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comicteaparty · 4 years ago

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June 13th-June 19th, 2020 Creator Babble Archive

The archive for the Creator Babble chat that occurred from June 13th, 2020 to June 19th, 2020. The chat focused on the following question:

What is your physical and digital workspace like when you’re working on your story?

🌈ERROR404 🌈

LOL it really depends on what stage I'm in of the process - My storyboarding space is at home, as comfortable as I can be, a beer and some food at the ready and pure silence. The cats have to be freshly fed, otherwise I'll be harassed and lose my headspace entirely LOL. I usually work on my story boards digitally, just at a very small scale, with my script/outline on my computer and working on my ipad! The double screen helps a LOT, although i would just print out the script if I had access to a printer, haha. When I'm working on the actual page itself, it's a very different story. I usually just try and work on it in tiny little batches during the day when I'm stuck at home, and usually work around the animals as best i can, lmao. Truthfully, I really prefer to be in a coffee shop when I'm working on finishing pages, it makes me so much more productive than i am in this house with so many things to take care of right in front of me, but, obviously, that's a bit difficult to do these days. ;; I usually reserve food and drink until after I pass a milestone in inking/sketching to help motivate me to keep going for as much as I can before taking a break, and I need some kind of music or video playing in the background to keep myself from being absolutely bored out of my mind. My shading process, since it's in black and white, is very easy and i can finish it in one setting, easy, no matter what I'm working with. I also work digitally for my pages, of course, although I don't need more than my ipad and clip studio for it!

DaeofthePast

freshly fed cats

🌈ERROR404 🌈

They are BEASTS when hungry, the little bastards (love them)

I may only work in peace when they're post-food napping lmao

DaeofthePast

we only have one, but same

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

I work almost entirely in the corner of my IKEA couch at home I used to work at a proper desk with a Cintiq, but when I switched to Procreate on an iPad, I migrated to the couch and surrounded myself with a nest of clothes and blankets and books and... here I am, bein' cozy. With terrible posture But when I was between jobs last year, I did rent a little coworking space down the street so I could get out of my pajamas and go get comic stuff done there. It was a godsend. I like drawing at my favorite coffee shop every so often too, but I tend to hide my work while I draw, and there, everyone can look over my shoulder The coworking space had a tall artist desk that was rarely used, so I often grabbed that one. Not cheap, but to stave off cabin fever, heck yes, worth it.

🌈ERROR404 🌈

Ahhh I've been really thinking about getting a studio space one of these days I really shouldn't rn, with my finances as they are, but I could REALLY make use of one recently

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

I loved the space I used last year. They recently had to close for... current-event reasons... and are going to reopen with all sorts of plexiglass barriers between the desks I feel so bad for them. Good studio spaces are wonderful, I would support them again if I ever was out of a job!

🌈ERROR404 🌈

it's good they've found ways to make it safer, though!

carcarchu

My old workspace was in the basement of my home in canada and it was always perpetually freezing even in the summer and i was frequently visited by spiders so my current workspace is a huge improvement in that regard. I do miss my old ergonomic desk chair though. I'm definitely not the kind of person who can draw in bed or on the couch. I need to be in workmode and having a designated space just for that is necessary for me to get in the right headspace for that.

DaeofthePast

my workspace rn is just my desk with my laptop and my drawing tablet. my laptop is stacked on top of a pile of books so i can see the screen (otherwise my tablet blocks my line of sight). it's kinda simple

chalcara [Nyx+Nyssa]

Depends. I have a Cintiq Mobile Studio, so I can draw pretty much every where and sometimes in the oddest position, but most of the time I am on my desk with the cintiq hooked up to a second monitor so I don't have to look down so much.(edited)

Holmeaa - working on WAYFINDERS

For Wayfinders: Thumbnails are somewhere cozy and the only physical work. Me and Q sit and plan them out together. The rest of wayfinders are made on Photoshop, and flat colors in clip paint studio. In the world I would love a nice studio place in an office with others. During corentine I have been working from home, and I am not that good at it, being quite the extrovert. Before corentine I was in a artist residency where I worked on Wayfinders which had a workstation and all the programs we could need. It is so nice and me and Q are going to return there when it opens up again!

Miranda

I have an iPad so usually on the couch, cozied up with coffee and pillows and blankets. But sometimes at the table. But usually on the couch like the gremlin I am

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

I have a large drafting table, a mini drafting table, and a lapdesk in my papasan when we ink/draw! Toning and letters are all done on the desktop in its own space

Miranda

I need to get a good lap desk. But that sounds like a grand setup!

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

My first time hearing about a lapdesk

Omg I need one

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

They are the best things ever Mine has just the pencil holder !(some come with cup holders and its a waste of space imo)

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

Wow I like your setup of the drafting tables

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

I wanna show pics of them....if im allowed in this chat?

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

I hope so, I'm not sure which channel we can post studio photos at? I did see some did before?

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

Ill post in shop talk since creator babble gets archived

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

my current space is uh.... a bit better than my last one. I used to work on an old writers desk for a decade and I did most of my comic work sitting there cramped up with my desktop taking most of the space. Now I have an L shaped desk where I have my desktop on the shorter end. The longer end it's my pen, pencils, and watercolor stuff. my display tablet occupy the space at times so switching from digital and traditional without worrying about setup hassle is a lot better than what I dealt with before lol.

I'm glad the days I had to curl up and draw with no privacy are long gone now

kayotics

I’ve got a little drafting table where I draw all my comic pages. I’m messy with my pens so they’re kind of strewn about until I start to lose them. Then I put them back. I’m not particularly neat. I spend most of the comic process off the computer, so most of my digital work is just on an iPad where I can sit anywhere. I try to keep good lighting around my drafting table and there’s always loose eraser shavings all over.

