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flatland-a-2024-translation · 5 months ago

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Section 08. Of the Ancient Practice of Painting

[Table of Contents]

If my Readers have been paying attention to this story so far, you may have realized that life in Flatland can be a little boring.

Obviously, I’m not saying there aren’t the wars, scandals, uphevals and drama that are supposed to make History interesting, or that we don’t enjoy our lives, as strange as they may seem to you in Spaceland. There is something indescribably invigorating about the need for constant calculating of angles, and the usually-instant gratification of knowing you’ve done so correctly.

I mean from the aesthetic, Artistic point of view, that Flatland is, very literally, dull.

It would be difficult for it not to be, when all our lives, ideas, hopes, dreams, even our artistic masterpeices of all kinds, are nothing but a straight line, with no variation at all except for small differences of brightness and shadow.

It wasn’t always like this.

If our Tradition can be trusted, then we know that long ago, Color allowed our ancestors to live in a splendor we can barely imagine.

Long ago, in the remotest ages of history, it is said that a Pentagon whose name we do not know for sure accidentally invented some simple colors, and a method of painting.

It is said that he immediately began decorating his house. Then he painted his slaves, then his Father, his Sons, his Grandsons, and, finally, himself.

The beauty and convenience of the results were admired by everyone.

This Pentagon’s most commonly accepted name among historians is ‘Chromatistes’, and wherever he went, turning his colorful frame, he was the center of attention and respect.

No one needed to take the time to “feel” him anymore, and no one confused his front from his back. Every move he made was easily read by those nearby without any effort on their part or the need for calculation. No one bumped into him, or failed to move out of his way. He did not have to waste his breath exclaiming his rank, as we colorless Squares and Pentagons have to today, to get a crowd of ignorant Isosceles to show us all due respect.

The fashion spread like wildfire.

Before the week was over, every Square and Triangle in the district had copied his example, and only a few of the more conservative Pentagons refused to join in.

After the first month or two, even the twelve-sided Dodecagons had fallen into the trend.

In less than a single year, the habit had spread to all classes in the district except the highest of the Nobility.

Needless to say, it didn’t take long for this trend to make its way out of Chromatistes’ neighborhood and into surrounding regions.

Within two generations, there was no one left colorless except the Women and the Priests.

With these two classes, Nature herself seemed to plant herself as a barrier to stop this infection from spreading further.

For the Innovators, as they were called, having multiple sides was almost a requirement for having color. They would say, “Distinction of sides is intended by Nature to imply distinction of colors”.

These words were popular, flying from neighbor to neighbor, and helped to convert whole towns at a time to the new cultural wave.

But it seemed that this idea could not be applied to Priests and Women. Women, being Straight Lines, have only one side, and thus, in all ways that matter, have No Sides. Women hated to admit this, and were ashamed of it.

On the other hand, Priests, if we are to accept that they are true Circles, and not just very high-ranking Polygons with many small sides, loved to brag and boast that they also had no sides, and were instead being blessed with a perimeter of a single line, or, in other words, a Circumference.

I hope you can see now why these two Classes could not be convinced by the so-called universal truth of “Distinction of Sides implying Distinction of Color”, when it could not, apparently, be applied to them.

Even after everyone else succumbed to the temptation of self-decoration, the Priests and Women alone were still pure and unpolluted by the touch of paint.

Immoral, vulgar, anarchical, unscientific, there are many names used to describe the ancient days of the Color Revolt, but, from an aesthetic point of view, those days were the glorious birth of Art in Flatland. A childhood that, unfortunately, was cut short before it could mature to adulthood, or even enjoy its youth.

To live them was to live in a world of endless delight, because living meant seeing, and even the smallest group of friends was a delight to the eyes, and the richly varied colors in a church or theater are said to have, many times, been so distractingly beautiful that the actors and preachers forgot they had a job to do.

But the most beautiful sight was said to have been the unspeakable magnificence of a military performance.

Imagine it: To see twenty thousand black-painted Isosceles bases suddenly spin to reveal the orange and purple of their two sides at their acute point. The Equilateral Triangles tri-colored in red, white, and blue. The Square artillarymen rapidly rotating to show mauve, ultra-marine, gamboge, and burnt umber, with their vermillion guns.

[Image description start: Three shapes on a grey background, each with their sides in different colors, with rows of matching color boxes below them. The first is an isosceles triangle, with sides of orange and purple, and a base of black. The second is an equilateral triangle, with sides of red, white, and blue. The third is a square, with sides of purple, ultramarine blue, amber, and burnt red. Next to the square is a smaller bar of red-orange. Image description end.]

The dashing and flashing of the five-colored Pentagons and six-colored Hexagons racing across the fields with their doctors, geometricians, and chiefs of staff.

With this fabulous display of color at military parades, its easy to believe the famous story of a powerful Circle king, who found the sight of his army so beautiful that he immediately threw away his royal crown and ceremonial baton, and declared that from that day forward, he was never going to pick up another tool besides the artist’s paintbrush.

The vocabulary alone that they used to express themselves shows how amazingly colorful the times they lived in were. Even the most mundane statements made by the poorest citizens during the Color Revolt seem to be infused with a richness and creativity that is lacking today.

All of our finest poetry, and even the little bit of rhythm and rhyme that can still be found in our scientific statements of today, we owe to the amazing era of the Color Revolt.

[Table of Contents]

#section 08 #long post

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rjalker · 6 months ago

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???????

what do you mean that took an entire half an hour narrator?????

Only a few sands now remained in the half-hour glass. Rousing myself from my reverie I turned the glass Northward for the last time in the old Millennium; and in the act, I exclaimed aloud, “The boy is a fool.”

He just flipped it, and reset the half hour timer!

Straightway I became conscious of a Presence in the room, and a chilling breath thrilled through my very being. “He is no such thing,” cried my Wife, “and you are breaking the Commandments in thus dishonouring your own Grandson.” But I took no notice of her. Looking around in every direction I could see nothing; yet still I felt a Presence, and shivered as the cold whisper came again. I started up. “What is the matter?” said my Wife, “there is no draught; what are you looking for? There is nothing.” There was nothing; and I resumed my seat, again exclaiming, “The boy is a fool, I say; 33 can have no meaning in Geometry.” At once there came a distinctly audible reply, “The boy is not a fool; and 33 has an obvious Geometrical meaning.”

