#person: alex finke

[sitpwgs]

alex finke as cosette i love you so much

[mariacallous]

In recent weeks, as so-called cheapfake videoclips suggesting President Joe Biden is unfit for office have gone viral on social media, a Kremlin-affiliated disinformation network has been promoting a parody music video featuring Biden wearing a diaper and being pushed around in a wheelchair.

The video is called “Bye, Bye Biden” and has been viewed more than 5 million times on X since it was first promoted in the middle of May. It depicts Biden as senile, wearing a hearing aid, and taking a lot of medication. It also shows him giving money to a character who seems to represent illegal migrants while denying money to US citizens until they change their costume to mimic the Ukrainian flag. Another scene shows Biden opening the front door of a family home that features a Confederate flag on the wall and allowing migrants to come in and take over. Finally, the video contains references to stolen election conspiracies pushed by former president Donald Trump.

The video was created by Little Bug, a group that mimics the style of Little Big, a real Russian band that fled the country in 2022 following Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. The video features several Moscow-based actors—who spoke with Russian media outlet Agency.Media—but also appears to use artificial intelligence technology to make the actors resemble Biden and Trump, as well as Ilya Prusikin, the lead singer of Little Big.

“Biden and Trump appear to be the same actor, with deepfake video-editing changing his facial features until he resembles Biden in one case and Trump in the other case,” says Alex Fink, an AI and machine-vision expert who analyzed the video for WIRED. “The editing is inconsistent, so you can see that in some cases he resembles Biden more and in others less. The facial features keep changing.”

An analysis by True Media, a nonprofit that was founded to tackle the spread of election-related deepfakes, found with 100 percent confidence that there was AI-generated audio used in the video. It also assessed with 78 percent confidence that some AI technology was used to manipulate the faces of the actors.

Fink says the obvious nature of the deepfake technology on display here suggests that the video was created in a rush, using a small number of iterations of a generative adversarial network in order to create the characters of Biden and Trump.

It is unclear who is behind the video, but “Bye, Bye Biden” has been promoted by the Kremlin-aligned network known as Doppelganger. The campaign posted tens of thousands of times on X and was uncovered by Antibot4Navalny, an anonymous collective of Russian researchers who have been tracking Doppelganger’s activity for the past six months.

The campaign first began on May 21, and there have been almost 4,000 posts on X promoting the video in 13 languages that were promoted by a network of almost 25,000 accounts. The Antibot4Navalny researchers concluded that the posts were written with the help of generative AI technology. The video has been shared 6.5 million times on X and has been viewed almost 5 million times.

Among the prominent accounts sharing the video was Russian Market, which has 330,000 followers and is operated by the Swiss social media personality Vadim Loskutov, who is known for praising Russia and criticizing the West. The video was also shared by Tara Reade, who defected to Russia in 2023 in a bid for citizenship. Reade also accused Biden of sexually assaulting her in 1993.

The video, researchers tell WIRED, was also manipulated in a bid to avoid detection online. “Doppelganger operators trimmed the video at arbitrary points, so they are technically different in milliseconds and therefore are likely considered as distinct unique videos by abuse-protection systems,” the Antibot4Navalny researchers tell WIRED.

“This one is unique in its ambiguity,” Fink said. “It's maybe a known Russian band, but maybe not, maybe a deepfake, but maybe not, maybe has reference to other politicians but maybe not. In other words, it is a distinctly Soviet style of propaganda video. The ambiguity allows for multiple competing versions, which means hundreds or articles and arguments online, which leads to more people seeing it eventually.”

As the Kremlin ramps up its efforts to undermine the US election in November, it is increasingly clear that Russia is willing to utilize emerging AI technologies. A new report published this week from threat intelligence company Recorded Future highlighted this trend by revealing that a campaign, which has been linked to the Kremlin, has been using generative AI tools to push pro-Trump content on a network of fake websites.

The report details how the campaign, dubbed CopyCop, used the AI tools to scrape content from real news websites, repurpose the content with a right-wing bias, and republish the content on a network of fake websites with names like Red State Report and Patriotic Review that purport to be staffed by over a 1,000 journalists—all of whom are fake and have also been invented by AI.

The topics pushed by the campaign include errors made by Biden during speeches, Biden’s age, poll results that show a lead for Trump, and claims that Trump’s recent criminal conviction and trial was “impactless” and “a total mess.”

It is still unclear how much impact these sites are having, and a review by WIRED of social media platforms found very few links to the network of fake websites CopyCop has created. But what the CopyCop campaign has proved is that AI can supercharge the dissemination of disinformation. And experts say this is likely just the first step in a broader strategy that will likely include networks like Doppelganger.

“Estimating the engagement with the websites themselves remains a difficult task,” Clément Briens, an analyst at Recorded Future, tells WIRED. “The AI-generated content is likely not garnering attention at all. However, it serves the purpose of helping establish these websites as credible assets for when they publish targeted content like deepfakes [which are] amplified by established Russian or pro-Russian influence actors with existing following and audiences.”

[mindutme]

Sdefa Sdaturday #13

This is another draft of the text from the last Sdefa post, now the entire text. I’m not quite settled on the whole structure, especially the word order. More importantly, I decided it wasn’t working as a duet so it is now a quartet. It may be a while before I have a recording, unfortunately.