Natasha Berlin (Pot of Gold)

I got myself a lil corner desk by the dining table. Not as well-lit as I'd like, but it's decently ergonomic and I started putting posters on my wall Plus I can leave work mindset easily by turning off my computer and forgetting about the dark corner in the dining room XD(edited)

sssfrs (JOE IS DEAD)

My desk is really sloppy and covered in all kinds of junk. I have a harmonica, a ball of yarn, a bunch of ink bottles, etc on my desk. I have my sketchbook under my tablet and usually a notebook somewhere for writing. My tablet sits to the right of my laptop (on top of sketchbook) while I'm not using it and when I'm using it it goes over my computer keyboard. I sometimes have a glass of water or some food sitting to the lefthand side

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

The only thing I wanna share about my workspace is this

once i spent over three hours looking for that damned pen

never again

🌈ERROR404 🌈

Ajkdhfkjs the models for hte magazine im crying

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

Oh my God

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

mad giggling

Deo101 [Millennium]

youre gonna manage to lose the string

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

omg

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

i know in my heart deo is right but still i hope

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

You should weld a metal chain to it

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Watch me lose the whole tablet

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

Oh nooo

I believe in you!

TaliePlume

My workspace is a black table with a white, yellow, blue and green tablecloth with 3 black chairs. It's next to the kitchen. On it, is my laptop and the left side is my clipboard, 3 blue folders full of writing. Then above it, is 3 sketchbooks and another blue folder from a class that I took in community college.

June 16, 2020

sagaholmgaard

I have one long desk at almost three meters. On the left side is all my coffee and tea supplies, in the middle is my work space and on the right is my dining table xD I get everything done from there, despite having a mobilestudio so I COULD sit anywhere and work, lol. It's a blessing during holiday seasons to be able to bring it everywhere, but at some I like my designated working space. Although I am moving in a few weeks, so who knows what my new workspace will be

Moral_Gutpunch

My workspace is anywhere I can draw or write. It's more of a "Will I be interrupted over something petty or stupid" issue than space. Not that I don't want more space.

Mitzi (Trophallaxis)

My workspace is a big, broken corner desk I managed to lug out of an old apartment when it was gonna be trashed. Before then, I'd just draw in bed. I don't remember, but I'm pretty sure the folding chair I sit at is a similar affair. It's got a Dollar General throw pillow on it so I can at least say I'm trying to save my back. The top of the desk is a mess of mostly old bottles and cans, pencils, incense ash, and my old tarot deck. I love this setup dearly. This is the first time I've ever had my own desk space, much less a space I can decorate or leave as messy as I want. Got my own art up on the walls with sticky tack and all! Also the cat's scratching post is directly behind me, because we've learned the cat won't use it unless it's as in the way as possible. What can ya do, lol.

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

Oh cats...

Desnik

I got spoiled with an adjustable desk. It is six feet long, and has a whiteboard top for noodling with dry erase markers

my main computer is set up on an adjustable stand so it floats over the desk, and then I have my cintiq, which we tried to mount on a similar stand but then it was just too heavy

I keep my dice collection nearby because fidgeting helps think things through sometimes

and rolling to make odd decisions never hurts

lately during the quarantine I've been sharing the office with my spouse so we've had to establish rules over when it's okay to bug each other(edited)

oh yeah and we also have a whiteboard installed in the office, and it rules!(edited)

Shizamura 🌟 O Sarilho

Mine is pretty simple: I have a laptop that's long stopped being portable and is now mostly just sitting at my desk at all times and a 19 inch Ugee as my display. I usually keep a lot of stuff on top of my desk, but it's mostly just a mess because I have been using it for work too for a while now

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

I suppose I'll talk about my setup too :) My main setup is where I do digital art. I share an office with my SO, so we both have workspaces on opposite walls from each other. I work on a corner desk that holds my beefy computer, two monitors, and a Huion Kamvas GT-191. That's where I draw my comic and pretty much everything else done digitally. Ngl, it's a mess right now. I have comic notes and location floor plans in sketchbooks and DnD character sheets spread out all over the surface, and random pens and sticky notes. In the corner of the room, we have a nice large-format printer where I produce prints for conventions. I actually sketch my pages on an iPad pro in Procreate, so during the sketch phase, sometimes I'll just bundle up on my couch and do it, or before quarantine, sometimes I'd sketch on the go. My other workspace (which hasn't gotten much love as of late tbh) is a drafting table in the corner of our living room. I keep a tabletop easel on it and my Copic markers, as well as whatever I'm working on at the moment. (RN it's some ink washes.) The drawers hold all my ink, pencils, erasers, etc. Next to the drafting table is where I keep all my large charcoal, graphite, and oil pastel drawings (mostly school projects), and my large paintings. Other than that, I have a nifty little cart where I keep painting supplies :) I will say, this setup is by far an enormous improvement from my previous setups.

#ctparchive #comics #webcomics #indie comics #comic chat #comic discussion #comic tea party #ctp #creator interview #comic creator interview #creator babble

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writeawayjake · 7 years ago

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WIP Chapter 1 second draft!!!

CHAPTER 1

The Swordsman

How had he gotten here? Shirt half soaked in cheap mead, eyes red with lack of sleep, sitting in a dingy tavern far from anywhere that could be considered ‘civilized’. The glory had faded, the shouts of praise had grown quiet, and the days had begun to blur together. Just months of him falling farther and farther south, hitting every tap and tavern on the way down. All he had left was the sword and the memories of what he had gone through to get it… and what he did with it once he had it. Why didn’t you save them? Why weren’t you strong enough? Why? Why? Why? The voice asked. He had hoped the drink would silence it.

“Never seen a man yer size drink this much and still be awake.” The barkeep said, snapping him out of his lamentations.

“Another,” he grumbled to the barkeep, sliding his cup across the bar. It had been worn smooth from countless years of sad sorry bastards like him, drinking themselves stupid every night. He fund himself wondering how long this place had stood, how many years and how many broken men had come and gone since it was built. He ran his hand along the bar, his sense of touch being the only still intact at the moment. The drink had blurred his vision and made the rest of the dimly lit tavern seem like one solid mass of dark colors. The dull candlelight at the bar barely illuminated the barkeep’s already very blurry face. Once again he was snapped out of it by the barkeep.

“You still haven’t paid for the last five, I’ll need the coin ‘fore I pour you another drop.”

Begrudgingly he reached back for the coin purse on his belt. Yes, another, keep going until we can’t feel anything. Until it all goes away. Drink.

Just that simple act was proving difficult, the room was beginning to spin and his extremities were starting to feel numb. “Too much of this stuff will kill you, ya’ know that right?” The barkeep asked.

“Nothin’s killed me yet, why should this?” The Swordsman slurred in response.

He began clumsily looking around for his coin again until a booming voice startled him.