My Wife as well as myself heard the words, although she did not understand their meaning, and both of us sprang forward in the direction of the sound. What was our horror when we saw before us a Figure! At the first glance it appeared to be a Woman, seen sideways; but a moment’s observation shewed me that the extremities passed into dimness too rapidly to represent one of the Female Sex; and I should have thought it a Circle, only that it seemed to change its size in a manner impossible for a Circle or for any regular Figure of which I had had experience.

But my Wife had not my experience, nor the coolness necessary to note these characteristics. With the usual hastiness and unreasoning jealousy of her Sex, she flew at once to the conclusion that a Woman had entered the house through some small aperture. “How comes this person here?” she exclaimed, “you promised me, my dear, that there should be no ventilators in our new house.” “Nor are they any,” said I; “but what makes you think that the stranger is a Woman? I see by my power of Sight Recognition—”

“Oh, I have no patience with your Sight Recognition,” replied she, “‘Feeling is believing’ and ‘A Straight Line to the touch is worth a Circle to the sight’”—two Proverbs, very common with the Frailer Sex in Flatland.

“Well,” said I, for I was afraid of irritating her, “if it must be so, demand an introduction.” Assuming her most gracious manner, my Wife advanced towards the Stranger, “Permit me, Madam to feel and be felt by—” then, suddenly recoiling, “Oh! it is not a Woman, and there are no angles either, not a trace of one. Can it be that I have so misbehaved to a perfect Circle?”

“I am indeed, in a certain sense a Circle,” replied the Voice, “and a more perfect Circle than any in Flatland; but to speak more accurately, I am many Circles in one.” Then he added more mildly, “I have a message, dear Madam, to your husband, which I must not deliver in your presence; and, if you would suffer us to retire for a few minutes—” But my wife would not listen to the proposal that our august Visitor should so incommode himself, and assuring the Circle that the hour of her own retirement had long passed, with many reiterated apologies for her recent indiscretion, she at last retreated to her apartment.

I glanced at the half-hour glass. The last sands had fallen. The third Millennium had begun.

Now the entire half hour timer is up???????????????? this took half an hour?????????????? what?!!?!?!?!?!??!?!?

#Rjalker writes Flatland a 2023 Translation #Rjalker reads Flatland a Romance of Many Dimensions #Flatland #Flatlandaromanceofmanydimensions

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amnesia-ice-blog1 · 6 years ago

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A Scent of Dread [Chapter 3: BODY DISCOVERY]

The Therapy Centre was a welcome change of pace for many of the children here. Given the things they’d seen and suffered through, perhaps that wasn’t too surprising. For Lotus, she had much on her mind. She had a wounded body and a troubled mind... very little gave her confidence or hope in these times. She heard sounds in the wind every now and again as she walked by herself... but it wasn’t worth paying attention to. At least, she didn’t think so.

She continued traveling. She didn’t want to stay any place for too long. Her tired feet took her to the Frosted Dunes and her eyes fell upon the facility, where many of her injuries came from. Bad memories. She turned away, readying herself to go back. Maybe eat something.

But... something was off.

Or rather, something caught her eye. The slightly ajar door of the Moonlight Bar nearby. Was there something irritating about it rattling in the cold wind? Or did she just have a bad feeling? Maybe one. Maybe both.

She approached, with caution, her body tense.

The sounds of the howling winds stopped as she entered. It seemed the building shut out all sound. A vague jazzy tune plays, presumably from a jukebox. It felt... deceptively normal. Mirrors and mirrors reflect different angles of the bar... and... something glistens on the floor.

And there’s that smell in the air, too.

There’s blood in the air. Blood in this bar.

Lotus circles the place, and begins to notice mirrors have fallen, and that many more shards of glass coat the shiny floor. And eventually she spots one particular mirror that confirms her worst suspicion...

Beneath one particular fallen mirror is... most definitely, a corpse.

No words exit Lotus’s mouth as she backs away. The others... they need to know about this immediately. She dashes for the door and as soon as she exits, she can see plumes of smoke from the Winter Flatlands. She doesn’t have the time to worry about that far-off smoke right now. She had to hurry back. She had to find someone... fast.

As she does so, another explosion sounds, somewhere far, far away and something horrible crashes to the ground. She barely checks behind her before continuing her search for life. What on earth is going on?

As she gets to the Traveler’s District, she notices a huge pile-up of snow blocking the Hiking Trail, making it impossible to go up and several other clumps blocking other routes. The cable car still seems to work, but, it’s definitely a slow option. The only option for now, it seems, however. She comes across a confused Yukari and Makoto who were together in the Crystal Cafe. She urges them to the bar and a signal for body discovery rings out across the snowscape...

Tatsuya, Lotus and Yukari lift the mirror up to reveal...

The bloodied body of someone they hadn’t seen in a while. Ayaka Tamura was dead.

And... yet... there was no autopsy report. And no LISE.

#aice body discovery #aice chapter 3

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blueanddeepblue · 7 years ago

