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senadimell · 2 years ago

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AI art thoughts

Thinking about the AI artist thing (that’s apparently been going on on Twitter?) because it popped up in a discord server.

People seem to be asking the wrong questions. “Is this art?” is a fundamentally unenlightening question because some people use ‘art’ to mean “creative work that evokes good emotions/thoughts; an aspirational goal” and some people use art to mean “work that challenges perceptions; a neutral description.” People can talk in circles around each other all day and never get further when art means “good” for one party and “a thing that exists” for the other party.

Human component, creativity, beauty, etc...these are things that can’t easily be quantified and there’s at least a good century’s worth of people labeling infamous artworks as “not art,” so if you want to wade into that discussion, I’ll point people to Marcel Duchamp’s Readymades and maybe throw in a dash of Worhol and the Pop Art movement, and while we’re at it, let’s add debates about photography’s status as art/an artistic medium and why not add the camera obscura in as well.

Long story short, art is not fundamentally different from technology at a splitting-hairs level. Selecting pigments requires technical knowledge. Representing one thing in a symbolic way is a kind of invention (and I’m talking even at the basic level of ochre paints in caves or the invention of speech. Not that those things are basic, but that “technology” feels like a complicated thing but everything was new once). I can make music on a piano and maybe that stirs the soul but at the end of the day I’m also pushing buttons to move levers and strike strings. Any kind of music that’s not singing wordlessly involves a technology. Any art that’s not prop-less, shoeless dance requires manipulation of the physical world and requires some kind of technical knowledge. You’re not going to answer any AI debate by an appeal to “machines invalidate art!” because a paintbrush is also a technology and there’s no commonly accepted metric for the existence of souls.

But that doesn’t mean there aren’t meaningful questions or statements to be made about AI-generated images if we lay aside the “is this art?” statement. I think we should also stop pretending that Art is/should be above the influence of Soulless things like Money and Politics because I’m pretty sure money and compensation has been part of the debate for longer than the English language has existed. Instead, I propose questions such as:

Who is the artist? (Who do I consider to be the artist, who does my society consider to be the artist, and who does that definition include or exclude? Why? Who thinks one thing vs. another/what are the competing interpretations? What are the societal implications of that judgement?)

Is this exploitive? (yes, next question)

Under what conditions? (complicated answer involving consent and unintended consequences)

Who should be compensated? How?

Will this restructure professional creative industries? (yes)

How? (similar ways that it has in other industries; cutting out a swathe of workers by automating their jobs, reducing ‘grunt work’ like generating tens or hundreds of images for a customer who will only pick 1 or 4 of them and shifting the focus of the profession to other avenues, much like the advent of computer calculation and computerized databases has drastically reduced the time it takes to run statistical analyses and has shifted the focus of research to generating better datasets and freed resources to other avenues while also (probably) reducing overall opportunities in the field; probably a bunch of other foreseen and more than a few unforeseen consequences as well)

Who benefits and who suffers from the increasing use, commercialization, &/or legitimization of AI-generated images? Who is considered expendable and who is considered worth protecting? Who may be targeted by it? By whom?

Which subjects will likely be promoted by this technology? Which subjects will be restricted? How? Why? By whom? What response is needed?

What is required for this technology to function? Where are the people involved? What ecological and economic resources? What response is needed?

What are the legal ramifications of this technology? Who will have access to codified state protection in theory? In practice? What about access to community protection? Professional protection? What response is needed?

What movements or technology is this similar to in the past, and how have people responded to it? How is it different? How are contemporary responses similar &/or different to historical responses? What effects did past technology/art have on society, and what can we learn from that impact?

Is it moral to continue refining/developing/selling AI tech to generate words/images?

Is it moral to use AI to generate images etc., and under what conditions?

Is it moral to purchase AI-generated images etc., and under what conditions?

Do the socioeconomic implications of AI work change my/our reaction to it? What does that mean to me/us? What conclusions is my community sharing with me, and how can I learn from it? What conclusion do I wish to share with my community, and what do I hope they will learn? How do these exchanges of experiences change our preconceptions?

Knowing the above questions, how should we/I approach AI-generated images? Who disagrees? Why? How should we engage with them?

Should we/I continue to support it or should we limit it? In what forums? in what forms? How should we support it or limit it? Individually? Socially? Professionally? Legally and if so, at what level and by which branch of government?

In other words, “is this ‘art’ or not?” is honestly a dead end and that shows in the discussion by the evidences people bring up to support their point (the “it’s art” people bring up how it’s similar to things commonly considered art, and “it’s not art” usually bring up things like Soul or Human Expression but also a lot of human socioeconomic concerns for Actual Artists and how we value them).

A lot of people saying “AI-generated images are not art” mean “AI-generated images are not good (for us)” and I think that the above questions offer more specific ways to ask and answer that question.

#art discussion #man i would like to study some art history sometime #of course i have my own inclinations about what i think is art (aspirational) and what i think is Bad Art #and i certainly have a sense of what i think is insufficiently like our collective definition of art and thus is not art but smthing else #but i'm prepared to play devil's advocate and have accepted that there's not going to be a definitive answer to "what is art?*

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honorhunt · 3 years ago

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𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐊𝐘 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐒 against the formulaic walkways of coruscant's largest industrial district. the traffic flow hummed with heavy loads as bulky air speeders lumbered through closed-circuit passages that paralleled the shadowy retreat of a crouched figure. skin drained of color aside from the bites of cold that drew what blood still warmed his body to his cheeks. he did what he could to control the sniffling that threatened to overtake his sinuses and turn his chapped upper lip into a glistening mess.

the figure ducked from heap to heap of commercial refuse that lined the rectangular alleyways. there were no windows on any of the buildings and no sign of any lifeforms lurking around the corners. no risk of eyes recognizing the filthy ochre jumpsuit that clung like a wet rag to his rail-thin body and alerting the men who paraded around with a familiar face beneath their mocking helmets.

boba fett was no longer recognizable. not as a clone of jango. the boy's features were too carved now, narrowed by legal assumption he belonged with violent men twice his age. a brow pronounced by rage, lips permanently swollen from constant brawling, papery skin sallowed by artificial light. even his eyes shifted uneasily in the natural day, unaccustomed to the intensity of sunlight even when filtered by a dome of grey.

his alleyway came to a dour end, joining up with an open stretch of thoroughfare that allowed for low-bearing vehicles and swaths of laborers during operating hours, but the wet spell dawn and only just touched the horizons of the ecumenopolis giving boba a limited time to figure out where he was going before the workforce poured in from the residential sectors to win their daily scraps. so far the boy just pressed forward. he and bossk were forced to split during the riot. boba's stature for once proved an asset when eluding the task force assigned to butcher retaliating prisoners. neither the trandoshan or his human charge expected their incitement to end in such chaos. meaning boba had no idea how he'd find bossk or if the other bounty hunter even made it out of the detention center alive.