In the meantime, I want to talk a little bit about UNLWS and one way it’s influenced Sdefa. UNLWS is a conlang created by Sai and Alex Fink; I learned a little bit of it for the LCC10 conlang relay and liked it a lot so I stuck with it afterward. It’s a written conlang without any spoken component, and it’s nonlinear, meaning there’s no single order in which to read any given text; you can start in any part and move around in any direction. You can read more about it here!

One key feature of UNLWS is that all of the basic glyphs (essentially, words) are verb-like; even the glyph which expresses the idea of “cat” is defined as “be a cat.” Sdefa doesn’t go that far—it still has nouns and verbs as distinct classes—but there are some concepts which tend to be expressed as nouns in other languages but as verbs in Sdefa. One such is “parent/child,” D G E♭ C, as used in this recent relay text. Rather than a pair of nouns, it is a single verb that expresses a relationship: subject is a parent of object, or object is a child of parent. Most often when you use the word you’d be saying who is the parent of whom, but if you just want to say that someone is a parent or a child, you can use the impersonal pronoun suffix as a placeholder, which is like saying “they’re someone’s child.” This is a totally distinct word in Sdefa from “child” as in “young person,” by the way—that is an actual noun, B A G E.

Another such word in Sdefa (B A B A) is “home” or “reside,” also used in the relay text. For that verb, the subject is the home of the object, or the object lives in or at the subject. I used it to translate the concept of “beehive” without having to come up with a new word for it: a beehive is the place where bees live.

When writing the above text I needed a word for “goal.” As all Sdefa words are four- or five-note quotes of other music, I thought about what I might want to reference for this word and decided on E F♯ E G, a four-note fragment from the song “Last Midnight” in Sondheim’s musical Into the Woods: “if that’s the aim.” As I was working more on the text, though, I realized that treating “goal” as just a noun wouldn’t really work—it would have to be in the same category as “parent” or “home.” So now E F♯ E G is a verb meaning “to intend,” and “goal” or “aim” is that which is intended.

The irony of all this is that I may restructure the end of the text such that this word doesn’t even come up at all—but even if I do, I got a new word out of the experience!

[scaredgirlsilly]

im still trying to figure out how to rework yiik into a thing that id want. i think that it has to go balls to the wall insane with its nonsense kinda like i.v is (hopefully) doing. like the basis of yiik is fucking nonsense happening like that was the goal the creators set out to do was make a story where you go "what the FUCK is happening" but sadly they confused *alex* saying that with *the player* saying that. so it has to eventually devolve into incomprehensible things happening with no/little mention of it so that the reader (or player or whatever) is the one saying what the fuck. and alex being a dickhead is part of that. my main problem is that in yiik alex is a self centered annoying asshole that gets proven right since the twist ending is that i think like. everyone?? is alex. including you the player. literally alex is the most important person to ever exist. when it should be the opposite. alex should go through the story absolutely convinced that everything is centered around him in a "im the only one who can fix it" way only for that to be proven wrong. that he realizes that he doesnt mean anything to anyone, specifically cause of the way he acted, and the world couldnt give 2 shits if he exists. now how i would actually portray that in a semi comprehendable story?? no fucking clue but its sumn to fink about

[lindsaywesker]

Deaths In 2023

January

1: Fred White (67, American drummer, Earth Wind & Fire)

3: Alan Rankine (64, Scottish musician/producer, The Associates)

6: Gianluca Vialli (58, Italian football player/manager)

10: Jeff Beck (78, English guitarist, The Yardbirds/The Jeff Beck Group/Beck Bogart & Appice)

11: Yukihiro Takahashi (70, Japanese singer/drummer, Yellow Magic Orchestra)

12: Robbie Bachman (69, Canadian drummer, Bachman Turner Overdrive)

Lisa-Marie Presley (54, American singer/songwriter, daughter of Elvis, mother of Riley Keough)

16: Gina Lollobrigida (95, Italian actress)

18: David Crosby (81, American singer/songwriter, The Byrds, Crosby Stills Nash & Young)

27: Sylvia Sims (89, English actress, ‘Ice Cold In Alex’)

28: Barrett Strong (81, American singer/songwriter, co-wrote ‘I Heard It Through The Grapevine’/‘Papa Was A Rollin’ Stone’

Tom Verlaine (73, American musician/songwriter/producer, Television)

Lisa Loring (64, American actress, ‘The Addams Family’)

February

2: Calton Coffie (68, Jamaican singer, Inner Circle)

3: Paco Rabanne (88, Spanish fashion designer)

8: Burt Bacharach (94, American songwriter, co-wrote ‘Walk On By’/‘Anyone Who Had A Heart’/‘A House Is Not A Home’/‘Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head’)

10: Hugh Hudson (86, film director, ‘Chariots Of Fire’)

12: David Jolicoeur a.k.a. Trugoy The Dove (54, American rapper, De La Soul)

15: Raquel Welch (82, American actress)

16: Chuck Jackson (85, American soul singer, ‘Any Day Now’/‘I Keep Forgettin’’)

18: Barbara Bosson (83, American actress, ‘Hill Street Blues’)

19: Richard Belzer (78, American actor, ‘Homicide: Life On The Street’/’Law And Order: Special Victims Unit’)