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10/30

In my dream, a giant grizzly has pressed his head into our tent and down onto my chest. His breath is deep and ragged and smells wild, except it's a dream, so there is no smell. Alexis knows something is wrong and calls my name from the sleeping bag next to me. I freeze and hold my breath, a few millimeters of flimsy tent fabric between me and the grizzly's muzzle, pressure building, hoping that my heart doesn't betray me. My heart pounds three times, and then I wake up. ----- Something about the American west denotes bigness and wildness. Weather changes in a breath. Plains stretch out endlessly, only to be hemmed in by bluish peaks even further out. In Wyoming we drive through arid desert arroyos, greenish-yellow hues rippling across the dull, brown gullies, only to climb quickly into mountains surrounded by pines and snow, the sky gone grey and the clouds obscuring the highway's next curve. Later in the same drive, we descend again to the plains, pronghorn stretched out in the grasses basking in sunshine. Fall here means rivulets of gold and red, oaks and maples that indicate hidden streams and trout-riddled rivers cutting through swatches of brown and yellow grasses. The drives are longer now. And the land itself implies reflection. The sky is big too, as they say, and the sunsets seem eternal in our westward push. Rock outcroppings jut out along ridges and at the edges of buttes, and the striated layers mark the passing of eons. The rock was here before man existed and will be long after man has gone. So too, the color of the world. In the Black Hills, Alexis and I look for mountain goats among the boulders. We climb to the highest point in South Dakota, a CCC built fire lookout called Harney Peak. A dam and small retention pond have been built nearby, which helped keep the lookout alive back when the tower was used for such purposes. The structure itself is made of rock and continues up along a sheer cliff face on one side. We push open the wooden door, and inside the wind is held at bay, exposing us to a quiet we didn't know was absent. A heavy steel ladder leads us to a narrow walkway surrounded by 360 degree views that stretch into Montana, Wyoming and Nebraska. The windows at the top are made of plastic, not glass, presumably because stronger winds will inevitably break these windows, and plastic is an easier replacement. Our teeth, our bones, behind the pits of our stomachs fire warning spasms, twinges of fear, the evolutionary hardwiring put in place to keep us from pushing our limits in high places, little bursts of adrenaline every time the wind rattles the tower's windows. I imagine the tower breaking away from the cliff face; I imagine us hurtling through nothing all the way to the flatlands east of the Black Hills. Or I imagine getting stuck in a tree halfway down. I'm not sure which is worse. But the tower holds. It is well built. Harney Peak Lookout tower is comprised of 7,000 surface stones; 15,000 hollow tiles; 200 tons of sand; 32,800 pounds of cement; 500 bricks; 500 pieces of reinforced steel, angle iron and other metal accouterment; 300 iron poles, averaging 25 feet in length; 20 kegs of nails; 1,000 feet of steel cable; 1,300 pounds of steel wire; and 800 feet of railroad track. I imagine the CCC boys from Dolan Camp, young and hopeful, working to overcome the Great Depression, climbing these steep slopes and blasting away rock here, boring into rock there - carving out a safe haven for someone they'd never know. I Imagine them being good Americans - sending part of their paycheck back home at the bequest of their country, for the good of their families. I imagine them being good Protestants and good Lutherans, quoting Psalms to one another before setting out for the day's work: Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea. I'm encouraged by their industriousness. I've hiked here and I look out as a conquerer, part of the same spirit, the same resoluteness that left such an indelible mark on the landscape. I munch on my Cliff Bar, victorious. But I'm not Protestant or Lutheran. Or anything for that matter. But maybe the Quran has it right: And they hewed their dwellings out of the mountains, feeling secure. But the shout seized them in the morning. And that which they had earned did not help them. ----- We drive up into Yellowstone through the snow. Once inside the park we see bison, bear, fox, and elk. The sunset lands on the tops of the mountains and they glow like embers from a neon fire. The sky dances purple and orange and the heavy grey of precipitation. The lake ripples a deep blue out where the wind blows the water into waves, and thin sheets of milky ice float in the shallow bays. We follow the road along the shoreline in awe. Gas and steam hiss from a crack in the earth. The lake and sky are a theatre of color and light; we are specks floating inside a terrarium of mountain and pine and snow and ice and water and cloud and light; we are the settling dust at the beginning of creation; we are fixtures in a miniature, insignificant pieces in a snow-globe shaken by some unseen hand. The earth is bigger and more defiant than we could ever know. Mystery issues forth from every crevice, peers out from behind the corners, stabs out in rays of light between the clouds. Alexis's little car behaves nobly on the snow and ice, guiding us to one of the three open campgrounds at Yellowstone. We find a spot and set up camp in the snow. We build a fire and warm ourselves. Our tent behaves nobly. And our sleeping bags too. We linger as long as we can, cocooned in warmth, before hunger spurs action. We make coffee and eggs, stamping our feet in the cold and trying to blow life into our hands. I've been to Yellowstone before a few times, but never in the cold. The earth is on fire. It smokes and churns and steams. We start at the geyser basin that includes Old Faithful. Alexis bubbles with the same excitement and wonder that she brings to all experiences, her eyes big and blue and beautiful, open and seeking; however, this is her first time to the park, so there is an added electricity, an additional burst of wonder that only a place as bizarre and other-worldly as Yellowstone can summon. There is no place quite like it. I understand, at least theoretically, how volcanic pressures create fissures in the earth, cracks that spew geysers, boiling pots of mud, or dark cavernous holes that spout steam, but to stand in front of Artist Paint Pots or to look down on Grand Prismatic Pool or to hear the roar from Black Dragon's Caldron…these things defy explanation. Experience is different than understanding. ----- We are funny creatures, us humans. We build a park and throw up signs that acknowledge change as the only constant; we erect placards to the previous times when the earth moved, when the geyser blew up unexpectedly, when the hillside gave way to pressure; we pay lip-service to the fact that someday the geyser will blow again, but we build lodges and visitor centers on the living earth and lay out boardwalks over the surface like we were meant to walk there. It's probably this same boldness that enables tourists to get out of their car and point their camera in the face of a bison. It's probably the same look of entitlement that washes over the face of a politician who's about to accept a bribe, that peculiar human trait that makes people think they're an exception to the rule, that helps them believe that they'll beat the odds. But so too, the mountains shall crumble into the sea. ----- I remember, as a kid, taking out the trash after dark had fallen. The dumpster was on the north side of our property, down a stone staircase and up a dirt driveway, maybe 100 hundred yards from the house. I had done this chore before, but something about the dark and having to turn my back on the accumulated clutter beneath the house made me wary. I ran the rest of the way, somehow both highly aware of everything around me while also afraid to look too closely into the darkness. We grow into fear. We wake one day to encounter it, to entertain the idea that the shadows hold something sinister. But in waking, we also encounter a world of mystery. We open our eyes to wonder. If we're careful, if we choose to move consciously, if we choose to look closely at the world around us. ----- In Yellowstone, Alexis and I abandon our plans to backpack. In some ways, this decision is weather related, although it warms up and the snow melts as the week wears on. In other ways, we don't quite feel comfortable in our preparation: our two-season tent, non-waterproof boots, our inexperience in grizzly country. Maybe fatigue is part of it as well. I've been camping and crashing at friend's for over two months now. Alexis and I have been on this journey longer than any of the tours that I went on during my stint as a professional musician, which is no easy feat. I continue to be amazed by the simple nature of our journey, where hardships, indecision, or disparate moods reveal themselves momentarily, only to become insignificant passages that we walk through together. This is a gift. In Montana we camp along Rock Creek. Most of the national forest campgrounds have closed for the season, but there are a few individual, roadside primitive spots left open and we set up for a few nights. Fly fishermen in waders occupy the creek's picturesque bends hoping to catch trout. Our site is nestled in close to the bank, and the constant gurgle of water over rocks both comforts and obscures. We build a fire and drink hot toddies and try to learn songs late into the night, or at least what passes as late when you've become accustomed to letting the sun set your schedule. In the morning, we wake cold and hike across Welcome Creek among the pines and over rock scree and in the quiet radiance that is summer's dying splendor - the grasses gone dry and the long-dead blooms of plants whose names I haven't learned, plants that twist and curl and delicately surrender to the changing of the season. We walk and talk loudly. We stay vigilant for bears. In the afternoon we play cards and warm ourselves in the sun. I set up the hammock and read. A bald eagle makes a pass along the creek. We gather firewood and organize it for the evening. These are moments of respite, easygoing and slow. At night, the sky stays clear, the Milky Way overhead, and at times I lean back from our conversation, from the beautifully whirling way that Alexis speaks, from the fire and the whiskey and the warmth, and I lean my head back and look straight up to see stars and galaxy and darkness in unison, and I think, "How lucky am I?". ----- What is this thread between fear and wonder? Where does it lead? Does fear exist without mystery? Does wonder? What does it feel like to be seized by a shout? So much of our lives are spent in routine, in the rituals that safeguard us from fear: the trips to the coffee shop, the radio DJ on the way home from work, the gym, the peck on the lips as you head out the door. But often we feel most alive when the ritual is interrupted: when the car careens from its lane and time slows to a crawl, when the morning kiss becomes a whirlwind. However, neither ritual, nor routine are the enemies of wakefulness, of living. Instead, I'm convinced that both the roadblock and the way forward exist within. Like a child, we must open our eyes and look in earnest. Can we observe without fear? Can we wonder in joy? Can we engage with the world around us with rapture and glee? Or maybe the child is a poor metaphor here, especially since a child looks to its elders as guideposts and soaks up their insecurities, their idiosyncrasies, their fears. Especially since a child can't articulate or share in the full experience of the world, but only observe, only look forward to joining the ranks of adulthood. Maybe we have to grow beyond innocence and become students of the world, looking and learning, testing out new ideas and asking questions that matter. Or maybe that's not right either. Don't we know that the accumulation of knowledge is also the accumulation of fear? The gathering of an ideology or worldview that, if broken and damaged, would also shake us to our core. Don't we know, that sometimes as students we purport to know the answers already? That we ask questions to make ourselves look good in the eyes of teachers? Colleagues? Don't we fear asking the wrong questions? Maybe all the metaphors are poor. From the self-same well spring fear and wonder, and we are merely passing through. Look. For in looking we see the world. Seek and ye shall find. But we won't find answers, or at least, we'll be sorely disappointed if answers are what we seek. Instead, look at the light on the hills. Look at the color in the cornfield. Listen for the woosh of eagle's wings. Smell the dank richness of rotting wood. Feel the strong embrace of a friend or shiver in the cold that lingers just beyond the fire. See how the rock stands poised on the cliff, defiant towards time and the law of gravity. Listen for the chickadee among the pines and hear how big the chipmunk sounds in the underbrush. And if the chipmunk emerges from the underbrush as a bear, snarling and charging, teeth ragged and neck bristled, then try to meet the bear's eyes with your own and see what rages in its depths. Brace yourself and look straight at it. Look to see if the mountains are indeed crumbling to the sea. Look at how lucky you are to be this close. Try to feel the earth, alive and hissing, beneath you. Try to smell the wildness on its breath. The blood in its fur. Then, goddammit, use your bear spray. ----- Thank you internet…Wikipededia for the metrics on Harney Peak Lookout tower Psalm 46:2 Surah Al-hijr 82-84