“IT’S HIM!” the voice bellowed. He carefully turned himself in his stool to see a very large, very blurry, bald behemoth with several friends around him. He could tell they were there but for the life of him couldn’t make out any faces. Or be positive that he wasn’t just seeing double.

“Yer ‘im aren’t ya? The Arm. The ‘dawn bringer’ right?”

“I’m no one,” he replied in a grim monotone. You’re a failure. False hero.

“NAH! You’re ‘im! Me and the lads keep hearin’ stories about that sword. Didn’t think it was real.” Turning back towards the bar he tried desperately to ignore the group as he continued looking for his coin purse. He had dealt with enough drunk idiots in recent years to know when one was just looking for a fight. After gaining his current reputation it seemed that every town he visited had someone seeking to test their manhood by taunting him. “I’m sure of it! Yer ‘im! Yer pretty scrawny for a hero, anyone ever tell ya that?” The Behemoth leaned in, “How about it hero? Show us that sword.”

“You don’t want that…” He warned.

But you do. Draw it. Draw it, hero. Kill everyone here. That’s all you’re good for. Most dignity had already abandoned him at this point in his life, but he was just drunk enough to do something stupid and self destructive if given the chance.

“Move along…” he repeated, a grim expression beginning to set in his eyes. The Behemoth came around, moving much closer and his face came into focus; a bent nose that had been broken many times, several scars scattered about, and bulbous shrunken ears. Please, he hoped. Please don’t make me draw. The voice answered back,

You know you want to. Why are you pretending you’re afraid. You want to. Do it. Do it. Do it! Do it!! Do it!!!

“Are you plannin’ on movin’ me?” The Behemoth asked with a sense of dark delight at the prospect. There was a long silence before the Behemoth scoffed and began reaching for the hilt of the sword. Without warning, the Swordsman's skull slammed into the Behemoth’s face with a loud crack, re-breaking his nose. The blow had caused him to fall from his stool and had sent the Behemoth reeling. Letting out a roar of pain he held his hands to his face as blood rushed down his chin.

That’s it! Keep going hero! The voice encouraged.

“AHM GONNA SHOVE THAH SWORD UP YER ASS!!!” He bellowed. As he stumbled back to his feet the Swordsman reached instinctively for his sword but his hand recoiled, almost as if he was horrified of it and slowly his arms fell to his sides.

You useless coward, It hissed.

The Behemoth, still screaming, threw a wild haymaker at the Swordsman’s head and a massive fist landed flush across his cheek, hurling him halfway across the room. It was as if he made no attempt to dodge it. He threw another, and another, each one staggering the Swordsman but he never attempted to fight back or defend himself.

Just let him kill you. There’s nothing here for you. No one who cares if you die in this shithole, it taunted. Fed up the Behemoth finally grabbed the Swordsman and hurled him into a nearby table, sending cups and plates flying. The Swordsman slowly stood back up with a far off look in his eyes and blood trailing out of the cuts on his cheek and brow.

“STAY DOWN!!!” The Behemoth bellowed as he threw yet another punch. Yet this one did not meet its mark and instead the Behemoth received a swift stomp to his knee. A sickening snap and a blood curdling scream could be heard throughout the tavern. The Behemoth began to topple over but before he could hit the floor the Swordsman grabbed his collar.

“No…” The Swordsman said in a chilling whisper, before he began slamming his fist into the Behemoth’s nose over and over with savagery and abandon. Over and over again the Swordsman’s fist met its mark, sending droplets of blood flying this way and that. Pulverizing flesh and crunching bone. Mashing the Behemoth’s face into pulp.

This is all you’re good for. The voice said in an equally terrifying whisper.

The other patrons who still remained in the tavern looked on in horror as they were sure no one could survive such a beating for long. Kill him. Kill him. Burn the world down! It screamed.

The Behemoth’s friends finally decided to intervene, rushing in to try and save their comrade. Two grabbed the Swordsman’s arms and tried to pull him off, one began punching him in the gut and ribs as the last tried to drag the Behemoth from the melee.

As numb as the drink had made him the Swordsman could feel a rib begin to crack under the barrage. Yes. Yes! Hit us harder. Harder!!! Just give up and let them end it! A searing pain ran through his chest as the punches continued. Finally after several mighty blows the friend pulled a knife. A seax that glinted in the dim candle light. There was no way he could have known the kind of mistake he was making. Prior to that, the whole affair had just been a fight to the Swordsman. He’d been able to hold it at bay. He had been able to ignore it, but now, now it was a different matter entirely… Poor bastard, he thought.

Poor bastard. The voice said.

#write #writing #writers #story #stories #storytelling #fiction #fantasy #mywriting #WIP #OC's #PTSD #swords #taverns #alcoholis #trauma #2nd draft #!!!#WriteAwayJake

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lincoln-cannon · 6 years ago