Dickie Davies (94, British television personality, ‘World Of Sport’)

23: John Motson (77, English football commentator, ‘Match Of The Day’)

March

2: Steve Mackey (56, English bassist/producer, Pulp)

Wayne Shorter (89, American jazz saxophonist, Weather Report)

3: Carlos Garnett (84, Panamanian jazz saxophonist)

Tom Sizemore (61, American actor, ‘Saving Private Ryan’)

5: Gary Rossington (71, American guitarist, Lynyrd Skynyrd)

8: Topol (87, Israeli actor, ‘Fiddler On The Roof’/’Flash Gordon’)

10: Junior English (71, Jamaican reggae singer)

12: Dick Fosbury (76, American high jumper)

13: Jim Gordon (77, American drummer, Traffic/Derek & The Dominoes)

14: Bobby Caldwell (71, American singer/songwriter)

15: Greg Perry (singer/songwriter/producer)

16: Fuzzy Haskins (81, American singer, Parliament/Funkadelic)

17: Lance Reddick (60, American actor, ‘The Wire’/’Oz’/’John Wick’ films)

23: Keith Reid (76, English songwriter, Procol Harum)

Peter Shelley (80, English singer/songwriter/producer, ‘Gee Baby’/’Love Me Love My Dog’)

28: Paul O’Grady a.k.a. Lily Savage (67, English comedian)

Ryuichi Sakamoto (71, Japanese musician/composer, Yellow Magic Orchestra, composed theme to ‘Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence’)

29: Charles Sherrell a.k.a. Sweet Charles (80, American bass player/singer, The JBs, ‘Yes, It’s You’)

April

5: Booker T. Newberry III (67, American singer, Sweet Thunder, ‘Love Town’)

6: Paul Cattermole (46, English singer, S Club 7)

8: Michael Lerner (81, American actor, ‘Barton Fink’)

12: Jah Shaka (75, Jamaican sound system operator)

13: Dame Mary Quant (93, English fashion designer)

14: Mark Sheehan (46, Irish guitarist, The Script)

16: Ahmad Jamal (92, jazz pianist)

17: Ivan Conti (76, jazz drummer, Azymuth)

22: Barry Humphries a.k.a. Dame Edna Everage (89, Australian comedian/actor)

Len Goodman (78, English TV personality)

25: Harry Belafonte (95, American musician/actor/civil rights leader)

27: Wee Willie Harris (90, English rock & roll singer)

Jerry Springer (79, English-born, American TV host)

28: Tim Bachman (71, Canadian guitarist, Bachman-Turner Overdrive)

May

1: Gordon Lightfoot (84, Canadian singer/songwriter, ‘If You Could Read My Mind’)

3: Linda Lewis (72, English singer/songwriter, ‘Rock-A-Doodle-Doo’)

18: Jim Brown (87, American football player/actor, ‘The Dirty Dozen’)

19: Pete Brown (82, poet/singer/lyricist, ‘Sunshine Of Your Love’/’White Room’/’I Feel Free’)

Andy Rourke (59, English bass player, The Smiths)

24: Bill Lee (94, American jazz musician/composer, Spike’s dad, scored ‘She’s Gotta Have It’/‘School Daze’/’Do The Right Thing’

Tina Turner (84, American-born, Swiss singer/actress, ‘River Deep Mountain High’/’Nutbush City Limits’/’What’s Love Got To Do With It?’)

26: Reuben Wilson (88, American jazz organist, ‘Got To Get Your Own’)

June

1: Cynthia Weil (82, songwriter, ‘You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feelin’’/’Here You Come Again’)

6: Tony McPhee (79, English guitarist, The Groundhogs)

12: Treat Williams (71, American actor, ‘Hair’/’Prince Of The City’)

14: John Hollins (76, English football player, Chelsea/Arsenal/England)

15: Glenda Jackson (87, English MP/actress, ‘Women In Love’/’Sunday Bloody Sunday’)

27: Julian Sands (65, English actor, ‘A Room With A View’)

29: Alan Arkin (89, American actor, ‘Catch 22’/’Little Miss Sunshine’)

30: Lord Creator (87, Trinidad-born, Jamaican singer/songwriter, ‘Kingston Town’)

July

3: Vicki Anderson a.k.a. Myra Barnes  (83, American soul singer, Carleen’s mum)

Mo Foster (78, English songwriter/musician/producer)

5: George Tickner (76, American guitarist, Journey)

16: Jane Birkin (76, French/English actress/singer, ‘Je t’aime … moi non plus’, banned by the BBC in 1969)

21: Tony Bennett (96, American singer, ‘I Left My Heart In San Francisco’)

22: Vince Hill (89, English singer, ‘Edelweiss’)

24: Trevor Francis (69, English football player, Birmingham City/England)

26: Randy Meisner (77, musician/songwriter, Poco/The Eagles, ‘Take It To The Limit’)

Sinead O’Connor (56, Irish singer, ‘Nothing Compares 2 U’/songwriter, ‘Mandinka’)

30: Paul Reubens a.k.a. Pee-Wee Herman (70, American actor/comedian)

31: Angus Cloud (25, American actor, ‘Euphoria’)

 August

4: John Gosling (75, English keyboard player, The Kinks)