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johnnypovolny · 5 years ago

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Huayhuash

Cast of characters:

Marcelo and Rafael, uncle and nephew from Brasil

Amin: from Qatar, wants to go back to Namibia

Yuri: Mexican woman whose eye swelled up like crazy

Benito: Spaniard with the most Spanish accent ever

Rebecca: Aussie who knows Haley from antartica

Linda: doctor from Canada

Ohn: Israeli military guy with mohawk and drone (I want to visit him, he's cool as hell)

Michael and Amelie: French couple who live in Geneva. They were so laid back and chill that I'm making a rule: no more talking shit about the French

Estrella: badass guide. Always addressed us with "ok, chicos" and had a fun sense of humor

Kelly: other guide, much quieter but still nice

Enoc: chef. Skinny with a big-toothed smile, seems to own every business in Huayllalpa

Elmer and Russell: donkey drivers. Friendly, salt of the earth guys with badass wide brim hats and the ability to run seemingly forever in the high altitude

Day 1:

Met at the office in Huaraz. Long drive up to our start point, through a couple villages where we had to pay an entrance fee and get let through some gates. Spent most of the drive talking to Amin about Namibia. When we got closer to the start, saw HUGE grey granite slabs poking out of the hillsides with steep and slanted but sheer/flat faces. Our campsite was in this green gold valley with one sharp snowcap rising up above the hill next to us (before dinner we climbed up there to see the view on the other side of the full mountain)

-leaving dinner we got staggering views of the milky way in a totally clear sky. Not sure if it was the clear air of the altitude or what but the twinkling of the stars was the strongest I've ever seen it.

Day 2:

-Immediate climb up and to the right out of the valley (about 600 meters climbing to Qaqanan). Could see the whole green valley stretching out away from us as we climbed.

-view from top (4800m): brownish red river cutting into green/gold valley. Descended and then took break, watched the donkeys gallop by with the handlers running after. RUNNING.

-walked along the valley for a while- river wandering along next to and below us with patches of grass next to it glistening in the sunshine.

-came to a turn where there was a road cutting left and our trail cut right to a check point. (Waited for Amin because he dropped his cell). View of huge snowcaps!

-after the gate, the other group who had gone through the checkpoint turned off right and went into the valley to Mitucocha Camp in a big open field below the mountain, while we continued to the left, over a little river bridge and up a steep climb to meet Enoc and the horse and have lunch on a beautiful hillside looking back over the camp and the valley.