all boba could do was move for moving's sake and hope that all roads in coruscant lead to its rotting innards. once in familiar territory, boba would feel safe enough to figure out a plan. maybe find his way to tiggs leo's bar. the volpai was familiar enough that boba was willing to risk a stop. once there he'd figure out bossk's fate and get off-world, trandoshan or not.

a good plan that hinged on the assumption that the boy could even find a turbo down. damn how he missed his father's helmet and its built-in database.

boba involuntarily shuddered. his core wasn't used to battling the elements and the detention center's uniform wasn't made for life on the outside. the boy gave himself a moment to ring out the hems of ankles as he rolled them up into tight folds just below his calves. boba ignored the threat of a shiver as he leaned out of the alley, narrow eyes scanning the street as thoroughly as a rangefinder.

a sharp intake of air and he was off. water hissed in his wake as boba bolted across the thoroughfare. oval droplets pummeled his bare head like tiny hammers as he cleared the main width and slid into the opposing alley just as a brand-marked transport speeder bumbled by.

the refugee growled. the slide had been a brash ploy. now the entire length of his right leg stung with duracrete burn. boba peeled himself off the ground like a scab and hobbled for a few cantankerous steps before his annoyance got the better of his pain.

no stopping. it was safer to assume that the driver had seen him and was already informing others that one of the participants of the latest headline was nearby. no, he had to keep going. surely there was a way down. acrid-smelling factories favored cheaply satisfied lower-level denizens, there had to be an access portal somewhere.

boba took a moment to glance over his shoulder to check for any curious onlookers as he scurried into a cross-section —

straight into a white plastoid chest.

the impact pushed boba back. startled, the refugee caught himself on his wounded leg. a spike of pressurized pain jolted exposed nerves on grated skin. chapped lips lanced by a fanged sneer as boba fett glared into a t-shaped gaze outlined by blocks of red.

❝ what do we have here? ❞ said the stolen valor of his father's voice.

from his peripherals boba found the clone's blaster. it was knitted closely to the trooper's chest, secured by two armored hands that would not relinquish the weapon easily. boba swallowed the knot in his throat. no matter what came next jango's son would never again be their captive. the cage of the grave was a far more wholesome thought than a cell sanctioned by his father's killers.

@kyberled — chillwave ambient by spacewave

#dude thanks for your patience #i really appreciate it cause sjdhafgfjh i think you liked for a starter #a month ago #i'm sorry! holiday haze was real #but here we go #fresh from the detention center #just got his block knocked by obi hardeen #kyberled #kyberled / 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫. — 01 #hold that bloody head up high / 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞. — canon #as you wish / 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫. — starter #child neglect cw #child endangerment cw

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europetraveltips · 3 years ago

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THE 6 BEST PLACES TO VISIT IN EUROPE IN 2021

Anticipating how travel will glance in 2021 is a waste of time. However, what's without a doubt is that this year has hit the delight business hard: the meaningful ventures, the mother and-pop organizations, individuals doing things right. So going in 2021 will not simply be an opportunity to reconnect with ourselves and feel the buzz of showing up in another spot and another headspace, alive to additional opportunities. As it were, it will be our opportunity to decide in favor of the sort of world we need to live in: one of maintainable organizations, environments and networks, instead of people gazing into the seductively empty bereft of a cell phone screen. It will likewise be an opportunity for a considerable lot of us to recall that we live in a mainland that is one of the extraordinary interwoven designs mankind and topography. Here's the place where we'll be going in Europe in 2021, and it feels progressively basic that we as a whole get out and do likewise – and make a decision in favor of euphoria. For more future motivation, look at our manual for the best occasion objections for 2021 and the best UK objections to visit in 2021.

6. THE AZORES

With the conceivable exemption of Iceland, no place in Europe does land dramatization very like the Azores – the Hawaii of the mid-Atlantic, with thickly forested islands bordered by rough precipices that appear to emerge from the nothingness like goliath green knees from an early stage shower. The archipelago, 950 miles from the bank of parent country Portugal, is a position of volcanic cavities, sulphuric natural aquifers, penetrating whales and surf breaks ignored by epic stacks. The archipelago of biospheres and marine stores has likewise been a calm paragon of practical the travel industry, a kind of European response to Costa Rica.

There are ships and little planes to islands like Faial, Pico and São Jorge, yet the majority of the activity occurs on Sao Miguel, which is all around loaded with great spots to remain. The exemplary twofold header is to put in a couple of evenings each at two sister inns: the Azor, with fresh mod-store calculation and a roof pool ignoring the harbor in the principle town of Ponta Delgada; and the Furnas Boutique Hotel up in the mud-percolating volcanic focal point of the island, where the superstar is the dark stone, Japanese-style warm pool.

In Vila Franca do Campo, the whale-watching and plunging area of interest thirty minutes along the south coast from Ponta Delgada, Convento de São Francisco is a 10-room shop in an exquisitely stark seventeenth century religious circle. Different features incorporate the Sete Cidades Lake Lodge, a progression of wood lodges on a kayak prepared lake in the wild north-west; and the Santa Bárbara Eco-Beach resort , a position of low-threw substantial innovation ignoring a long surf sea shore on the north coast.

By need, the food is consistently locavore, from the islands' popular cheeses to uncommon however delightful fish, for example, wreckfish and blue-mouth rockfish, and cozido das Furnas, a seven-meat stew slow-prepared in Furnas' volcanic earth. This is an immortal kind of spot; a profound nature escape, which feels about directly in 2021.

5. DUBROVNIK AND ITS SURROUNDS, CROATIA

Dubrovnik might be a little overwhelmed with Game Of Thrones sightseers, yet there's constantly been a sure wizardry to this limestone fortification on the Adriatic. Also, what's regularly neglected is the thing that an extraordinary beginning stage it is intended for a legitimate experience. Toward the south, it's not exactly an hour's drive past the languid harbor towns of the Dubrovnik Riviera to Montenegro – a country which has step by step been rediscovering its post-war magic, particularly with the impending appearance of a biophilic-innovator inn from Janu, Aman's new more youthful sister brand. Toward the north, it's under three hours to Mostar, an impeccable Bosnian town of fairylit millhouse cafés and Ottoman stone scaffolds, not a long way from the Kravice cascades, with a turquoise swimmable tidal pond encompassed by Niagara-like falls.

Yet, the alternate approach is offshore, towards the vehicle free, tumbledown Elaphiti islands of Koločep, Sipan and Lopud, handily came to by neighborhood ships. The one to visit in 2021 is Lopud, an island of Renaissance-time stone houses, outlandish gardens and demolished fortifications. Its Franciscan religious community is presently open as the five-suite Lopud 1483, following a meticulous 20-year redesign by Swiss workmanship supporter and donor Francesca Thyssen-Bornemisza. She and her family have filled the 5,000-square-meter religious community with Renaissance and contemporary workmanship, a Franciscan drug store and a reflection garden planned by an Arctic shaman, while protecting the unpleasant plasterwork and patina of the antiquated cloister.