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A decade ago, Blake Ostler called me insane for believing in the Simulation Hypothesis. Today, a friend brought to my attention that Blake recently doubled-down on that characterization, in an episode of an Exploring Mormon Thought podcast, asserting that people like me "have serious problems in assessing reality." My response? Guilty as charged. I do have serious problems in assessing reality. Reality is, in so many ways, a mystery -- a sometimes wonderful, sometimes horrible, and sometimes tedious mystery. That's the brief version. But of course I have more to say. Blake is a Mormon philosopher who has written extensively about Mormon theology. He seems to have significant influence among a segment of scholarly members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. From what little interaction I've had with him, it seems to me that he has a tendency to speak with excessive confidence about matters in which he's not well educated. Maybe that over-confidence reflects a well-earned confidence in other areas. Others would be better judges of that. In any case, his familiarity with Transhumanism is poor. Maybe this post will help a little. In the podcast, Blake discusses epistemology. I haven't listened to the whole interview. My friend told me that the relevant part begins at the seven minute mark. So, trusting him, I began listening there. And, there, Blake says: "It's the matrix or brain in the vat problem. So you have these experiences, that your experience would be identical in all respects, even if you were just a brain in a vat, having the sense experiences fed into it, or if you're in the Matrix where your body and all the sense experience is just given to you through a computer simulation." Blake's characterization of the Simulation Hypothesis is a straw man fabricated from implicit appeals to negative emotions. The "brain in a vat" is a popular characterization that tends either to marginalize the Simulation Hypothesis as merely silly, or even to generate a sense of disgust. The "Matrix" characterization tends to associate the Simulation Hypothesis with a sense of oppression. Both characterizations anchor Blake's listeners, from the beginning, to negative emotions. And both are straw men, operating on the assumption that experience in a computed world must be ontologically inferior to experience in a non-computed world. As a philosopher, Blake should know better than to begin a criticism with a straw man. And I trust he does. So, as mentioned previously, I think this reflects a lack of familiarity with the Simulation Hypothesis. There are far better characterizations of the Simulation Hypothesis. To begin with, check out Oxford philosopher Nick Bostrom's paper, "Are You Living in a Computer Simulation?" from Philosophical Quarterly. I admire Nick's work. But, for our purposes here, it too has a shortcoming, revealed even in the title of his paper. "Simulation" tends to connote an inferior ontological status: most of us understand a simulation to be less real than that which it simulates. But, despite its name, there's nothing in the Simulation Hypothesis that requires such a position. Nothing requires us to assume that our world must be less real than a world after which our world may be modeled. For example, you probably consider me to be just as real as my parents, although I'm modeled after them. So, if you want to avoid a straw man criticism of the Simulation Hypothesis, you will need to discard the unnecessary assumption that it's proposing a world of inferior ontological status. To help with that, I developed the Creation Hypothesis as part of the Creation Argument in the New God Argument. As it turns out, the Simulation Argument does not depend on any particular creative mechanism. Historically, most articulations of the argument, such as Nick's paper, have referenced computation as the creative mechanism. But any other creative mechanism that we might deem feasible for emulating our evolutionary history, such as terraforming or cosmoforming, would work within the structure of the argument just as well. So the Creation Hypothesis generalizes across all feasible creative mechanisms, computation and otherwise. It doesn't change the logic of the argument, but it may, for people like Blake, change the emotions that they attach with the logic. I assume that Blake, like most Mormons, trusts that we live in a created world, whether or not he thinks computation would be a feasible mechanism for that creation. After Blake's straw man introduction to the Simulation Argument, the interviewer comments, "Okay, but as you pointed out elsewhere, no one probably really believes they're in the Matrix. And if they do, they're generally considered a little unstable psychologically." A little psychologically unstable, you say? What does that bring to mind? Blake responds, "Well, I since learned there actually is a Mormon by the name of Lincoln Cannon who is allied with the Transhumanist Mormons, who actually does believe in such a thing. It's called the Simulation Theory." There really are psychologically unstable people. See. Look at Lincoln Cannon! Ha. Well, as a teenager exploring my own epistemological limits, I actually confronted that possibility seriously decades ago. I was evaluating and re-evaluating what I knew, what I thought I knew, and how I thought I knew it. And it led me to the realization that I can't disprove to myself, let alone to others, that I'm insane. So I'll let you judge Blake's assessment for yourself. But beware. If you judge me insane, and if you prove capable of applying the reasons for your judgment consistently -- beyond me to others and, most dangerously, to yourself -- you may find yourself in a dark and cold place that's hard to escape. That was my experience, at least. It was hard, emotionally and socially, to lose the epistemic confidence of my childhood. The interviewer responds, "Oh. I've heard of that. Yeah." And Blake continues, "Yeah. And what he believes is that all of life is merely a simulation, and we're having these experiences fed to us." Blake is wrong. I don't believe that life is merely a simulation. I believe that our world is a computation. But there's not much "merely" involved. There's not much "mere" about my experience of the world, let alone the life I observe in it. To the contrary, it is sometimes sublime. It must be. It is, by definition, the sum total of my experience. And that's the only source I have for judging whether something is sublime or mundane. Surely parts of the experience are mundane, by the same reasoning. But it cannot be merely mundane on the whole. It cannot be merely anything. It is everything, both mundane and sublime. Even my imagination is constrained to some combination of projections and negations of my experience: some combination of projections and negations of the world. So, no, I don't believe that life is merely a simulation. Are we having experiences fed to us? Well, yes, I trust that's true to some extent. Otherwise, we'd have to embrace solipsism. And despite Blake's rhetoric, I doubt he would disagree with the assumption that the world is feeding experiences to us. That's implicit to the assumption that there's a world beyond my own mind. And, yes, external reality is an assumption. Like insanity, it's not something that we can refute logically. The best we can do, it seems, is something along the lines of induction, which science formalizes and engineering applies. We can test our experience in multiple ways, looking for patterns, and gaining trust that those patterns will hold out through time and space. We never prove that in any final way. But our confidence tends to increase. Blake explains, "The objection works both ways. How could you ever substantiate such a claim (laughter), because there's no possible empirical evidence that could possibly work or any kind of sense experience that could possibly work to disprove it. In my view, it's a meaningless hypothesis because there's no way you could come up with that either proves