-after lunch, continued up the valley, sloping gently up to the second pass of the day- Punta Carhuac, where we got the first view of the three mountains together that dominated the landscape for the rest of our walk.

-down into a brilliantly green valley to the left of a hillside. As we walked the three mountains got bigger and bigger: Yerupajá, the 2nd tallest mtn in Peru in the center with vertical chimneys in the ice of it's sheer center face at the top, to it's right a really triangular one with lots of colors including deep maroon and cream (Rasac), and to the left a more rounded peak with brown and white layered horizontal stripes (Siula). I was laughing with delight like a crazy person and playing aesgir songs to accompany the descent. Ended up in a more tan/green valley that was right below the three mtns with this really mystical feel.

-continued descending along the left side of a hill (I ran for a while because it felt really good) and was first one to come up a small ridge and get a view of our first lake, Laguna Carhuacocha. It's a long strip of brilliantly royal blue that ends in a golden field cut by dark snakes of riverbed and then the 3 mountains (from a slightly different angle) TOWERING up over it. I watched two white birds soar from above us, down to the lake with their shadows on the surface and then land on the bank.

-We hung out on the ridge taking photos and drone videos and then went to our campsite, at the far end of the lake.

-Went to sit at this stone house at the end of the lake and look at the mountains. Same as in the campsite and on the ridge beforehand, the mountains are SO insanely huge it's difficult to comprehend them. People on the ridge above me looked laughable in comparison. And they're so steep- they soar straight up from the meadow, gold and slate grey down below, white above, and dappled in sunlight and cloud. Just insane.

Day 3:

-super sunny morning on the bank of the lake, but quickly turned to cloud

-walked around the far end of the lake then back towards the mountains, then cut left through a scrubby valley to a dark lake.

-hiked up the first mirador to see two of the three famous lakes. The middle (name?)is darker blueish green but the one on the right (name?) is a brilliant, stunning turquoise (a more concentrated version of the bright blue of a swimming pool in direct sunlight) with a ring of ice on the left side, below a sheer face of ice fields/galciers with falling mixed ice and water coming down in rivulets into the lake

-climbed up to the left of the lakes until we got to the famous Siula mirador: you can see a chain of 3 lakes: farthest are the two i just described and then closest to the mirador is another of the same amazing bright color, but reflecting the mountain and the sky so it had a sharp white glare on it like sunglasses. Behind the lakes closer are slate grey icecaps and in the distance (off to the right) are sharp mountains whose knife-like ridges divide a brown side from a mossy-green gold side

-i was a little disappointed to not have a totally clear day to see the lake colors, but the sun did peek through for a few minutes and make the turquoise lakes glow like jewels. And no matter what the weather, it's crazy to be among mountains this dramatically huge, lakes these insane colors, and tramping through high meadows like we're in the sound of music- they're sights that few people have the privilege to enjoy

-put the lakes to our back and went up another two hours to Siula pass (4850 m). View from there down to a big brown hill kind of triangular shaped like rainbow mountain and a small dark colored lake.

-descended to a flatland and then again down a series of sort of bog mounds (terraced green mossy mounds with mud between). On the right side were icy mountains with glaciers and on the left was a set of 3 or 4 slate grey peaks that were all connected and had sheer, flat faces.

-ended the day with a descent into a valley with those grey mtns to the left side, Huayhuash mountain to the right, and some brown craggy peaks in the center, the 3 mountain sets sheltering a wide field of greenish tan filled with sheep circles, stone walls, and dotted by the bright colors of our tents.

-played soccer with the donkey guys- so hard at altitude

Day 4:

-Climbed to Trapesio pass, kind of unremarkable climb because mostly clouded/fogged in. Actually got snowed and hailed on at the top. But 5010m elevation so new highest

-we crossed and the fog started to lift to show lakes on the other side! A string of like 5 small ones (including two that were like bright metallic glacial blue) and then a larger, dark blue one with a giant butte behind it, covered partly by a dramatic ceiling of fog

-stopped for lunch on the way down- donkey had fallen and gotten injured and was left to die. Made me really sad that it's whole life was to serve people and then when it got hurt they didn't do it even the service of putting it down. I wanted to help but had no

-descended to the lakes: super incredible up close because the dark blue lake is surrounded by rows of buttes of columnar brownish orange rock that look like they're made of carved wood, some of them with curved deformities that look exactly like termites have been eating away at them. The contrast of the orange/brown with the color of the water was amazing.

-at the end of the lake is an especially huge one of these that's so tall and cylindrical it looks like a cathedral or a keep (kind if the twin of the one in Torres del Paine), so I nicknamed it The Citadel.

-beyond that was a row if more normal shaped mountains colored in brown, tan, and this odd sort of shiny steel that looked like silver in the sunlight. The whole color palette has changed: before it was greens and gold's and now it's oranges and browns.

-i descended through fields of orange and grey rock, having a ton of fun with my imagination: making up a story in my head involving the citadel and a sort of scout/lookout on another planet

-came to final viewpoint over our camp: this huge green and gold valley that looked surreal in the misty partial rain and fog, with at the far end these protruding rock formations that look like an elephant and a serpent. Looked exactly like a scene out of Lord of the rings, I half expected horses to come galloping out of the gap between the figures. It felt extra cinematic because I was looking out at it from under my hood and through my bangs which was sort of framing the whole scene in a cool first person perspective.

-It started raining harder as I went down and I took my hood off to feel it in my hair. Got to camp as it turned to hail, which fell strongly for like 10 minutes, filling the camp with hail bits, and then abruptly stopped, leaving the camp bathed in sunshine

Day 5:

Perfectly sunny warm day, FINALLY! Left the campsite with the elephant and serpent and climbed sharply out of the valley over ground covered in snow/hail combo. Leapfrogged with a group from Colorado for a while. Passed on the left next to a brown mountain and then approached Santa Rosa Pass on the right side of another snowcap. Steep snowy climb up to the top of the pass, revealed amazing view: huge snowcapped mountains towering over a dark blue lake and with a smaller one above and to the left. Pass is at 5238m, the highest I've climbed as far as I know. Stood at the top shouting to hear the echo and feeling so accomplished, drinking in the view. Descended (listening to "Tierra del Olvidos" and chatting with estrella and a cook from the Colorado group named Cristian) to a ridge next to the lake and we could see another one to the right, more mint colored. Took a really cool widening frame video of Ohn (Israeli guy I really liked).