4. SKÅNE, SWEDEN

Sweden's southernmost region infrequently gets the inclusion it merits – in huge part in light of the fact that such a lot of buzz is drawn across the Øresund Bridge from Malmö to Copenhagen. Yet, Skåne is certainly worth investigating, from the interwoven appeal of the city to the lakes, wineries and Nantucket-esque clapboard waterfront towns of the rich open country, frequently alluded to as Sweden's larder.

Malmö has large numbers of the things making it work that have put Copenhagen and Amsterdam on each most-liveable rundown going: youthful, bikeable, streaked with trenches and substantial espresso joints, yet additionally home to a wonderfully saved Dutch-Renaissance old town. However it stays more blended than the disobediently elegant Danish city across the water, particularly in regions like Möllevången, a refined, multicultural piece of town referred to local people as Falafel City. Furthermore, Sweden's generally loosened up Covid-19 guidelines have implied that hip locavore frequents, for example, Bastard, Vollmers and the Höganäs Saluhall food corridor, just as zero-squander lunch most loved Restaurang Spill, have clutched their magic heading into 2021.

A sample of Skåne produce is a decent antecedent to an excursion to the open country: regardless of whether south to the sea shore hovels and marram-grass rises of the Skanör-Falsterbo promontory, or north to the clapboard coastline town of Mölle, where the Grand Hôtel Mölle remarkably investigates the stone sea shore and the wild Kullaberg Nature Reserve, with its porpoises and beacon climbs. Past Mölle, Båstad is another exemplary coastline town, with a customary kallbadhus (cold washing house) spa toward the finish of a wooden dock, having a place with the legacy splashed Hotel Skansen. All over the area, which is by and large calmer than the Stockholm archipelago, there's a relaxed feeling of provenance at spots, for example, at the zero-squander Hörte Brygga in the south-west, with its superb water-side nursery in the mid year. Like an European response to New England, this is the most polished of breaks.

3. SALENTO, ITALY

For a genuine Italian break in 2021, we'll head right to the lower part of its heel. Habitually under-staffed as the nation's response to Cornwall, on its own hot recurrence, the Salento district offers an unpleasant cut rendition of the best of Italy – from the nearly Caribbean west coast to the plunging bluffs of the west coast; from Brindisi down to southernmost Santa Maria di Leuca through the florid dream of Lecce, all beasts and limestone sections. This is a dry, ochre-toned place where there is olive forests and precipice hopping kids, too drowsy to even consider having a very remarkable scene. The cucina povera will in general be plain and unfussy: take the shockingly awesome gnummareddi, or sheep offal rolls, served in the walled garden at A Casa Tu Martinu in Taviano; or the barbecued bream at Lo Scalo, incorporated into the bluffs at Marina di Novaglie, and run by the Longo family for 50 years.

In any case, a progression of little savvy stays have increased the game here as of late. For example, the nine-room Palazzo Daniele in Gagliano del Capo, a nineteenth century apartment given a rich mod-devout makeover by hotelier Gabriele Salini – where travel disruptor Thierry Teyssier dispatched his 700,000 Heures 'fleeting inn' idea. Or on the other hand Masseria Canali, a low-threw, seven-room estate of curves and collectibles west of Brindisi, which opened for takeovers this late spring with a pool deserving of A Bigger Splash.

2. TIMIȘOARA, ROMANIA

This western Romanian city is regularly alluded to as Little Vienna, with its stupendous Habsburg Secessionist structures and roundabout downtown area. In truth, it's not as glossily refined as the Austrian capital, however that is the point. Indeed, even in its stupendous focus, the primary spot in Europe to have electric streetlamps, Timișoara doesn't feel like a scam. Also, as other Romanian urban communities, including Cluj-Napoca and Sibiu, there's a discernible feeling of energetic good faith in this understudy town. A large number of the city's foundations have the vibe of somebody's parlor – like Scârț Loc Lejer, a bric-a-brac bar possessed by a craftsman's group, with a congested nursery, a bordering theater and a gallery of Communist commercialization in the cellar. Somewhere else, there are hopping club evenings at underground Database and practices at the graffiti'd Aethernativ Café, with faint echoes of early Noughties Berlin.

There are celebrations in Timișoara for everything from world music to film, Romany workmanship and jazz, the last of which has consistently been enormous here, in any event, when Ceaușescu pushed it underground. The National Opera House has drama and expressive dance works of art, with tickets at the cost of an IPA in London, and the craftsmanship goes from a road workmanship display in a street passage to the Muzeul de Arta's assortment of wry pictures by Corneliu Baba. All of which drove it to be named European Capital of Culture for 2021, an assignment which might get pushed back a couple of years in the wake of Covid-19. Name or not, this is a legitimate city of culture, and definitely worth a city break.

1. CHANIA, CRETE, GREECE

While its Ottoman-affected harbor and spaghetti bowl of cobble-stoned roads are gently delightful, Chania is sneaking up all of a sudden with regards to its food. From basic ocean side bistros to lovely Cretan high end food, this city on the north-west shore of the Greek island has a select yet rapidly growing scene that is tricking in master palates.

#europe #europe travel #europe trip

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erinaceina · 5 years ago

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20 for 2020

Thanks to @notasapleasure for tagging me. :D

Tagging anyone who feels like it.

1. Do you make your bed? Most of the time, yes, except when I’m running late or there’s a cat in the middle of it.

2. What’s your favorite number? 7.

3. What’s your job? Oh, this is a bit complicated. Job #1 is reading academic articles about the Middle Ages, writing synopses of them and cataloguing them in a database that allows researchers, students etc to find articles relevant to their interests. Unfortunately, they don’t have enough money to employ me full-time, so I also have job #2: working for the civil service administering payments to farmers and landholders for doing environmentally useful stuff. Most of the money comes from the EU, so who knows what will happen after Brexit?

4. If you could, would you go back to school? Oh yes, especially with the same caveats @notasapleasure gave (full time, for the pleasure of learning, no financial worries). Think of all the dead languages out there! But, to be honest, I’m reaching the point where I’d even be glad to do a professional qualification because I need to learn something new.

5. Can you parallel park? Nope.

6. A job you had which would surprise people? McDonald’s? it was my first job and I smelt of burgers continually for an entire summer. It’s not really that surprising, though. The next summer, I worked a bunch of temp jobs including packing medical supplies, which was actually really fun.

7. Do you think aliens are real? Yes, in the sense that I think it’s highly likely that there’s other life (intelligent or otherwise) out there in the universe. I don’t, however, think that they’re wandering round cornfields in the middle of the night with a lawnmower making crop circles or interfering in the government. Humans are quite strange enough all by themselves.

8. Can you drive a manual car? No. I can’t drive any kind of car. I really need to learn, but other things keep getting in the way.