7: DJ Casper (58, DJ/artist/songwriter, ‘Cha Cha Slide’)

William Friedkin (87, American film director, ‘The French Connection’/’The Exorcist’)

9: Robbie Robertson (80, Canadian musician/songwriter/singer, The Band)

Sixto Rodriguez (81, American singer/songwriter, subject of 2012 documentary ‘Searching For Sugar Man’

13: Clarence Avant (92, owner of Sussex Records/Tabu Records, film producer, ‘Jason’s Lyric’)

Magoo (50, American rapper, Timbaland & Magoo)

16: Jerry Moss (88, music executive, the ‘M’ in A&M Records)

17: Bobby Eli (77, guitarist, MFSB/songwriter, ‘Love Won’t Let Me Wait’)

Gary Young (70, American drummer, Pavement)

19: Ron Cephas Jones (66, American actor, ‘This Is Us’)

24: Bernie Marsden (72, English guitarist, Whitesnake/songwriter, ‘Here I Go Again’/’Fool For Your Loving’)

29: Jamie Crick (57, English radio broadcaster, Jazz FM)

31: Gayle Hunnicutt (80, American actress, ‘Dallas’)

September

1: Jimmy Buffett (76, American singer/songwriter, ‘Margaritaville’)

4: Gary Wright (80, American singer/songwriter, ‘Dream Weaver’/’Love Is Alive’)

Steve Harwell (56, American singer/rapper, Smash Mouth)

8: Mike Yarwood (82, English comedian/impressionist)

13: Roger Whittaker (87, Kenyan-born English singer/songwriter, ‘Durham Town’)

16: Sir Horace Ove (86, Trinidadian-born, English film director, ‘Pressure’)

Irish Grinstead (43, American R&B singer, 702)

25: David McCallum (90, Scottish actor, ‘The Man From U.N.C.L.E.’/’N.C.I.S.’/musician)

28: Michael Gambon (82, English actor, ‘Harry Potter’ movies)

30: Russell Batiste Jr. (57, American drummer, The Meters)

October

2: Francis Lee (79, English football player, Manchester City/England)

8: Burt Young (83, American actor, ‘Rocky’)

11: Rudolph Isley (84, American singer, The Isley Brothers/songwriter, ‘That Lady’)

12: Michael Cooper (71, Jamaican musician, Inner Circle/Third World)

14: Piper Laurie (91, American actress, ‘Carrie’/’The Hustler’)

19: DJ Mark The 45 King (62, DJ/musician/producer, ‘The 900 Number’)

20: Haydn Gwynne (66, English actress, ‘Drop The Dead Donkey’)

21: Sir Bobby Charlton (86, English footballer, Manchester United/England)

24: Richard Roundtree (81, American actor, ‘Shaft’)

28: Matthew Perry (54, American-Canadian actor, ‘Friends’)

November

12: Anna Scher (78, founder of the Anna Scher Children’s Theatre)

19: Joss Ackland CBE (95, English actor, ‘White Mischief’)

22: Jean Knight (80, American soul singer, ‘Mr. Big Stuff’)

25: Terry Venables (80, English footballer, Chelsea/Tottenham Hotspur/England manager)

26: Geordie Walker (64, English guitarist, Killing Joke)

29: Sticky Vicky (80, Spanish dancer and illusionist)

30: Shane MacGowan (65, English-born Irish singer, The Pogues/songwriter, ‘Fairytale Of New York’)

December

1: Brigit Forsyth (83, Scottish actress, ‘Whatever Happened To The Likely Lads?’)

5: Denny Laine (79, English musician, The Moody Blues/Wings, songwriter, ‘Mull Of Kintyre’)

7: Benjamin Zephaniah (65, English poet/writer/actor, ‘Peaky Blinders’)

8: Ryan O’Neal (82, American actor, ‘Love Story’/’Barry Lyndon’/’Paper Moon’)

Nidra Beard (71, American singer, Dynasty)

11: Andre Braugher (61, American actor, ‘Homicide: Life On The Street’/’Brooklyn Nine-Nine’/’Glory’)

Richard Kerr (78, English singer/songwriter, ‘Mandy’)

15: Bob Johnson (79, singer/songwriter/musician, Steeleye Span)

16: Colin Burgess (77, Australian drummer, AC/DC)

17: Amp Fiddler (65, singer/songwriter/producer)

[unknownworlds4]

As the United States 2022 Midterm Elections come to a close, both Democratic and Republican parties have celebrated a number of historic victories in the past few weeks. These victories have resulted in a very diverse field of elected candidates.

Alabama

The first woman to be elected to the Senate from Alabama: Katie Britt

Two women, Dixie Bibb Graves and Maryon Pittman Allen, have previously been appointed to the office to fill vacancies.

Arizona

First Latino Republican elected to Congress from Arizona: Juan Ciscomani

Arkansas

First woman to serve as Governor of Arkansas: Sarah Huckabee Sanders (a position previously held by her father Mike Huckabee from 1996 to 2007)

First woman to serve as Lieutenant Governor: Leslie Rutledge

With the election of Sanders and Rutledge, Arkansas will be one of two states with women serving concurrently as governor and lieutenant governor, the other being Massachusetts.