-Went to the left down the valley- first carpeted with green and big stones like a high meadow in the Alps, then a sort of high walled arid canyon like Arizona- I walked ahead and enjoyed some solitude for a while. Waited for the rest of the group at a gate- path now runs next to a river. Passed through and suddenly the valley narrowed like we were going to get ambushed from above and we came to a large waterfall and a section where the river was running in weird rivulets directly through the grass. The valley got more and more lush, with large skinny trees standing out above it and the river running quickly through it: started to look like the shire or rivendell, this insanely lush green paradise. Further down the valley the town of Huayllalpa was huddled in this tiny ledge in the shadow of the towering mountain. Tiny boy blaring music passed us sprinting down the hill and we descended into the village: ate dinner literally in the bodega where we'd just bought snacks (and ate them right there and some people bought eggs and then asked the bodega owner to boil them- she probably thought we were totally crazy).

Day 6:

Climbed back up the steep stairs that lead into Huayllalpa and then turned up the valley. Hot climb in the sun up the valley, watching Amin struggle to get his horse to keep walking. Crossed over the river and came into a high mountain meadow and then up to Tapush Pass (kind of stoney last ascent)- Amin and his horse and I arrived first: view on the other side was our first look at the black mountains, serving as a backdrop to a lake in a green meadow, divided into two sections by a much shallower pinched section in the middle. Camped down below the lake in a big compound surrounded by stone walls called Quashpapampa. Washed my socks and then lazed in the sun. I got up to pee in the middle of the night after moonset- refreshingly cold on my bare torso and amazing stars in the clear dark sky.

Day 7: Our last real climb: Michael, Ohn and I warmed our feet in the sun and then left the circle of rocks. Up through a valley and then steep climb up a set of switchbacks through big rocks and then grey gravel (sometimes iced over like a frozen river) to Yaucha Pass. At the top (Ohn and I got there first), sat on a big rock and looked at the mountains across from the pass- they seemed really blue because the sun hadn't gotten high enough to shine on their faces yet. And the foothills off to the side somehow seemed to be backlit even though the sun was almost overhead- dark blue with a sort of lighter halo that made them seem like the fake mountains that run along the edges of a planetarium sky. When the rest of the group got there, we cut laterally to 2 miradors. First one showed us the the full view of the mountains: turns out this was the backside of the 3 big mountains I described on day 2 (there were actually 4- get names again from map). Incredible views of these mountains- they just tower over everything with these impossibly steep upper summits of ice and foothills of red and tan dirt in some places and in others then amazing gold-green that's all over in Huayhuash. And all around we could see brown mountains and lush valleys and other cordilleras in the distance. Second mirador was further along and revealed a pair of lakes nestled in the valley below the leftmost mountain: one darker blue with a green sheen close to the edges (turned out to be some sort of huge green pond plant like kelp) and another higher up that was that impossible glacial blue like a piece of polished jade. CRAZY steep descent- stopped on this huge rock that just drops off like a cliff where we were literally looking down on gliding birds, and then sort of half-walked half-skiied down the valley next to it in a series of switchbacks. The little jewels of our tents in the camp were TINY and seemed to not get any bigger for a really long time during the dusty descent of switchbacks. Eventually got down to the valley- seemed like paradise: this green lush slice through brown hills with a lazy river running through it, which comes from a waterfall that spills down the hillside and under a little suspension bridge over rapids and a deep pool. And at the top of the valley is the totally imposing, serene presence of the mountain. Ohn, Michael, and I arrived first and were commenting on how the camp seemed like somewhere fake that got created just for a brochure, but it's real! Russel greeted us by sharing his beer ("para tu sed") and then we took a (very brief) jump into the little pool below the bridge. I read in the sun lying in the pile of sleeping bags and luggage, and then pulled a blanket over me to protect myself from sunburn and sort of half-napped like a cat in a sunbeam, enjoying the view and sound of the waterfall and the sense of absolutely 0 responsibility. Might be the most idyllic campsite I've ever been to!

When sunset came, the mountains turned really orange and then this amazing pale white backed by a sky that was this incredible lavender color I've never seen in a sunset and was an amazing contrast/backdrop for the snowy mountains. To the opposite side of camp the dark hills were backed by the purply halo glow of the setting sun. We watched the stars slowly come out one by one, then played cards and had dinner. After dinner the sky was dark but we could still see the white silhouette of the mountains in the light of the half moon.

Day 8: went down the valley following the river on a sort of twisty path on the scrubby hillside. Nothing special in terms of the walk but because we weren't huffing and puffing from a hard climb, had more of a chance to talk- chatted a lot with Rebecca, Linda, and Ohn about the future of medicine (the girls are both in the field), relationships and physical types, etc. It was a nice discussion, really interesting. Dropped down another steep set of switchbacks to reach our final destination, the village of Llamac (small, clean, and cute but at first really deserted in a way that felt really twilight zone-esque. Especially the old woman with cloudy blind eyes who just didn't respond to anything i said to her..). Bought a beer and some chips and then hung out waiting for the minibus back to Huaraz. All in all a super successful trip- there were times when I would have preferred not to be with a group, if they were complaining or I wasn't feeling social, but sometimes it was nice to have company and it was amazing to not have to carry a full bag, deal with cooking and pitching a tent, etc. And the views were INSANE- Easily comparable to Patagonia, just one after another place that was so beautiful as to not seem possible to be real. Main differences from Patagonia: less glaciers but also way less trees, you're above the treeline so literally nothing obstructs any view. Glacial lakes in Patagonia were more of a slate blue like Gatorade, these are more turquoise like a swimming pool or tropical shallows.

The whole place also kind of reminds me of Ireland on steroids because of the greenish gold lowlands around the mountains, the old stone sheep pens and huts, and the mysterious kind of misty quality to the air on cloudy days but brilliant green glow in the sun.