9. What’s your guilty pleasure? I’m trying to feel less guilty about stuff and I’m not going to apologise for reading romance novels or singing along to the Lord of the Rings soundtrack or any of my somewhat cheesy tastes in entertainment. I guess if I had to choose something... so-bad-it’s-good takeaway pizza. I like the fancy, authentically Italian kind with sophisticated toppings where you can taste the freshness of the tomatoes and the charring on the crust, but honestly on a Friday night, often what I most want is cheesy takeaway pizza with toppings that would send an Italian into a screaming rage (not pineapple though because that’s terrible).

10. Tattoos? 12, I think. On my legs, a jar of pansies, a mouse with some oak leaves and acorns, some fox-and-cubs (Pilosella aurantiaca) flowers and a sparrowhawk with lily of the valley (which is a symbol of hope renewed but also very poisonous, a combination that I find very satisfying, symbolically speaking). On my left arm, a star of David (something of a personal fuck-you to the far right after the Charlottesville shit storm), a strawberry and leaves, wildflowers (blackberries, foxgloves, poppies) and forget-me-nots. On my right arm, a traditional swallow, a bee, a wild strawberry plant and a bigger overgrown-garden-themed piece with a weasel, dog roses, hawthorn and a great tit. Basically, I’m turning myself into a wildwood, but I really want my next tattoo to be Lymond-themed.

11. Favorite color? Purple. I also really like colours like burgundy and dark petrol blue. I’m surprised to find that I like the ochre yellow that’s everywhere at the moment a lot because I usually hate yellow.

12. Things people do that drive you crazy? Listen to music out loud on public transport. It’s so rude and it makes me feel like someone’s peeled my head and is just poking my brain incessantly. Also, and I know this is weird and specific, people who feel the need to tell you continuously how much they hate cats when they know you’re a cat person. There was one woman in work who literally told me that she’d rather have a taxidermied cat than a living one. Great? Thanks? Because I don’t live in dread of coming home to find that one of my cats is ill or dead or anything. Thanks.

13. Any Phobias? Spiders. Why do they need so many legs and eyes? Why? I hate absolutely everything about them. Possibly a fear of heights, but that may just be vertigo and really poor sense of balance. I also have a phobia about death that has literally left me sitting up in bed screaming in terror in the middle of the night - and, because I tend to overthink things anyway, this extends not just to a fear of my own death and the death of my family/friends but literally to utter despair at the thought of the end of the universe in however many billion or trillion years. I read an article that said that most people have a sort of filter in their mind that stops them associating images of death with themselves and I guess my brain just doesn’t have that filter. So that’s always fun. On a lighter note, as a small kid I was terrified of chimneys.

14. Favorite childhood sport? Does swimming count? Because I loved swimming and still do, even though I don’t get the chance to go very often. If you mean team sports, I guess hockey. I have very poor spatial awareness (premature baby with a slightly miswired brain) and I’m not a natural team player, so most sports at school were an utter nightmare.

15. Do you talk to yourself? Pretty much continually, unless I’m talking to the cats.

16. What movie do you adore? The Lord of the Rings trilogy, obviously. Death of Stalin, although it’s much, much darker than my usual tastes. Pride (2014).

17. Do you like doing puzzles? I mainly like doing map puzzles, so I guess I just like fiddling round with maps. Otherwise, I’d rather sit in the same room as people doing the puzzle and read a book and occasionally move a piece around.

18. Favorite kind of music? All sorts, really (folk, classical, metal, cheesy pop especially). I’m enjoying @notasapleasure’s folk recs, particularly Offa Rex.

19. Tea or coffee? Mainly tea (English breakfast with milk) but I usually have a latte in the morning when I’m at work.

20. The first thing you remember you wanted to be when you grew up? An astronaut, I think.

#real life #meme

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vicecityhq · 2 years ago

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██████████████]99% LOADING...SUSPECT INTO THE APD DATABASE...

WITNESS(ES) SAY THEY REMIND THEM OF: a set of burning eyes emerging in the middle of a darkened alley, the slow slide of a silk tie slipping from his shoulders, careful brush strokes caressing a canvas, lips curling into a smirk moments before a kiss is pressed to the back of a hand . With a slight resemblance to KIM MINGYU of/the SEVENTEEN.

CLICK BELOW TO VIEW ENTIRE FILE.

FULL FILE:

last name, first name: San Shinseok alias: The Black Knight realm of birth: Earth, near Mount Kumgang of the Korean peninsula age: Appears mid-twenties, actual age is 247 gender: Male preferred pronouns: he/him species: Vampire - turned occupation: Art Conservator at the art history museum & Nightblood smuggler sexual orientation: Disaster bisexual any associated/owned businesses: N/A

VISUAL FILE:

Skin Color: He maintains his sunkissed tan, however the lustre grows dim when he’s gone too long between fresh feedings Eye color: Normally a burnt umber but when invoking his vampire aspects they turn into a molten yellow ochre Scars: A jagged circle that goes through his left palm to be mirrored on the back of his hand from a stake he purposefully grabbed Piercings: Helix on his left ear, typically wears a cuff earring Tattoos: Helix on his left ear, typically wears a cuff earring tattoos: A red ink phoenix on his back, with the nightblood droplet coming from the bird's eye Hair color: Black Abnormalities: Through contact with a cursed Oni mask, his transformed form has been enhanced as described below Horns/ wings/ etc: Transformed form: A black lacquer Oni mask manifests over his face and sets into his features before his bones crack and separate to make room for a pair of tusks to grow from his upper jaw. Curved horns snap from his forehead. From behind the mask, his irises glow with a pale yellow light. The fangs on his upper jaw elongate to the size of chef knives and end near his chin, a set also grows from his lower jaw that emerges past his lips. Instead of two rows of serrated teeth, it appears as if his entire mouth becomes a jagged cavern, the teeth often snapping and regrowing as they push against each other to fit. The claws consume the entire lengths of his fingers, emerging from his bones in segments to allow for articulation. Similar black stained bone plates erupt up his forearms almost like a scaled gauntlet ending at his spiked elbows. He can control the length of his claws in his form, growing them to drag across the floor or keeping them trip depending on his needs. The act of transforming releases a sudden rush of heat that steam wafts from his body and his skin remains hot enough to inflict burns at prolonged contact. All of the new bone will regrow and replace itself if broken or removed.

RELIGIOUS BELIEF: Indifferent, still holds onto some of his sindo beliefs from when he was human

SINS: lust / gluttony / greed / sloth / envy / wrath / pride

VIRTUES: chastity / temperance / charity / diligence / kindness / patience / humility

KNOWN LANGUAGES: Korean, Japanese, Mandarin, Manchu, Hindu, Mongolian, English

SECRETS: After he was turned, he eventually returned to his village in the mountains. His curiosity turned into rage upon arriving. The legend of the 산 악마 “Mountain Devil” was born when the destruction and mutilation of his village was discovered.