or disproves it. You're just asserting it." How could you substantiate the claim that we're living in a computed world? As it turns out, that may be easier than substantiating the claim that we're NOT living in a computed world. So, contrary to Blake, the objection may not work quite the same both ways, depending on how we define "computed." If we define "computed" in various narrow senses, we can formulate falsifiable hypotheses about physical observations within the world that must be true if we're living in that kind of computed world. Some scientists are actually trying to do that. And some have already persuasively demonstrated that our world cannot be a computation according to some narrow definitions of "computed." Other narrow definitions of "computed" remain open questions, and that's likely to be the case for a long time. If we define "computed" broadly, we cannot directly formulate falsifiable hypotheses. So we cannot directly falsify the general idea. This is where the imbalance of objection may present itself. If we end up finding just one definition of "computed" for which we can formulate falsifiable hypotheses that repeatedly resist falsification, we would relatively quickly increase confidence in the general idea. Whereas, much more work across much more time is likely to be required in the opposite direction. Blake continues, "But I think that if you actually believe that you're just a brain in a vat, or your mind's in the Matrix while your body lies somewhere generating heat, that you've got serious problems in assessing reality." As mentioned previously, although I reject Blake's straw man characterizations, I plead guilty to his charge, in the general sense, that I have serious problems assessing reality. It really is hard -- seriously hard. So hard, in fact, that I think Blake should plead guilty too. He may be even more guilty than I am. After all, he's claiming that there's no way to disprove the Simulation Hypothesis, while he charges me with insanity for believing it. Consider that. He says I'm crazy for believing something that he thinks cannot be disproved. That actually sounds crazy to me. But, again, you be the judge. Blake then tries to explain, saying, "That's my response because nobody really believes that, because we assess our knowledge, at least the knowledge delivered to us through our senses. You know the difference between conscious experience and like a dream state or unconscious experience. And that is: we use all of our background information to assess and we can distinguish between these kind of states and do it rather easily by the way. And so we're totally aware of the, I'm going to call it the [something], of conscious experience opposed to simulated experience and our own experience." I'm not sure that I fully understand his intent, but it seems like he's saying that we just intuitively know, based on accumulated experience, that we're not living in a computed world. If so, there are problems with such a position. My memories may be giving me a false sense of accumulated experience. Perhaps I've mis-remembered some experiences and wholly fabricated others (there's good scientific evidence that these both happen frequently). At the extreme, perhaps an evil demon conjured pervasively false memories into my brain just now. So I reach out to others, who I assume are not just figments of my imagination, seeking confirmation of my experiences. And thereby I may increase my confidence, at least for a time, in whatever may be the common sense of the day. But history, if it can be trusted, shows us that common sense changes over time and uncommon sense sometimes becomes common sense. The Earth no longer appears quite so flat, and the stars no longer appear quite so fixed. Don't misunderstand me. I value our shared sense of accumulated experience. That's science, and I'm a big fan. But it's not static or final. It's changing. And I don't suppose it will ever stop changing. Blake asserts, "Dreams are simulated. The experience that we have is not." The interviewer responds, "Well, when you're in a dream, you can't really. You don't really know you're in a dream, generally." And Blake responds, "Well, but when you wake up, you're aware that you were in a dream." The interviewer continues, "What if you die, and then you happen to wake up then? You're, like, 'Oh, it was all a dream.'" Exactly. That's exactly right. When we wake up, literally or metaphorically, we tend to change our ontological assessments. Our brains are constantly constructing models of the world. They add in biases, which is probably generally a good thing. And they subtract staggering amounts of information that never enters our conscious experience. And we're left with something around which to wrap our attention. Gradually or suddenly, the inputs change. Perhaps our eyes open. Our brains begin to give us a new model, with some echoes of the old, and we compare them. We might judge one to be ontologically superior to the other. But, here, I think is the truth: both are real. The dreaming experience is real. The waking experience is real. Both are real aspects of the real world of our real experience. And that is just as true whether or not computation proves to be a good explanation for the nature of the world in which we're now living, whether we're awake or dreaming. "But there's no way to talk sensibly about it because it's an empty meaningless hypothesis," says Blake. And the interviewer confirms, "It just isn't helpful, really, in any way." They're both wrong. The Simulation Hypothesis is meaningful and helpful to me and many other persons. How so? Well, it's so in the same way that anything is meaningful and helpful: in its practical value from day to day. What practical difference does it make, one way or another, to believe, disbelieve, or remain ambivalent? Depending on the person, answers will differ. For me, the Simulation Hypothesis changed the way I live from day to day. I had lost my faith in God. The Simulation Hypothesis led me to a pattern of thought that eventually restored my faith in God. And that restoration has substantially influenced important decisions in my life since that time. As just one example that I think Blake might appreciate, without the influence of the Simulation Hypothesis, I may not have remained a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Some would say that I make the world worse by remaining a member of the Church. At least members of the Church would generally say that I'm better for it. In either case, it seems like a rather large stretch to claim that it makes no practical difference. So, is the Simulation Hypothesis empty, meaningless, and not helpful in any way? Not for me, and I'm not alone. There are many religious Transhumanists who, like me, have found it and the generalized Creation Argument to be faith affirming. And we've found it to be faith affirming in a particularly useful way. It doesn't affirm the kind of faith that leads to escapism or nihilism. It doesn't affirm faith in anything supernatural that would negate or marginalize the relative value of the world and bodies that we actually experience. Rather, it's a faith that arises from an embrace of natural mechanisms and their extensions as potential means for explaining and enacting the wonders that religion has attributed to God for millennia. Not only does it inspire us with a sense of purpose, but it also provokes us to constructive action in this world. The God of the Creation Argument is a natural God who became God by natural means, suggesting how we might do the same. So I can, with the perfect confidence that arises from extensive personal experience and broad familiarity with others' accounts of similar experience, assert that Blake is wrong about the general value of the Simulation Hypothesis. If he cares about being right on this subject, he should spend more time talking to and learning from religious Transhumanists, and less time telling others that we're insane. Originally published at lincoln.metacannon.net on February 05, 2019 at 01:13PM.