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linuxgamenews · 10 years ago

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Particulars physics puzzle game for Linux, Mac and PC

Particulars the story-rich game of sub-atomic particle physics, is now available on Steam. Drift and churn through the realm of quarks, leptons and bosons. Solve curious puzzles as you tug o’ war with gravity, electromagnetism and other fundamental forces. As you explore, you will uncover the story of Alison Scott - a young physicist who has withdrawn from the everyday world. Particulars is a physics-based puzzle game that allows the player to explore this unseeable world. They must guide a quark through the hypnotic interplay of particles, utilising the various forces and interactions to achieve specific goals. Pursued by shadowy forces, she will enter the subatomic realm and find a world drenched in memory. Each success will unlock more subatomic marvels, and more fragments of Alison’s story. What is she running from? Who are the relentless figures that pursue her? And what secrets might she uncover in the subatomic realm? Can the fragments of her past help her to untangle her present?

KEY FEATURES

Subatomic Physics - arcade puzzle gameplay based on the real-world physics of subatomic particles

Piece together the narrative - a very personal story that unfolds in a subtle, non-linear fashion

Lose yourself – abstract visuals and a hypnotic, meditative soundtrack

Get smarter – examination mode and the Particlepedia puts information about gameplay elements and subatomic physics at your fingertips

PC, Mac and Linux – enjoy on your preferred flavor of computing device, other formats in consideration

Winner of Freeplay’s 2013 Narrative and Audio Awards as well as iFest’s 2013 Sydney Showcase Award, Particulars is now available on Steam for Linux, Mac, and Windows PC. Particulars is available at a 20% off launch discount of $11.99 USD.

About SeeThrough Studios

SeeThrough Studios was born when two embryonic studios became one. Based in Sydney, Australia, their mission is to make a living from building games with original mechanics and strong narrative. With a few core members and a fluctuating team of contractors, SeeThrough draws talent from both within the Sydney development community, and from creative fields such as film, comics and theatre. This melting pot of skills and ideas has only just begun serving up its unique witches’ brew. SeeThrough’s first release, Flatland: Fallen Angle, won Best Writing in a Game at Freeplay 2012. Particulars was born out of SeeThrough co-founder Paul Sztajer’s studies in the field of high-energy particle physics. The first prototype of the game - which he built single-handedly - was his first ever game project. It has since seen at least three iterations, in-between SeeThrough’s work on other projects. Now a small grant from the NSW State Government has allowed Paul, co-founder Saul Alexander and their new company to pump enough hours into the project to get it to commercial quality.

#particulars #physics #puzzle #game #linux #gaming news #seethrough #mac #windows #pc #available #steam

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kaaramel · 8 years ago

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pearasect replied to your post “is there anyone here who doesn’t know what i’m referring to when i say...”

I have no idea what you're talking about but I'm very interested, please explain this theory

hoo hoo hoo you’ve fallen into my TRAP because i really liked Flatland and therefore i’m going to explain dimensional theory to you, with DIAGRAMS, and MARIO CHARACTERS

we start simple with the zeroth dimension: mario

when standing alone mario is a single point, a unique location but little else

by introducing a second point we can draw a line between them and enter the first dimension: his brother, luigi

luigi is family, of course, and therefore resembles his sibling - a slightly distorted exaggeration of his features, with his own personality traits.

this one-dimensional diagram has a length and nothing else; we can introduce another dimension, width, and enter a new state

wario and later waluigi are villainous mirror-reflections of the mario bros, exaggerating their features further to the point of gross caricature. we now have a two-dimensional square and so far the points are all stable. waluigi in particular has no connection to ANYTHING except to exist as the far corner of this reflection-square: he seems to have no familial connection to wario, and has only rarely been seen perpetuating evil schemes of his own. wario’s name and emblm are at least a logical inversion of mario’s M - waluigi has an upside-down L on his forehead for pete’s sake.

it starts getting weird for the mario universe when we introduce another set of points.

we have entered the third dimension, with length, width, and height, by introducing princesses. classically, mario and peach are considered equivalents: the template, the ur-example of their kind. i don’t know how strongly game canon acknowledges this but fan convention usually pairs daisy and luigi together, the second-fiddle palette swaps; but, the theory goes, our cube is now unstable and has two missing points. who and where are the villainous wapeach and wadaisy?

(i’m not sure how old this line of argument is or if rosalina had entered general mario canon at that point, so i don’t know where she figures into this diagram, but as she isn’t particularly villainous i don’t think she qualifies; she simply exists elsewhere on the Princess Plane. while doing research for this i found out that warioland villain captain syrup might actually fill the role of wapeach, but this still leaves wadaisy a mystery.)

here is where the theory as it is generally presented ends, but if princesses are viable, i’d like to take it a step further and bring it into the FOURTH DIMENSION.

i would like to posit the Nemesis Plane - proposed linkages Mario-DK, Peach-Bowser, Luigi-King Boo, and Daisy:friggin’ Tatanga. it’s the space alien who kidnapped her, whatever, super mario land was weird.

as you can see the fourth dimension is difficult to visualize - even the three-dimensional cube I drew was forced to be depicted as a two-dimensional trick of perspective since this is a two-dimensional medium. a hypercube has length, width, height, and another property entirely which would theoretically be at right angles to all other properties - impossible to accurately recreate in our three-dimensional universe. instabilities multiply - does Waluigi secretly have a recurring foe somewhere between all the tennis matches, go-karting, and soccer games he’s appeared in? does the hypothetical wadaisy have a MORTAL ENEMY?

is there a Mount direction, spinning off from the Mario-Yoshi linkage? all i can think of to co-inhabit that plane is Birdo, who has no clear equivalency elsewhere in this diagram that I can think of... IT’S ENDLESS.

most of these character icons came from spriter’s resource, by the by, so credit for providing those goes to submitter... (squints) random talking bush. thanks

#pearasect #long post #SORRY ABOUT MAKING THIS A GEOMETRY LESSON BUT SECRETLY I LOVE MATH #SHOW US WADAISY NINTENDO!!! WHERE IS SHE

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besttorrentclub-blog · 7 years ago

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Flatland: Fallen Angle Free-For-All [MAC] Torrent

Inspired by the romance of the nineteenth century, the plateau: the angle of fall is the black story of an isosceles triangle and scattered revenge! more than ten amazing two-dimensional planes have to negotiate different neighborhoods of polygonometropolis and use their angle to cut, hammer and tear everyone that fits! the game seems a bit like a pacman, and the narrative approach looks like a…

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bluebrightly · 6 years ago

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Since moving to Fidalgo Island last July I’ve immersed myself in my immediate surroundings: the park, town and shoreline locations that are minutes from home. We are a long 90 miles (145km) from the ocean, but it’s still a water-defined landscape; Fidalgo’s shores look out onto sounds, bays, channels, and more islands, and even the forests here are dotted with lakes.