SAVVIES: Combat Prowess: He has training in Taekkyeon, Gungdo, Muay Thai, Kenjutsu, Hung Ga, and Pencak Silat. His weapon proficiencies are Gakgung and modern equivalents, swords with a preference for shortswords and single edge swords, expert marksmanship, and knife fighting. With his typical loadout being a compact recurve bow, Daewoo K5 handgun, M40A7 bolt-action rifle, Karambit, and aconite poison on special occasions. Artist: He’s refined his painting skills and typically paints landscapes in the Romantic style. He can play piano and has taken a liking to photography.

Powers & Abilities: Blood Consumption, Blood Empowerment, Blood Flow Vision, Contaminant Immunity, Conversion, Immortality, Supernatural Condition, Hypnosis, Claw/Fang Retraction, Soullessness, Undead Pulse, Venomous Fangs and Bezerk Form

Traits: + Charismatic - Ruthless

BACKGROUND CHECK:

Date of Birth: December 18, 1775

Date of Death: August 12, 1800

Crime Record: Clean as a whistle but not for a lack of trying. Having a sire in the highest of places comes with numerous perks.

Background/Biography:

Content warnings: violence, mutilation, gore, murder,

As much as he tried to distance himself from his original, pathetic, mortal life, the foundations it set were as sturdy as the mountains that surrounded his tiny village. He was an ember, struggling to burn bright as the mundanity of peasant life threatened to smother him. The spare to the eldest brother’s heir, he became a hunter, escaping into the woods to avoid scrutiny and comparisons between the siblings. A season of sickness had swept through the village, stealing their parents in quick succession as the brothers could only barter for so much medicine from the healer. As their sister recovered, the eldest spoke pretty words to honour them while he dug their graves and fashioned their biers. His brother became a merchant in the footsteps of their father, while he focused on making sure their sister never went hungry.

An altercation with an official changed the course of his life, as he couldn’t hold his tongue while watching his brother be squeezed for every last coin in their coffers and their sister leered at. He was thrown out into the mud in front of a black horse and rider, the tax collector’s thugs intent of teaching him a lesson. The onlookers watched with baited breath as bones cracked under his hands, teeth shattered and stuck into his knuckles, and even an ear was torn off and spat out in the fray. He stood tall in the end, smearing blood away from his mouth, and had the decency to haul the unconscious bodies off the road to let the rider pass, huffing out threats under his breath as the official had fled the scene at the first scream. He didn’t think much of the situation, assuming he had scared away the official and that his family was safe.

Finding the man bound and dazed in the middle of a hunting trail a few days later was surprising to say the least. However, he didn’t have much time to ponder that detail as the rider drew his attention, lowering her hood to reveal molten gold eyes shimmering with tainted curiosity, smile wicked and sharp as she asked him to show her if he truly meant his savage promises. He started with the man’s limbs, twisting and wrenching bones, flaying skin, and peeling away muscle until he could see the threads of marrow fraying and snapping with each convulsion. He carved fissures into flesh, yanked at sinew and crushed delicate organs, careful to leave the official just enough to struggle for breath until he was satisfied. Every built up frustration finally finding a release amid agonized screams. He granted the man death by ramming his mouth through a branch and leaving the corpse to dangle from the tree. Having forgotten about the woman in his frenzy, her lips on his drank deeply from the inferno now coursing through his veins. His hands painted her in crimson as her nails clawed at his skin, digging as if she could find and coax the fire of his being into something greater, to blaze brighter. Her teeth sinking into his neck seared a new future into his flesh.

They descended the mountain guided by the moon. The weight of leaving his family lessened with the knowledge that lingering would only cause them problems. They were better off without him, better suited for their pastoral lives and free from the burdens his temper caused. He had new horizons to chase, lessons to learn, with his sire at the pinnacle of it all. The raw brutality he carried in his heart transformed, reshaped by her expert hands into a refined and elegant violence as his pulse echoed hers. At her side, she revealed to him the world, painted his nights in revelry and showed him the true meaning of living. Offering his complete devotion felt like a pittance in comparison.

A century of discovery developed him into a renaissance man, capable hands and a discerning eye exploring the arts where he took to painting with a particular fondness. His sire being his muse was hardly a choice but came to him as naturally as breathing. A true Romantic at heart drew him to capturing expansive vistas, rendering the world in its raw awe in an attempt to seize those fleeting moments that insisted on how small he truly was. Rising above people was easy but nature was unconquerable. Despite how hard mortality struggled against that fact. As the wilds were snuffed out, pillaged and tarnished, he turned to the arts out of a desperation to preserve what he could of the past. Conserving the world that remained unsullied in his memory through the brushstrokes and sketches of masters who saw it the same way.

It was this increasingly futile endeavour that had him examining and handling a private collection of a kitsune. Priceless for its historical value alone, he was giddy while opening each crate, changing his gloves between each antique to handle them with the due reverence. Until he found himself staring into the unblinking voids of a lacquer Oni mask, a consuming darkness showing his eager reflection back at him, distorted across the glossy surface. The urge to place it over his face cinching itself marrow deep. It belonged with him. He placed it back into the crate without comment, replacing his gloves to examine a woodblock print. The hairs on his neck raised as he sensed a gaze lingering on him with no source.

The kitsune was a gracious host, inviting him to sign and seal their business over a dinner catered to his particular appetites. He still cannot recall what happened after the first drops of blood coated his tongue only finding himself standing tall above a room of carnage, viscera still hot as it coated his hands. As the thought entered his head, his sire was at his side as the shadows grew heavier. Working together, they handled the incident swiftly and a few plucked strings later it was as if the kitsune never existed in the first place. The collection had always been in his sire’s estate. Which only left the matter of uncovering what he actually did. They came to an answer the next time he fed, the stars and his sire watching as the mask manifested and seized his body. As with his previous transformation, they took to training when it became clear that removing the mask’s connection to him wasn’t an option.

INTERVIEW QUESTION (para sample): “Just run us through what happened that night”. - Officer

"And then a unicorn came out of the sewer, neighing a prophecy that I was to pull the sacred sword from the volcano to-"

"Stop wasting our time," the officer snarled, making the corner of Shinseok's lip curl until his fang glinted in the light.

"But I was just getting to the good part," he shrugged, practically lounging in the metal chair despite the cuffs digging into his wrists.

A flutter in his chest drew his attention to beyond the room, twisting the metal restraints until they squealed and popped free just as the door opened. Her presence came with a brief tickling sensation cascading down his neck, a smoldering heat settling into his gut and a bitter tang coated his tongue. Irritation flashing through his body as he focused on the residual emotions. Something had displeased her and the growing simmer had him worried for only a moment that he had taken his games a bit too far.

"It's been a pleasure gentlemen," he called, crossing the room with a flick of his wrist, rubbing it in that they never had him in their grasp. He was out of the building almost instantly, carried by his curiosity and concern. Ducking into the g-wagon, he couldn't help but grin at her. Even when she was obviously putting effort into maintaining her poise, although that might have only been obvious to him.