California

First Latino elected to the Senate from California: Alex Padilla (he was previously appointed to the position to fill the vacancy left by Kamala Harris when she became Vice President)

First elected Black Secretary of State of California: Shirley Weber (Weber was appointed last year to replace Alex Padilla)

First elected Filipino Attorney General: Rob Bonta (Bonta was appointed last year to replace Xavier Becerra who left to become Secretary of Health and Human Services)

First openly LGBTQ immigrant elected to Congress: Robert Garcia

First woman and first black woman elected Mayor of Los Angeles: Karen Bass

Colorado

First Latina elected to Congress from Colorado: Yadira Caraveo

Connecticut

First Black woman to serve as Secretary of State of Connecticut: Stephanie Thomas

Florida

First member of Generation Z elected to Congress: Maxwell Frost

Georgia

First Muslim women elected to the Georgia State Legislature: Nabilah Islam and Ruwa Romman

Illinois

First Latina elected to Congress from Illinois: Delia Ramirez

First openly gay person elected to Congress from Illinois: Eric Sorenson

First Muslim elected to the Illinois State House: Abdelnasser Rashid

Iowa

First Arab American to serve in the Iowa State Legislature: Sami Scheetz

Maryland

First Black governor of Maryland: Wes Moore

First Asian American Lieutenant governor: Aruna Miller (her family is from India)

First Black Attorney General of Maryland: Anthony Brown

Massachusetts

One of two of the first openly Lesbian governor is US history and first woman governor of Massachusetts: Maura Haley (the other being Tina Kotek)

With the election of Haley and her running mate Kim Driscoll, Massachusetts will join Arkansas as one of two states with women serving concurrently as both governor and lieutenant governor.

First Black woman to serve as Attorney General of Massachusetts: Andrea Campbell

Michigan

First Black Republican elected to Congress from Michigan: John James

First Indian American elected to Congress from Michigan: Shri Thanedar

Minnesota

First ever Transgender person elected to the Minnesota State Legislature: Leigh Finke

Montana

First ever Transgender person elected to the Montana State Legislature: Zooey Zephyer

First openly nonbinary person elected to the State Legislature: SJ Howell

Nevada

First Latino to serve as Secretary of State of Nevada: Cisco Aguilar

New Hampshire

First ever Transgender man elected to a state legislature in the US: James Roesener

New York

First woman to be elected governor of New York: Kathy Hochul (she assumed the position last year after her successor, Gov. Andrew Cuomo, resigned in disgrace)

First candidate elected from a House of Representatives race between two openly gay candidates: George Santos

Ohio

Longest serving woman in the history of the House of Representatives: Marcy Katpur (began serving in 1982)

Oklahoma

First Native American elected to the Senate from Oklahoma in over a century: Markwayne Mullin (Member of the Cherokee Nation of Oklahoma)

Robert Owen, also Cherokee, served in the position from 1907 to 1925.

Oregon

One of the two first openly Lesbian governors in US history: Tina Kotek (the other being Maura Haley)

First Latinos elected to Congress from Oregon: Lori Chavez-DeRemer and Andrea Salinas

Pennsylvania

First Black lieutenant governor of Pennsylvania: Austin Davis

First Black woman elected to Congress from Pennsylvania: Summer Lee

Vermont

First woman and first openly LGBTQ person elected to Congress from Vermont: Becca Balint

With the election of Balint, Vermont loses its distinction of being the only state to never send a woman to Congress

First woman to be elected Attorney General of Vermont: Charity Clark

Washington

First Latino Democrat elected to Congress from Washington: Marie Gluesenkamp Perez (her predecessor, Jaime Herrera Butler, was the first Hispanic member of Congress from Washington)

[jcmarchi]

Alex Fink, Tech Executive, Founder & CEO of the Otherweb – Interview Series

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/alex-fink-tech-executive-founder-ceo-of-the-otherweb-interview-series/

Alex Fink, Tech Executive, Founder & CEO of the Otherweb – Interview Series

Alex Fink is a Tech Executive and the Founder and CEO of the Otherweb, a Public Benefit Corporation that uses AI to help people read news and commentary, listen to podcasts and search the web without paywalls, clickbait, ads, autoplaying videos, affiliate links, or any other ‘junk’ content. Otherweb is available as an app (iOS and Android), a website, a newsletter, or a standalone browser extension. Prior to Otherweb, Alex was Founder and CEO of Panopteo and Co-founder and Chairman of Swarmer.

Can you provide an overview of Otherweb and its mission to create a junk-free news space?

Otherweb is a public benefit corporation, created to help improve the quality of information people consume.

Our main product is a news app that uses AI to filter junk out, and to allow users unlimited customizations – controlling every quality-threshold and every sorting mechanism the app uses.

In other words, while the rest of the world creates black-box algorithms to maximize user engagement, we want to give users as much value in as little time as possible, and we make everything customizable. We even made our AI models and datasets source-available so people can see exactly what we’re doing and how we evaluate content.

What inspired you to focus on combating misinformation and fake news using AI?

I was born in the Soviet Union and saw what happens to a society when everyone consumes propaganda, and no one has any idea what’s going on in the world. I have vivid memories of my parents waking up at 4am, locking themselves in the closet, and turning on the radio to listen to Voice of America. It was illegal of course, which is why they did it at night and made sure the neighbors couldn’t hear – but it gave us access to real information. As a result, we left 3 months before it all came tumbling down and war broke out in my hometown.