If you head east off the island, it’s a very different landscape. As you mount a high, arcing bridge, overlapping layers of foothills and mountains appear in the distance. Agricultural flatlands spread out on either side of the road, to the north and south. The view ahead steals the show as rhythmic mounds of forested hills rise up and gradually crumple into the jagged, rocky folds of the North Cascade Range. That rough and rugged terrain was beckoning me a few months ago – but I’m no mountaineer, so on a quiet Tuesday in October, we headed east for a lowland walk in the Mount Baker – Snoqualmie National forest.

1. Baker River Trail/East Bank Baker Lake Trail.

The goal was to meander along the East Bank Baker Lake Trail, an easy walk through the thick, coniferous forest that Baker River passes through as it divides into countless turquoise ribbons, braiding their way towards Baker Lake. The river’s namesake, Mt. Baker, or Koma Kulshan, is a young, glaciated volcano, and the third-highest mountain in the state, at 10,781 ft. (3286 m). Koma Kulshan’s lofty, somber face dominates many a vista in this region. You might think Baker River begins under a glacier on Mt. Baker, but it actually rises under Whatcom Peak, to the northeast. From there, the river cuts a deep valley southwest, flowing around Mt. Baker before emptying into Baker Lake.

2. After a dry summer, the river is a series of shallow ribbons of cold water, unfurling over a rocky bed.

Getting to the trail was harder than we thought it would be. The first part was simple – drive east past fields and small towns on State Route 20. Then, in the tiny hamlet of Birdsview, you leave civilization behind to follow Baker Lake Road for 26 miles (42 km). The problem was the final six miles, where the road is not paved, and barely maintained. We still have the cars we brought with us from New York City seven years ago, and neither one is appropriate for the rough, deeply pot-holed forest roads that usually lead to trailheads. It’s really a pickup truck, SUV and Subaru world here. The going was tedious as we crawled back and forth across the road, trying not to wreck the car’s suspension. Occasional glimpses of snowy Mt. Baker beckoned through dense curtains of towering trees, and eventually the painfully slow slog ended.

3. The paved section of Baker Lake Road.

4. The road narrows and begins to get rough while Mount Baker looms majestically above us.

5. An old Redcedar leans heavily over the trail.

6. This beautifully built suspension bridge puts a little bounce into your step, like it or not.

7. We saw thousands of small moths that day, both alive and dead. This one came to rest on a Redcedar bough. Shining drops of morning dew still cling to the delicate wings and body.

8. This little one was alive, but maybe not for long.

9. A dew-spangled dead moth is cradled in the leaf litter.

10. Another rough-hewn wooden bridge on the trail crosses one of many creeks feeding Baker River. The rustic bridges are a real pleasure to see, to touch, and to walk across.

11. I have great respect for the people who built these bridges.

Water and rocks, from the bridge.

Light plays across the rocks in shallow water.

13. The bridge views were mesmerizing. Baker River rippled past water-sculpted rocks and the light danced over smooth stones that were barely covered by the shallow water.

14. Looking up river it’s easy to picture how, after a winter of heavy snow in the mountains, the river fills up with glacial melt and roars down towards Baker Lake, taking fallen trees along for the ride, only to abandon the logs in untidy clumps, as the flow dwindles over the summer.

15. Bigleaf maples had dropped their leaves in layers of nourishing mulch – in the woods, on the trail, and on the road, too.

16. Mushrooms crowded this stump like a Hong Kong high rise.

17. A fresh mushroom bouquet decorated with sprays of Licorice fern.

18. This handsome specimen emerged from thick moss on the moist forest floor.

19. Forest floor synergy could be seen at our feet: rotting logs, fallen leaves and twigs, moss, mushrooms, and so much more that we didn’t see, all working together to support life.

20. A hiker stops to admire an old growth Redcedar pressing against huge boulder covered with moss, lichens and ferns.

21. Constant moisture from the river nearby means that in this part of the forest, every dead limb wears a luxurious coat of spongy moss, all year long.

22. Feathery-boughed cedars with their tapered trunks and waving, mossy branches made an enchanted forest scene. Green never departs from this forest, it just waxes and wanes in intensity.

23. Cedar bark invites a close look, especially when the tree sports a stripe of bright green lichen. Look closely and you’ll see other lichens here, too.

24. The drab but pert American Dipper is always a thrill to see. This little bundle of energy forages by dipping, walking and even swimming in the rushing water of tumbling streams. When perched, dippers constantly bounce up and down, and movement is about all that gives them away, since the plain gray birds are hard to see among dark boulders, fallen trees, and the noisy, rushing water.

25. The days were getting shorter and we had a late start that day, so we turned back to avoid driving 26 miles in darkness.

26. Low-angled sun silvered the meandering river.

27. As we were about to get into the car, I noticed a maple leaf caught on a twig and made one more photograph. There’s always one more….

If you’re in the area:

The East Bank Baker Lake and Baker River Trails are about 115 (185km) miles from Seattle, and about 124 miles (200km) from Vancouver, BC. The trailhead is 64 rather slow miles from where I live. Once you arrive at the large parking lot, if it’s an off-season weekday, you may be all alone. Set out on the wide, flat trail among huge boulders and towering trees, and soon you’ll sense the river behind the trees. In half a mile a suspension bridge crosses the river. From there, the Baker Lake Trail continues down the river and then follows the lake edge, for a total of 14.5 miles one way. Along the trail you’ll find more bridges, and views of the snow-covered mountains high above that are the repositories for all this rushing water. If you don’t cross the first bridge you can continue straight upriver on the Baker River Trail, reaching a campground in 2.6 miles. It was so pleasant the day we were there, and there was so much to look at, that we didn’t get far at all. That was not the object. The point was to feel, hear, see, and smell this unique place, to fully sense the aliveness of one small corner of our planet.

A Little Farther Into the Woods Since moving to Fidalgo Island last July I've immersed myself in my immediate surroundings: the park, town and shoreline locations that are minutes from home.

#Baker River Trail #East Bank Baker Lake Trail #Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie Natinal Forest

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