"Stop being cute," She huffed despite a dimple trying its hardest to appear on her cheek. He finally drew it out by pressing a kiss to the back of her hand while sliding into the seat beside her. He refused to let her go too far with a hand idly tracing along her skin while she ranted about sushi and hissed some threat that involved fish fingers.

#vcaccepted #vcnightblood

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bending-sickle · 3 years ago

Photo

Since “Africa” and “married woman” was too vague, I went looking for the image source.

It is from the OMNIA database (artifact page) stating “Married woman's necklace (mpooro engorio) . Material and technique: Doum palm fiber, glass and beads, hide, ochre pigment (mineral origin materials).”

The mpooro engorio is a necklace worn by married women of the Rendille people, who live in the north part of Kenya’s Eastern province.

Here are two women wearing theirs:

Both by Eric Lafforgue, here and here.

Married woman’s necklace, early 1900s, Africa.

#i had to #it wasn't even that hard #and now you know #through the hills and valleys over the mountains

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pranali2194 · 4 years ago

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the-honey-bear · 8 years ago

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/runtime error 606

1,000 years after her creation, Protos Heis wakes up and sees the world for the first time. ---> ao3

The last battle against the target leaves Protos Heis' systems in a compromised state. It limps, and then crawls, hauling itself with bloodied fingers, blacking its nails with dirt, to locate a suitable spot to enable its self-recovery systems.

It feels no pain: pain is not a useful program.

[ENABLING: SYSTEM RECOVERY AND BACKUP]

[WARNING: MEMORY CORRUPTION AT 91%]

[RECOVERABLE DATA IN PROGRESS]

[RUNTIME ERROR 606. DATABASE COMPROMISED. TARGET DATA: LOST]

[ENABLING POWER-SAVING MODE]

[SYSTEM SHUTTING DOWN]

…

You wake up.

The grass beneath you is soft and springy with lichen. The sensation is overwhelming; leaves tinkling like tin foil in the wind that tickles your skin, raising pin-pricks on your forearms. The sky is such a deep, deep blue, and while all of this seems familiar, why does it also feel as though you're looking at it for the very first time?

Your eyes transfix on a butterfly: how its wings flap twenty times a second, how the sunlight transforms it's ochre hindwings a currant-red. How--

Hey, watch out!

A hand closes around your wrist. One of the boys who woke you up.

What's your name? they ask you.

[FILE CORRUPTION. NO DATA AVAILABLE]

I don't know.

The younger boy is Hubert. The elder boy is his brother, Asbel. His smile is all tooth and mischief, and when he asks you to come with them, you find yourself nodding.

You can still feel Asbel's hand on your wrist, though he's long since let you go. You lift your wrist and examine it, searching for the invisible marks that may, perhaps, have crept inside.

An indistinct thought drifts like dandelion puff on the breeze: that you might have spent the past one thousand years asleep, undreaming.

#my fanfiction #tales of graces #gen fic #sophie (tog)

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brownbizwn-blog · 6 years ago

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The Ochre Recruitment has an extensive database of doctors to fill the vacancy in General practice, emergency medicine jobs or any other medical speciality. For details visit https://www.ochrerecruitment.co.nz/disciplines/emergency-medicine

#emergency medicine jobs

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how2to18 · 6 years ago

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“I THINK YOU BAILED when the world began to change,” writes journalist Michelle McNamara in an imagined letter to the Golden State Killer in the epilogue of her true crime memoir, I’ll Be Gone in the Dark. She is offering a hypothesis to explain why the psychopath who had terrorized California communities throughout the state from 1974 to 1986 — committing at least 46 rapes and 12 murders — abruptly stopped. “Memories fade. Paper decays,” she writes after cataloging the many ways past policing limitations had hampered the hunt for one of the most prolific serial rapists and killers in modern history. “But technology improves.”

Technology does indeed improve. As McNamara and others had guessed, the key to the killer’s ultimate capture lay in familial DNA databases. In uncanny timing, on April 25 — just two months after I’ll Be Gone in the Dark’s release and subsequent rocketing to the top of the New York Times best-seller list — authorities hauled in the suspect that had eluded them for over 30 years. Thanks to a complex process involving an open-source DNA database and time-consuming genealogical analysis, investigators were eventually able to zero in on Joseph James DeAngelo Jr., a 72-year-old former police officer who had lived in the same Sacramento suburb for over 30 years. While a jury has yet to determine his guilt, the odds are astronomically against him. Not only did analysis of his publicly discarded DNA result in a 100 percent match — a one in 400 trillion chance — but the details of his life also appear to square exactly with the locations of the crimes and other reported specifics. A judge has recently also allowed the prosecution to order fingerprints and additional DNA, not to mention anatomical photographs to determine whether he possesses the “physical abnormality” described by his surviving victims: an exceptionally small penis.

It’s hard to imagine a capture more emblematic of this particular cultural moment of reckoning: an aging dinosaur of a predator is finally brought down by the advances of a new age — humiliated in the process, whether by way of potted plant or micro-penis. For Harvey Weinstein et al, the scale of atrocity and the modus operandi were obviously more modest, but it’s still easy to discern similarities in the rough outline of misogyny and sexual predation. And, it’s easy, too, to see a ready hero in hard-charging armchair detective Michelle McNamara, who — it is only the slightest stretch to say — died in pursuit of the monster responsible for such a wide swath of devastation.

While officials in Sacramento were quick to assert that I’ll Be Gone in the Dark did not contribute to the capture of Joseph DeAngelo, McNamara’s work certainly raised the public profile of the long-cold case — and thus very probably also heightened the pressure to solve it. A true crime junkie back before “binge-watching” and “podcasts” were words let alone catalysts for full-blown true crime addiction, McNamara brought her hobby armchair-sleuthing out of the shadows in 2006 with the launch of her blog True Crime Diary, a place for fellow amateur detectives to swap leads and crowdsource clues to help solve cold cases. However, nothing consumed her attention more than the case of the at-large brutal serial rapist and murderer then known by the cumbersome moniker East Area Rapist/Original Night Stalker, or “EAR/ONS.” Surprised that a predator more prolific than the Zodiac Killer was not well known outside of law enforcement circles, McNamara rebranded him with the much more media-friendly “Golden State Killer” nickname — a step she had mixed feelings about, considering it aggrandized him. However, the angle worked. Potential leads poured in as the crimes and victims received much more press over the next years — including a 2013 piece in Los Angeles Magazine written by McNamara herself that would become the basis for I’ll Be Gone in the Dark.

In a tragic twist, Michelle McNamara’s unexpected death in her sleep in April 2016 garnered even more attention for the case. Not only did McNamara’s husband, comedian Patton Oswalt, share her investigative efforts with his millions of Twitter followers and fans, but more importantly, he recruited researcher Paul Haynes and investigative journalist Billy Jensen to complete her partially finished manuscript by piecing together her copious handwritten notes, tentative hypotheses, interview transcripts, and roughly 3,500 separate computer files.