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aramkrikorian-blog · 6 years ago

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10-9-2018

waking up. tired. rain. rain on the boots. the boots are torn. shoes. are wet. leather shoes. uncomfortable shoes. comfortable shoes. the daily walk. walking in uncomfortable shoes. ears clogged. not sick. ears jammed up. sticking fingers into ears with toilet paper when in the bathroom. library. salvation army. need to take a piss. need to take a shit. bathrooms. looking for bathrooms. embarassed. look like shit. haven’t showered in a bit. lighters are dead. no flame for cigarettes. the rain. it ruins the cigarette shorts i collect off the ground. talking to myself. not really. lots of people doing real life following. they want me to participate in interactive games with the audience. im not a star. im not taylor swift. she shouldn’t do politics yet. she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. democrats. republicans. green party. lame . parties. people. birthdays. rain. dogs. leashes. masters. slaves. negative conditioning. positive associations. flashbacks. larissa. lory. jessica. ashkhen. hasmig. who and what happened and where am i. did the babies really get aborted. are people messing with my mind. the information. is it true. not true. ears clogged. i can barely hear sarcastic remarks. god is watching over it all. proverbs. Better to live in a desert than with a quarrelsome and nagging wife. peacock in the desert. seattle. pike street. pike market. prospect park. GAR cemetary. ducks. weird tattoo store. weird tattoo aesthetic. cornish college. security guards. smoking cigarettes. asking for cigarettes. not comfortable. SEATAC. orcas. the oceans. pier 70. pier 66. starbucks. starbucks reserve. st james church. gospel mission. millinair club. tweakers. not that many. many or not. not known. know nobody. alone. thoughts. suicide. Virginia Mason hospital. lutheran church. food. food under the bridge. housing help. library on 4th street. newspapers. news. 90 minutes of internet time. homeless resource guide. backpack stolen. all work gone. no more work to look over. wanted a house on frontenac. didn’t get it. went to ferrari dealership - you say you’re a gangsta but you never popped nothing. you’re a real wanksta. songs. curses. nirvana. cause i’ve found god - rethinking what i said about kurt cobain. he is dangerously not well in Lithium. sounds llike the psychiatrists put pills in him and he blew his brains out or heroine or the pain of his wife... she breaks mirrors. weird flashbacks. lorys brother was administerered lithium wh en i was administered seroquel. psychopharma DEATH TOLL. bodies keep stacking. kurt cobain. lithium. lake washington blvd - curt cobains house. i didn’t know. i did a free navigation of the city. i felt things, bro. now i regret what i said about kurt cobain. lady was wearing a nirvana song list tshirt. bruce lee and brandon lee’s graves. crows. bible... scarecrows. 3-6 mafia lord infamous used to call me scaRECROW what is this... where am i. same motifs. same symbols. used by different people at different times. 1 big symbolic soup. trying to make sense of it. untangle it. which came first the word crow or pigeon. beautiful pigeons. appearance of pigeons in ones timeline over time. typing in the library. ‘the kind of kind guy that won’t take no for an answer’ - wanting to buy a house on frontenanc and give it to brent and tim ... tim gave me an umbrella. brent hooked it up with cigarettes - lighter. they were good guys. lyft people circling around. feel guilt and shame resentment everywhere. saved by the dell poster. PRIVATE PROPERTY everywhere - including the seattle sports stadium ... safeco field? seahawks lose to larams - kendrick lamar. lemurians of mt shasta. greyhound... buses. the animals. a great dane takes a fat piss on 700 7th ave... the courthouse night, doing a speech. finding weed on ground smoking it. speaking at the school ... getting more weed. fed a larabar. ara. ara gets funding again in march. rosenstein is out? cohen is out? melania is in africa - visits a former slave in ghana. beautiful work. thank you mr and mrs trump. kushner? scooby dooby doo. airbnb ... valuations. memories. pains. people. upgrades and promotions. growth. new ideas. scholarships. college. essays. schools. making sure the kids are going to be safe. at least putting a line on the older ones and going to go back and ensure the road is well paved for the younger ones. newspaper room 6th floor. bathrooms on floor 7 of library also on floor 1... and maybe on 3 and 4.. .but not sure. haven’t been higher than floor 7 as far as i recall. lady in front of library - obese with lighter and cigarette - i ask her for a light she says “why are you chasing me?” - not a question. it is a question. it is something inside of a question. an accusation. a false accusation. a controversial, extremely controversial false accusation. it implies more. profile equivalent of a stalker. im not a stalker. a chaser. but i will become one if she wants me to. if the shoe fits ill wear it. or ill just wear it once and throw it away anyway. copy and paste this text and put it into a text to speech application and just listen to it ... let me know if it sounds good. borrow phrases from it. let it brainwash you. because it’s all real. really really really really real. kim and kanye. blessings. armenians. what the heck. little children in library walking around... happy looking. global warming. will it kill all the little children that look so innocent to my eye. and to my eye the world looks ok. but to the instruments... they’re reading something else. that’s how gas kills doesn’t it... it didn’t smell. it just killed. mount olympia. sculpture garden at the pier has a lot of gardners but a lot more dog shit. its impossible to sit in the grass. there was SO MUCH dog shit there. mcdonalds sued for a million dollars. dont do it. all these ridiculous articles on Medium. i joined medium but i cant even press a button to write. ridiculous. double daniels. daniel lives here. so does erin treg. ill try to not mention too many names i guess. maybe they can comment on posts and take them out. fuck ilya golub. fuck olga. fuck all those people. nikolai and m8s and ara and etc etc. let them live their lives but these are weenie people. someone should keep a permanent weenie hat on their heads. stop stuffing dicks into everyones head aram. stop it. note to self. exercise more discipline in the language that i use. lockwood... he was an author who blew his braINS OUT. but he was typing like an animal in the family garage. he released a book. i wish one day i can get back to literature reading again. i miss pynchon. i miss delillo. did they write any new books. are they still alive? im going to check google right now and trust the answer. dellilo alive. i heard roth died. 5-22-2018. wow . the number 22. number of hebrew characters in the alphabet. the number of arab league countries. 22 is a heptagonal number. which means 7 sided polygon number. who knows what that means. its just important. who knows. philip roth died on 5 - 22 - 2018. wow. i miss his work. american paradise or something or portnoy’s complaint. who was that guy. i remember being in oregon 4 years ago and digging deep into literature. is my brother dead? did shant eat a heroine shot? people on the bus were saying weird things. is my father dead? i don’t even know. i remember jolie writing things on the wall. like prophecy that turned into reality. maybe the whole thing was a joke. the name. keith. she used names. she said things. JR JR JR> what is JR.. it’s on the inside of larissa lip . who knows. maybe real or not. nick. wtf. heroine. fresno. people talking to me. gangs this that. greatful dead family. where are we. what is this. acid. meth. heroine. crack brillo pads. what is all this. what happened. where is everyone. dope shooters. not a lot of people left around - “ Cage The Elephant - Shake Me Down - YouTube “ urban dictionary. JR> some caring guy. larissa’s boyfriend. hope they’re still together. been talking out loud to her. sometimes i feel her. saw a lookalike of Lory. or i actually saw lory. maybe when larissa and i were in santa cruz.. we were being watched and played for fools. she kept saying she saw nicole. the aramark logo. the mark from seattle. the people out there. here. chris while. erin triggie. daniel ex of jessica. who knows what people do. say. where am i. what has happened to me. how am i homeless. what is this. what happened to me. i used to be an OG. lol. what am i now. can i even handle it. unlikely candidate. why do people even half respect me. what is going on. scholarships. colleges. high school kids applying for colleges. stanford early application this year is november 1... and the regular is january 2. i remember 2004 applying for fafsa and all that. scholarships. this that. getting accepted. man. SAT scores are still going. its insane how out of touch you get despite trying hardest to stay in touch. eventually the kids evict you themselves. couple library rats tried to trade me bluetooth headset for some molly in front of library and for some crystal. i said no to both. i saw mad guy tweaking dancing fuckin hard at millionair club today - i looked at him and said “brother i love you so i dont want to see you here, like this, ok?” - where is HOMIE RESCUE TEAM - what are we going to do? should we just laugh at this guy. should we just let him die off. should we kill him? what do you think? i have to read news... china and america. usa. and china. and korea. and russia. and some games and calm down and 110 billion dollar pump into USA. turkey and saudi arabia ... and pushing and shoving and ghana and america visits and angola 500 million president running to london who knows... where are we.. like flies buzzing around on The Blue Marble. what happened to sitting at home and enjoying one another in peace. where is my wife. why do i call her my wife. im forgiving people. im rescuing people. im saying im going to quit cigarettes. people look so shady. they look so protective over their assets. ive lost more than i think or know or can count or i dont know whats going on.

