! Someone’s got to have it.

In his defense, had the “demon” of alcoholism not gotten to him, things would be different. I’m proof of that. It’s hard to fight something you can’t see. The point is that drinking, getting drunk, every day, for years, up until the point when he nearly died, afforded him no second thoughts about dreaming. He’s getting there, though. Soon, he’ll play Ludimagik. Soon, he’ll be just aware, as soon you will be, of what he is capable of building, of creating.

Shall we meet Alex? Just be warned: he’s a little—what’s that word we heard the other day?—”extra.” But that’s just me. Here, decide for yourself.

Continue reading here.

See the previous section, the Introduction, here.

submitted by /u/nick_boatwright [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2R9B89z