The resulting book secures McNamara’s legacy as a virtuoso crime writer while also bucking the conventions of the genre. The account’s necessarily fragmented nature may be jarring, but its juxtaposition of case facts with personal notes and reflection is also one of its greatest strengths. Had Michelle McNamara merely completed a comprehensive look at the Golden State Killer’s crimes in order to generate more investigative leads, the book would have been rendered obsolete the instant that DeAngelo was arrested. Instead, I’ll Be Gone in the Dark is a timeless, personal memoir about a woman’s obsessive hunt for justice as well as a moving, fully realized portrait of the killer’s victims, their families, and the army of heroic detectives who tirelessly pursued a predator for many decades.

Michelle McNamara steers clear of the lurid sensationalism that can prevail in the true crime genre. Other crime narratives can sometimes elevate killers, lending them an almost mythic status. McNamara’s depth of empathy for the Golden State Killer’s victims puts them at the center of the story instead. Moreover, the intimacy of her narrative voice combined with her well-chosen details never allow us a safe, voyeuristic vantage point from which to observe the horrors she describes. She weaves in a casual mention of a victim’s copy of Your Perfect Right: A Guide to Assertive Behavior on his nightstand. A daughter’s personal calendar empty for the month except for reminders of her dead parents’ birthday. A surviving boyfriend who recalls his girlfriend dismissing a sound from the garage as a washing machine. Michelle McNamara never lets us forget the scope of the killer’s sadism and the lives he destroyed. It’s a terrifying world to be thrust into — but it’s also an oddly refreshing counterpoint to the murder-as-light entertainment vibe of current podcasts and streaming docuseries.

McNamara’s prose is striking yet unfussy. In one prescient moment, she pegs the killer as someone who “strolled undetected in the middle-class swarm, an ordinary man with a resting-pulse derangement.” The hard-working detectives she meets “smell vaguely of soap […] excel at eye contact and have enviable posture” while they “maintain a pleasant but vigorous blankness.” The book is replete with similarly efficient yet evocative descriptions.

McNamara is especially adept at infusing the narrative with the specific atmosphere of 1970s and ’80s California, evoking disco clubs, muscle cars, and hot summer days at the beach along with the hopeful promise of the residents of tract homes in impeccably planned subdivisions. Her descriptions are worth savoring. Stories of growing up in 1970s Sacramento are a “tangle of sweet and scary, small-town postcards with foreboding on the back.” She walks us down “ochre-colored carpeted hallway[s]” and reminds us of the Jack LaLanne gyms, Tiffany chandeliers, huarache sandals, and the trademark “surfer bounce” of Santa Barbara teens headed to the beach.

Throughout, one gets a sense of the crushing burden that weighed upon McNamara as she simultaneously attempted to catalog the immense scope of the killer’s brutality and to distill a body of detective work in hopes it could generate more case breakthroughs. When she describes the scream that is “permanently lodged” in her throat after living and breathing the horrific details of the killer’s crimes for so long, her unexpected death is suddenly made somehow more comprehensible, given the nights of insomnia and the all-consuming nature of her obsession. The narrative is punctuated with descriptions of her own fraying nerves. She’s “jittery from sugar, hunger, and spending too much time alone in the dark.” Her eyes are “stripped by computer glare and as devoid of moisture as if they’d been vacuumed clean by an airplane toilet.” These details add an eerie poignancy to the book.

It can be very hard to read — both because we know exactly where McNamara’s obsession led and because she is so skilled at transferring that permanent scream in her throat to ours as she pulls us into the dark maze of grisly specifics — specifics all the more chilling now that we know a former police officer is in custody. The attacker always wore a ski mask and woke his victims by shining a blinding flashlight in their eyes. He surveilled victims at length before pouncing, familiarized himself with the layout of homes, disabled porch lights, cut phone lines — and sometimes even hid pre-cut rope or shoelaces under cushions in the house to use as ligatures. While at first his victims were women home alone, he graduated to targeting middle-class couples, taking particular pleasure in forcing men to witness his assault while tied up nearby, a pile of dishes laid on their back to serve as a makeshift alarm in case they attempted a rescue.

Nevertheless, McNamara always guides us through the appalling facts like a gentle professor, pausing for breath in between cataloging crime details to effortlessly explain DNA typing techniques or the geographical peculiarities of Sacramento. While of course many chapters covering possible theories about the killer’s profile are now irrelevant — something that might be revised in future editions — it is still interesting to spot where McNamara’s hypotheses hit close to the truth. Her mind “keeps circling back to the image of a man in a uniform […] an everyday worker whose presence signals that everything is running smoothly.” A hastily scribbled note Haynes and Jensen include reads, “Figure out a way to submit DNA to 23andMe or Ancestry.com.” One chilling paragraph focuses on Sacramento Sheriff’s Department officer Richard Shelby’s belief the killer was in law enforcement, given his m.o. of wearing gloves and parking outside the standard police perimeter — not to mention the fact a potential victim swore she had heard a police radio outside her window before authorities had arrived.

Far from being a liability, the patchwork structure of I’ll Be Gone in the Dark transforms it into a fascinating metanarrative that explores the nature of true crime obsession itself. Hayne and Jensen’s editorial asides about Michelle McNamara’s revised opinions and tentative hypotheses — along with McNamara’s own self-reflective interjections — combine to create a case study of what compels the true crime aficionados among us. “How much our frenetic searching mirrors the compulsive behavior […] of the one we seek,” McNamara admits, pinpointing an uncomfortable truth about herself as well as her likely readers. She describes her state of “research rapture” as her late-night online investigating provides steady dopamine hits, and she reminds us that rats prefer to seek food rather than be given it. However, she amusingly reflects with exhaustion at one point: “I’m envious […] of people obsessed with the Civil War, which brims with details but is contained.” The rest of us true crime addicts can relate. Better yet, the fact that such a seemingly kind and sensitive soul as McNamara shares our macabre compulsion can put our minds at ease.

The portrait of McNamara that emerges in I’ll Be Gone also reminds us that true crime aficionados are predominately female — a fact we could likely intuit even without the several studies that confirm it. Women’s entertainment network Oxygen even recently decided to change its entire format to focus exclusively on true crime stories. That nonfiction crimes stories grip women most is hardly surprising given that the genre focuses overwhelmingly on violence against women — and that more than 70 percent of serial killers’ victims are female. It is unclear whether women are immersing themselves in nonfiction crime stories as a sort of rehearsal in the event they themselves are attacked, or if they are attempting to fathom the depths of hatred directed toward them — or perhaps both.

McNamara’s own interest in crime was sparked by the grisly murder of a young woman in her hometown of Oak Park, Illinois, when McNamara was 14. The image of adult McNamara slipping away from grudging appearances at her husband’s work events or stealing time after her daughter’s bedtime to hunt a killer — her investigative notes scattered near stuffed animals and crayon drawings — makes her an especially relatable and fitting heroine for the times. With a sexual predator installed in the highest office and the United States’s most beloved television dad unmasked as a serial rapist, McNamara represents a perfect antidote to a cultural strain of toxic masculinity that pervades US culture. The breathtaking scale of the Golden State Killer’s crimes — and the staggering amount of time he has remained unpunished — seem to serve as a stand-in for an even more sweeping scope of predation against women in general.