i wanted a ferrari 812 a portofino i saw was pretty i like the color rosso and i wanted a 488 spider and a home on frontenac and i wanted a powerboat like 70 footer or 77′ and i wanted to go to bahamas or caribbean and have sex with my wife and procreate and have children and relax and sleep and rest and have a home on 18 acres in snoquamish and all that stuff and have a Dodge ram 2500

just read about Satyrs for the first time. rams and satyrs and greece and dionysus and debauchery and Pan and apollo and challenging gods and losing and winning and secretive & lustful and wanting to fuck and permanent erection (piss boner) - very interesting.

also very interesting is the PT Barnum effect ... basically .. .have you ever had a boner? have you ever wanted to have sex with many women? have you ever flirted with a woman? h ave you ever challenged someone bigger than your own size (like David?) - who knows. Ram. Aram. Random Access Memory. bighorn ram. it was in a shooting game i played on hunting game on computer a long time ago.

gods .. shoot downs. being destroyed. FLAYED Alive. the Flaying of Tarsus. hubris. arrogance. humility. cold. hot.

there is this fucking idiot laughing in the library. this fucking tool idiot. he is in the library and he laughs like a clown. i wish joe pesci were here so he can jam and smash on the guy. but he’s not so if i do it. in front of the cameras. it will pr;obably get me into some sort of toruble. who knows. anyway.

iris murdoch. philip roth. thomas pynchon. all these people. time passes. pynchon delillo still alive still kicking.

birth days were the worst days. slowly getting over the doldrums. what is it called. weighing yourself down . idioms. expressions. the power of idioms. lists of idioms. lists of ethnic slurs. lists of sociological terms. lists of profiling terms. lists of lists. endless lists of words and referrents and objects and feelings.

Jimmy hendrix park seattle. the numbered avenues. Ballard. the draw bridges. the seaplanes. the boeing. the SAM . art museum. the fountains. the trees and parks. the lake washington. the lake union. the puget sound. the alaskan viaduct project. 4 months. all the little pieces of seattle. the 4 seasons. the goldfinch bar. the bars. the loyal inn. mark matthews park. he was a presbyterian minister. here we are. some guy still laughing so i told him to shut up bro that hes fucking annoying. then another guy joins in... he does a little goat laugh. so i fucken do a sheep laugh too. fuck these guys. play whack a mole all day.

seattle is amazing. minus these idiots in it. can someone genocide them. or get rid of their bodies tonight and feed them to the orcas k25 and k13 ? .. k13 is dead. k25 is getting skinny.

The latest official count is 77 orcas among the three pods. That reflects the death of K-13, a 45-year old female named Skagit.

the count of orcas is 77 orcas. i wanted a 77 or 70 foot yacht. i wanted to call it Septuagint. there are al ot of 7s in the bible.

oh Gosh. oh man. david reigned for 7 years 6 months. 76. 67. 6s and 7s. 42s. wow. and 7 male descendants of Saul hung before the lord. 7s. the 7 times 77 forgiveness.. yesterday the sevenfold punishments in leviticus. i like stuff like this alot.

7 for all mankind - i remember such days. the time is 12:12 Pm on 10/9/2018.

who knows these things ... the Lord is playing on all tracks concurrently. im less annoyed. i see all these defective personas in one day. i dont know why. but its getting better. people getting chin checked. a lot of people getting tagged.

the rats are getting smashed on worldwide. Meng. etc etc. interpol. this that. internationally. locally, domestically. the Great Awakenings. when we enter into slumbers and turn into zombies turn into psychic vampires. we need to clean the algae every once in a while or else there’s just bodies and piles of bodies of humans. we dont really care about the dead of the past. we really dont’ give a shit or dedicate any time to remembering or researching the dead of the past. a list of wars by death toll. largest natural disasters by death toll.

to have faith. to try to pray to God. to say im not here to destroy the catholic church. people say and come up with the worst and weirdest things. if you can only see this writing post you will see i hop around so many places.

a poison dart frog, a dog, a porcupine, a snake, a cow - i’ve been compared to such animals. after a while all the terms of endearment eventually get to me.. its annoying its not cute. people speak they did the worst things to me and im pretty done for trying to recover. maybe i will maybe i wont maybe someone will kill me or ill magically die.. it wont matter - i see that kurt cobain and bruce and brandon and jimmi hendrix theryre all dead and the stars are all dead the “stars” ... revelation says

Revelation 6:13 and the stars of the sky fell to the earth, like unripe figs

and the woman and the dragon and the red dragon ... and ir ead revelation and imagined myself as satan last year but i dont think so. i think the others are satan becasue they twisted my brains in and out.. and i cant wait for the rest of revelation to be carried out so that i can witness the end of the world. im very tired of how twisted and disgusting things have become.. im not just angry or wrathful.. i would like to actually see the end of the world... i would like to see Jesus im going to try and be ok until that happens. .. and its so sad that people are just.. .its so sad.

https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Revelation+12&version=NKJV

love,

aram krikorian

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writeawayjake · 7 years ago

Text

WIP!!!

(Plus the little doodle that goes with it)

CHAPTER 1

The Swordsman

How had he gotten here? Shirt half soaked in cheap mead, eyes red with lack of sleep, sitting in a dingy tavern far from anywhere that could be considered ‘civilized’. The glory had faded, the shouts of praise had grown quiet, and the days had begun to blur together. All he had left was the sword and the memories of what he had gone through to get it, what he did with it once he had it. It had been years since he even took it out of it’s sheath.

Why didn’t you save them? Why weren’t you strong enough? Why? Why? Why?

“Another” he grumbled to the bar keep, sliding his cup across the bar. The dull candlelight barely illuminating the man's very blurry face.