I actually remember seeing photos of tanks on the street I grew up on and thinking “so this is what real information is worth”.

I want more people to have access to real, high-quality information.

How significant is the threat of deepfakes, particularly in the context of  influencing elections? Can you share specific examples of how deepfakes have been used to spread misinformation and the impact they had?

In the short term, it’s a very serious threat.

Voters don’t realize that video and audio recordings can no longer be trusted. They think video is evidence that something happened, and 2 years ago this was still true, but now it’s obviously no longer the case.

This year, in Pakistan, Imran Khan voters got calls from Imran Khan himself, personally, asking them to boycott the election. It was fake, of course, but many people believed it.

Voters in Italy saw one of their female politicians appear in a pornographic video. It was fake, of course, but by the time the fakery was uncovered – the damage was done.

Even here in Arizona, we saw a newsletter advertise itself by showing an endorsement video starring Kari Lake. She never endorsed it, of course, but the newsletter still got thousands of subscribers.

So come November, I think it’s almost inevitable that we’ll see at least one fake bombshell. And it’s very likely to drop right before the election and turn out to be fake right after the election – when the damage has already been done.

How effective are current AI tools in identifying deepfakes, and what improvements do you foresee in the future?

In the past, the best way to identify fake images was to zoom in and look for the characteristic mistakes (aka “artifacts”) image creators tended to make. Incorrect lighting, missing shadows, uneven edges on certain objects, over-compression around the objects, etc.

The problem with GAN-based editing (aka “deepfake”) is that none of these common artifacts are present. The way the process works is that one AI model edits the image, and another AI model looks for artifacts and points them out – and the cycle is repeated over and over again until there are no artifacts left.

As a result, there is generally no way to identify a well-made deepfake video by looking at the content itself.

We have to change our mindset, and to start assuming that the content is only real if we can trace its chain of custody back to the source. Think of it like fingerprints. Seeing fingerprints on the murder weapon is not enough. You need to know who found the murder weapon, who brought it back to the storage room, etc – you have to be able to trace every single time it changed hands and make sure it wasn’t tampered with.

What measures can governments and tech companies take to prevent the spread of misinformation during critical times such as elections?

The best antidote to misinformation is time. If you see something that changes things, don’t rush to publish – take a day or two to verify that it’s actually true.

Unfortunately, this approach collides with the media’s business model, which rewards clicks even if the material turns out to be false.

How does Otherweb leverage AI to ensure the authenticity and accuracy of the news it aggregates?

We’ve found that there’s a strong correlation between correctness and form. People who want to tell the truth tend to use certain language that emphasizes restraint and humility, whereas people who disregard the truth try to get as much attention as possible.

Otherweb’s biggest focus is not fact-checking. It’s form-checking. We select articles that avoid attention-grabbing language, provide external references for every claim, state things as they are, and don’t use persuasion techniques.

This method is not perfect, of course, and in theory a bad actor could write a falsehood in the exact style that our models reward. But in practice, it just doesn’t happen. People who want to tell lies also want a lot of attention – this is the thing we’ve taught our models to detect and filter out.

With the increasing difficulty in discerning real from fake images, how can platforms like Otherweb help restore user trust in digital content?

The best way to help people consume better content is to sample from all sides, pick the best of each, and exercise a lot of restraint. Most media are rushing to publish unverified information these days. Our ability to cross-reference information from hundreds of sources and focus on the best items allows us to protect our users from most forms of misinformation.

What role does metadata, like C2PA standards, play in verifying the authenticity of images and videos?

It’s the only viable solution. C2PA may or may not be the right standard, but it’s clear that the only way to validate whether the video you’re watching reflects something that actually happened in reality, is to a) ensure the camera used to capture the video was only capturing, and not editing, and b) ensure that no one edited the video after it left the camera. The best way to do that is to focus on metadata.

What future developments do you anticipate in the fight against misinformation and deepfakes?

I think that, within 2-3 years, people will adapt to the new reality and change their mindset. Before the 19th century, the best form of proof was testimony from eyewitnesses. Deepfakes are likely to cause us to return to these tried-and-true standards.

With misinformation more broadly, I believe it’s necessary to take a more nuanced view and separate disinformation (i.e. false information that is intentionally created to mislead) from junk (i.e. information that is created to be monetized, regardless of its truthfulness).

The antidote to junk is a filtering mechanism that makes junk less likely to proliferate. It would change the incentive structure that makes junk spread like wildfire. Disinformation will still exist, just as it has always existed. We’ve been able to cope with it throughout the 20th century, and we’ll be able to cope with it in the 21st.

It’s the deluge of junk we have to worry about, because that’s the part we are ill-equipped to handle right now. That’s the main problem humanity needs to address.

Once we change the incentives, the signal-to-noise ratio of the internet will improve for everyone.

Thank you for the great interview, readers who wish to learn more should visit the Otherweb website, or follow them on X or LinkedIn.

[corvidamned]

Ho ho ho! has there been a time where Kira made a poor decision that resulted in the loss of life or perhaps caused any complications in hindsight? If so! What would she have done differently with the knowledge she’s acquired now?