Early in I’ll Be Gone in the Dark, McNamara suggests her interest in crime stems from a need to reclaim power over evil. “He loses his power when we know his face,” she writes, generalizing about attackers. But what she couldn’t know is that her book would represent an even greater triumph: it is McNamara, brimming with heart and relentless in her quest for her justice, who is far more compelling than her sad-sack subject could ever be. Her self-deprecating wit, her intelligence, fearlessness, and her empathy shine through, serving as the perfect counterpoint to the depravity she describes. She reclaims power through the sheer force of her humanity and heart.

If only we all had that superpower. We could use it these days.

Kristen Kittscher is a former middle school English teacher and the author of mysteries for young readers.

The post Reclaiming Power Through Humanity: On Michelle McNamara and “I’ll Be Gone in the Dark” appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

from Los Angeles Review of Books https://ift.tt/2NOz5s4 via IFTTT

#Blogger

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hellosaltysaladcollectionstuff · 6 years ago

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If only we all had that superpower. We could use it these days.

Kristen Kittscher is a former middle school English teacher and the author of mysteries for young readers.

The post Reclaiming Power Through Humanity: On Michelle McNamara and “I’ll Be Gone in the Dark” appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

from Los Angeles Review of Books https://ift.tt/2NOz5s4

#Blogger

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heritaglh · 6 years ago

Link

Ochre Recruitment is one of the leading medical recruitment agencies in Australia. With over 15 years of experience, we have an extensive database of doctors who are ready to fill both permanent and locum medical jobs in Australia. Visit https://www.ochrerecruitment.com.au/ for more details.

#medical jobs Australia #locum medical jobs #locum doctor jobs

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jayedanalysis-blog · 7 years ago

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Blade Runner 2049 [Review]

Blade Runner may have shaped the future, but it’s easy to forget its past. Now universally accepted as a classic, Ridley Scott’s future-noir fantasy (from an android-hunting novel by Philip K Dick) flopped in 1982, widely dismissed as an exercise in ravishing emptiness, as eye-catchingly hollow as Rachael, the glamorous “replicant” played by Sean Young. Late-in-the-day recuts didn’t help, adding an explanatory narration and dopey happy ending following negative test screenings. Indeed, it was only when Blade Runner was reconfigured via a 1992 Director’s Cut, and later Scott’s definitive Final Cut, that its masterpiece status was assured, sitting alongside Fritz Lang’s Metropolis and Kubrick’s 2001 in the pantheon of world-building sci-fi.

No such tribulations await Blade Runner 2049, which has opened to the kind of critical adoration that sorely evaded Scott’s original. Yet Arrival director Denis Villeneuve’s audacious sequel, co-written by original screenwriter Hampton Fancher, really is as good as the hype suggests, spectacular enough to win over new generations of viewers, yet deep enough to reassure diehard fans that their cherished memories haven’t been reduced to tradable synthetic implants.

The action plays out 30 years after “blade runner” Rick Deckard (Harrison Ford) gave up chasing down androids and fell in love with one instead. In the interim there’s been a “blackout” – 10 days of darkness that wiped digitally stored replicant-production records, creating a blank space in humanity’s database memory. Promos for the off-world colonies still burble through the acid rain, jostling for attention amid corporation logos for Sony, Atari, Coca-Cola and Pan Am.

Through this dystopian swamp, Ryan Gosling’s “K” walks in Deckard’s footsteps, tracking down wayward androids and “retiring” them. “How does it feel?” asks Dave Bautista’s Sapper Morton, taunting this deadpan hunter that he can only do his job because he’s “never seen a miracle” – an enigmatic phrase that will haunt K (and us) as he attempts to unravel its meaning.

K lives in a poky apartment with his virtual girlfriend Joi (Ana de Armas), a holographic artificial intelligence who seems to exist in the same world as Samantha from Spike Jonze’s Her. In his post-mission debriefs, K is subjected to a Pinteresque form of interrogative word association that surreally flips the replicant-detecting Voight-Kampff tests previously administered by Deckard. After years of being an unflappable killer, the “Constant K” is experiencing doubts about his job, his memories and his nature. “I never retired something that was born,” he tells Lieutenant Joshi (Robin Wright), musing that “to be born is to have a soul”. Joshi is unimpressed, insisting that in this line of work, you can get along fine without one.

Such existential anxieties are at the heart of Villeneuve’s movie, which has the confidence to proceed at a sedately edited pace utterly at odds with today’s rapid-fire blockbusters. Mirroring and inverting the key themes of its predecessor, Blade Runner 2049 swaps unicorns for wooden horses while retaining the visual grandeur that fired Scott’s film. From vast landscapes of grey rooftops and reflectors, through the rusted shells of post-industrial shelters, to the burned-ochre glow of radioactive wastelands, cinematographer Roger Deakins conjures a twilight world that seems to go on for ever. Bright candy colours are restricted to the artificial lights of advertising and entertainment. Architecturally, the production designs evoke Robert Wiene’s The Cabinet of Dr Caligari, all angular lines and expressionist shadows. Elsewhere, we encounter statuesque nods to Spielberg’s AI: Artificial Intelligence, along with a self-referential homage to Kubrick’s The Shining, outtake footage from which was incorporated into the original release of Blade Runner.

The sights are staggering, yet the real triumphs of Blade Runner 2049 are beautifully low-key. Carla Juri injects real magic into a heart-breaking, dream-weaving scene; Sylvia Hoeks rivals Rutger Hauer as Luv, the ass-kicker with terrifying tears; and Ana de Armas brings three-dimensional warmth to a character who is essentially a digital projection.

Narratively, Fancher and co-writer Michael Green pull off a remarkable narrative sleight of hand that leaves the audience as devastatingly wrongfooted as Gosling’s cosmic detective. As for Villeneuve, he teases away at the enigmatic identity riddle at the centre of Scott’s movie, brilliantly sustaining the mystery of a blade runner’s true nature (“It’s OK to dream a little, isn’t it?”) while chasing the spirit of Philip K Dick’s electric sheep.

Composers Benjamin Wallfisch and Hans Zimmer dance around memories of Vangelis’s themes, creating a groaning, howling soundscape that occasionally rises in horrifying Ligeti-like ecstasy. The first time I saw Blade Runner 2049, I was overwhelmed by its visuals and astonished by its achievements. On second viewing, a sense of elegiac sadness cut through the spectacle, implanting altogether more melancholy memories. Both times, I was reminded that Blade Runner editor Terry Rawlings had described Scott’s original as “a grandiose art movie” and marvelled at how perfectly that phrase fitted Villeneuve’s new dreamy vision.

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