“You still haven’t paid for the last five, I’ll need the coin ‘fore I pour you another drop.” Begrudgingly he reached back for the coin purse on his belt. Yes, another, keep going until we can’t feel anything. Until it all goes away. Drink. Just that simple act was proving difficult, the room was beginning to spin and his extremities were starting to feel numb. He gropped around clumsily for a time until a booming voice startled him.

“IT’S HIM!” The voice bellowed. He, very carefully, turned himself in his stool to see a very large, very blurry, bald Behemoth with several friends around him. He could tell they were there but for the life of him couldn’t make out any faces. Or be positive that he wasn’t just seeing double. “Yer ‘im aren’t ya? The Swordsman. The ‘dawn bringer’ right?”

“I’m no one.” he replied in a grim montone. You’re a failure. False hero.

“You don’t want that…” He warned. But you do. Draw it. Draw it, hero. Kill everyone here. That’s all you’re good for. Most dignity had already abandoned him at this point in his life, but he was just drunk enough to do something stupid and self destructive if given the chance.

You know you want to. Why are you pretending you’re afraid. You want to. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it!!!

“Are you plannin’ on movin’ me?” There was a long silence before the Behemoth scoffed and began reaching for the hilt of the sword. Without warning, the Swordsman's skull slammed into the Behemoth’s face with a loud CRACK, re-breaking his nose. The blow had caused him to fall from his stool and had sent the Behemoth reeling. The floor felt like it was shifting beneath him as he stumbled back to his feet. The Behemoth let out a roar of pain and held his hands to his face as blood rushed down his chin. That’s it! Keep going hero! “AHM GONNA SHOVE THAH SWORD UP YER ASS!!!” He bellowed. The Swordsman reached instinctively for his sword but his hand recoiled, almost as if he was horrified of it and slowly his arms fell to his sides. You coward.

The Behemoth, still screaming, threw a wild haymaker at the Swordsman’s head and a massive fist landed flush across his cheek, hurling him halfway across the room, as if he made no attempt to dodge it. He threw another, and another, each one staggering the Swordsman but he never attempted to fight back or defend himself. You should just let him kill you. There’s nothing here for you. No one who cares if you die in this shithole. Fed up the Behemoth finally grabbed the Swordsman and hurled him into a nearby table, sending cups and plates flying. The Swordsman slowly stood back up with a far off look in his eyes and blood trailing out of the cuts on his cheek and brow. “STAY DOWN!!!” The Behemoth bellowed as he threw yet another punch. Yet this one did not meet it’s mark and instead the Behemoth received a swift stomp to his knee. A sickening snap and a blood curdling scream could be heard throughout the tavern. The Behemoth began to topple over but before he could hit the floor the Swordsman grabbed his collar,

“No…” The Swordsman said almost in a whisper, before he began slamming his fist into the Behemoth’s nose over and over with savagery and abandon. Over and over again the Swordsman’s fist met its mark, sending droplets of blood flying this way and that. This is all you’re good for. The other patrons who still remained in the tavern looked on in horror as they were sure no one could survive such a beating for long. Kill him. Kill him. Burn the world down! The Behemoth’s friends finally decided to intervene, rushing in to try and save their comrade. Two grabbed the Swordsman’s arms and tried to pull him off, one began punching him in the gut and ribs as the last tried to drag the Behemoth from the melee.

As numb as the drink had made him the Swordsman could feel a rib begin to crack under the barrage. Yes. Yes! Hit us harder. Harder!!! A searing pain ran through his chest as the punches continued. Finally after several mighty blows the friend pulled a knife. A seax that glinted in the dim candle light. There was no way he could have known the kind of mistake he was making. Prior to that, the whole affair had just been a fight to the Swordsman. He’d been able to hold it at bay. He had been able to ignore it, but now, now it was a different matter entirely… Poor bastard, he thought. Poor bastard. The voice said.

#write #writing #writers #story #stories #storytelling #storytellers #WIP #fiction #fantasy #books #art #drawing #alcoholism #PTSD #trauma #swords #OC's #my writing #WriteAwayJake

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writeawayjake · 7 years ago

Text

Work in progress!!!

So far these have all been first drafts but this one chapter was one I wasn’t really happy with until I went back and re-worked it!!! As always, open to notes and critiques!!!

CHAPTER 1

The Swordsman

How had he gotten here? Shirt half soaked in cheap mead, eyes red with lack of sleep, sitting in a dingy tavern far from anywhere that could be considered ‘civilized’. The glory had faded, the shouts of praise had grown quiet, and the days had begun to blur together. All he had left was the sword and the memories of what he had gone through to get it, what he did with it once he had it. It had been years since he even took it out of it’s sheath.Why didn’t you save them? Why weren’t you strong enough? Why? Why? Why?

“Another” he grumbled to the bar keep, sliding his cup across the bar. The dull candlelight barely illuminating the man's very blurry face.

“You still haven’t paid for the last five, I’ll need the coin ‘fore I pour you another drop.” Begrudgingly he reached back for the coin purse on his belt. Yes, another, keep going until we can’t feel anything. Until it all goes away. Drink. Just that simple act was proving difficult, the room was beginning to spin and his extremities were starting to feel numb. He groped around clumsily for a time until a booming voice startled him.

“I’m no one.” he replied in a grim monotone. You’re a failure. False hero.

You know you want to. Why are you pretending you’re afraid. You want to. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it!!!

“Are you plannin’ on movin’ me?” There was a long silence before the Behemoth scoffed and began reaching for the hilt of the sword. Without warning, the Swordsman's skull slammed into the Behemoth’s face with a loud CRACK, re-breaking his nose. The blow had caused him to fall from his stool and had sent the Behemoth reeling. With his feet now underneath him, the floor felt like it was shifting and swaying beneath him. The Behemoth let out a roar of pain and held his hands to his face as blood rushed down his chin. That’s it! Keep going hero! “AHM GONNA SHOVE THAH SWORD UP YER ASS!!!” He bellowed. The Swordsman reached instinctively for his sword but his hand recoiled, almost as if he was horrified of it and slowly his arms fell to his sides. You coward.

Poor bastard, he thought.

Poor bastard. The voice said.

#Write #Writers #Writing #My Writing #Fantasy #Fiction #story #stories #storytelling #PTSD #depression #self doubt #self hatred #alcoholism #addiction #fighting #taverns #cliches #WriteAwayJake

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