Merryyyyyy Christmas, Your SECRET Santa

Lots of people have died as a result of Kira's decisions, but at the end of the day, she has to choose what will cause some harm or what will end up killing a large number of people, and what to do if death takes someone she loves early and things are completely out of her control. There's only so much of her life that she can control. In most scenarios, she wouldn't have done anything differently because there is a tradeoff.

She could've begged her mom not to go out at night and maybe then she would've lived longer. She could've not trusted her dad to leave alcohol in his room and maybe he would've found the strength to be around today. She could've had Fink arrested instead of killing him. She could've killed her own sister had she not focused all her rage during a first hunger on three bullies. She could've stayed away from Bree and her ex wouldn't have seen her interest in women. She could've stayed close to her friends during the riots, and then maybe Chase wouldn't have lost his hand, but then all of them would've died. She could've protected Cere long enough to let him rot in prison, even though he knew too much and would've surely said something to someone far more dangerous and could get him out.

She could've left Michael on the battlefield to die instead of turning him. She could've let him be a monster and run off to figure himself out instead of putting him down, but then she would've been discovered and dissected. She could've used some of her leave to go home and make sure Cillian has tightened up her security. She could've escaped from Rockfort even if it would mean an entire life on the run. She could've told Chris or Jill something to bring Umbrella down, even if it meant her life. She could've saved more of STARS, just one person. In my canon Alfred and Luis are not dead. But if Kira knew where they were, she would've could've should've come running. If Kira stuck close to Excella, she would've rescued her from the jab. I'm not sure there's any saving Wesker, but if there's any digging him out of the volcanic rock after it cools, she'd be on the extraction team or just across from him in prison.

It's a long road. And I do think farther ahead. If Alex had someone to help her reconstruct her physical beauty to match her indestructibility. If Deborah could've been captured and wrestled into developing higher cognitive function as a BOW. If Piers had someone down there in the Neo-Umbrella base to stabilize him and find a part of the base that wasn't collapsing under water pressure.

[lesducks]

Britgate fic, innit?

Pls why has my life come to this

“C’mon bruv he won’t even know iss’us,” Reggie adjusted his hood so it covered his face and stuck his hands in his pockets.

The four boys were loitering in an alleyway, down the side of the train station, a crowd of kids bustling past the alley entrance.

“I dunno,” Luke looked around at the front of the corner shop, “Remember what ‘appened last time mate?”

“Yeh yeh, but that won’t happen this time,” Reggie assured him, “I bet he’s forgot by now, right. We’ll be fine, g, promise.”

“If we get chased down the high street again I’m blamin’ you lot,” Bobby grumbled, from where he was leaning against a half-destroyed brick wall.

“I just won’t come into the shop,” Alex said, “But you have fun, chaps!”

Alex made to leave when Luke grabbed him by the hood.

“We all go in or none of us go in,” Luke reminded him.

“God, fine, if you insist,” Alex sighed, “Reggie has to open the door though.”

“Oi!”

“Well, I’m not going first!”

“I’ll go first, alreyt?” Luke stepped in between them.

“Now, we gotta be quick before the school rush ends, lads,” Reggie said.

“We’ve wasted too much time jabberin’ on anyways,” Luke replied.

“Well less’go now then, bruv,” Reggie replied.

The boys huddled together, all wearing hoods pulled tight and obscuring their faces, and shuffled over to Covington’s corner shop.

It was well visited by kids after school, just before the train pulled in, but, unfortunately, the boys had been given a ‘permanent ban’. According to Caleb they were “unruly, disruptive thieves who brought chaos to his business”, whatever that meant.

As they slipped in through the door, the familiar beeping sounded from above them, and they flinched. Luckily, Caleb was distracted with some others at the counter, rustling through the register for coins.

“Aw, man, here it is,” Reggie murmured, reaching for a pack of Caleb’s original gum, flavours you couldn’t find anywhere else.

“Just slip it in ya pocket and leave,” Luke said.

“Is that it?” Bobby sniffed.

“You got a fuckin problem with it, mate?” Reggie gave Bobby a light shove on his shoulder, “This gum is absolutely bangin’.”

“I’m going to get a drink,” Alex sighed, moving past them to open the fridge of drinks.

“Yeh but be quick so we can do a runner, alright?”

“Yeah yeah,” Alex reached over a year seven to grab a coke from the shelves, then let the heavy door slam shut.

“Make sure you pay for that, boys.” A voice came from the counter immediately after the bang of the closing door, causing Alex to jump. The boys turned around and-

“Great,” Reggie muttered. Caleb Covington, owner of the shop, dressed head to toe in a sickening purple stood at the counter, eyeing the boys.

“‘He’s forgot by now’, my arse,” Bobby muttered.

Reggie elbowed him. “Shut up mate,” he hissed. “Luke, get out ya wallet.”

“Hey, I ‘aven’t even bought anything!” Luke protested.

“Well I didn’t bring any money!”

“Thas’ your own fault then innit?”

“I’ll give ya some of this gum if you pay.”

“What if we just run out the shop?” Bobby added in.

“He’s seen us now, let’s just pay,” Alex said, then walked up to the counter.

“Afternoon,” Alex said timidly, placing his bottle and two pounds on the counter.

Caleb raised an eyebrow. “No service,” he said pushing the coins back across to Alex with the tip of his finger.

“What?” Alex spluttered, “Why on earth-?”

Caleb said nothing but pointed to a pin board behind the counter. Plastered over the cork, the four boys’ faces were printed out in black and white onto paper. And underneath, in big, bulky, red font: BANNED

“Oh…” Alex said, his voice small, “Well that’s new, isn’t it?”

“Get. Out.” Caleb smiled threateningly wide, “And leave anything you picked up.”

Alex turned to his friends, Bobby putting his gum back onto the display. Reggie had his hands behind his back suspiciously. Alex lowered his eyebrows at Reggie, who shrugged, his eyes not meeting Alex’s.

“Go, now,” Caleb repeated. Before they could leave, he stopped Reggie with a cane - who has a bloody cane? - and wouldn’t let him pass until he fished the gum packet out of his pocket and put it back on the shelf. A group of year eight kids watching giggled.

“Alright, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Reggie said, walking out of the shop, “Ya bloody nonce,” he added, as soon as they were out of earshot.

“Well we’re screwed,” Bobby said as they stood around aimlessly in front of the shop, not ready to leave yet.

“Nah, we just gotta find someone else to go in for us, ya get me?” Reggie said.

“Who?” Alex asked, “If Caleb knows they know us he won’t let them in.”

“So it’s gotta be someone who knows us but Caleb doesn’t know they know us?”

“They have t’know us and know what t’get in tuh shop AND know Caleb can’t know that he doesn’t know they know us,” Luke said, as if that simplified anything.

“So they have to know that he knows-” Reggie started.

“Please stop,” Bobby cut him off. Reggie and Luke sniggered.

“I can’t believe that wanker got our faces up an’ everyfing,” Reggie said disbelievingly, “I mean, I know we’re well peng,” Reggie placed a hand over his heart dramatically, “But c’mon? I thought that permanent ban was a bloody exaggeration! He’s such a prick.”

“We did kinda ruin some of his stock though,” Luke reminded Reggie.

“Yeah and it was a fucking accident, wasn’it?”

“What was an accident?”

The boys jumped as a result of a sudden voice for the second time that day.

“Julie!” Luke exclaimed, breaking into a smile. Reggie rolled his eyes.

“Oh you guys got banned from Caleb’s shop, right?” Flynn asked, then laughed.

“Oi, it’s not funny bruv!” Reggie said, crossing his arms.

“It’s kinda funny,” Willie said apologetically.

“Speak fo’ yourself,” Luke muttered.

“Can’t you just go to another shop?” Flynn asked sceptically, “There’s one literally over there, right?”

“Yehyehyeh,” Reggie waved his hands as he tried to explain, “But Covingboy’s got this really good flavour gum, right? And ya can’t get it anywhere else…”

Julie sighed, guessing where Reggie was going with this. “Want us to go in and get it for you?”

“Would ya, luv?” Reggie answered.

“You gotta pay me back though,” Julie said.

“I’ll come too,” Willie added, “Get a drink or something.”

“Would you mind popping in and getting a drink for me, too?” Alex asked quickly.

“‘Course mate!” Willie replied. Alex smiled, adjusting his hands in his pockets awkwardly. The other three disappeared into the shop.

Apparently, it was not a good idea to discuss their top secret plan to get goods from Caleb in front of the window to the corner shop. Less than two minutes later, Julie, Flynn and Willie had been kicked out of the shop, looking thoroughly disgruntled.

“Well, we tried,” Willie shrugged. The boys groaned. “I also got told I have an extra shift at the pub this Friday night.”

“Oh right, he owns a pub too doesn’e?” Reggie asked, “Bloody rich dickhead.”

“So why’s ‘e so fussed about us?” Luke threw up his hands.

“We gotta get a backup,” Bobby said, “Really reach for someone nice enough to do this, but also someone we never ever talk to ever.”

“‘Ave you been to our school? Who the fuck’s nice enough to do anything for anyone?” Luke asked.

“Well that’s why I said to bloody think about it, innit?” Bobby shot back.

“Fine, fine,” Luke resigned, “We’ll reconvene at school tomorrow and fink of another way.”

“Can’t believe I’m having to go this long without some of that gum,” Reggie complained.

“You know you can just go to another shop,” Julie said.

“No!” The boys responded in unison.

“This is a fuckin personal attack, right?” Reggie said, “So we can’t give up cuz that’s bloody pathetic!”

“I…” Julie started, then gave up, “Y’know just, okay, if you guys are happy.”

“Jules, we’re gonna miss the train,” Flynn said, checking her phone.

“Right,” they left, Willie going with them, “See you guys tomorrow!”

“I should probably get my train too, lads,” Alex said, following after them. “Later!”

“Alex, wait up!” Luke half-jogged to catch up with him.

“You gettin’ a train too?” Reggie asked Bobby after a while.

“Nah, waiting for my sister to finish drama club and getting picked up.”

“A pick up? Alright you fancy sod,” Reggie smirked. He knew Bobby would get a ride in one of his dad’s pristine cars back to their bloody huge house.

“You got a ride home?” Bobby asked.

“Yeh, bus,” Reggie pointed over the road to the bus stop.

“Right.”

“Right!”

The boys stood in silence for a while. Reggie searched his brain for something to say but all it was coming up with was ‘Bobby looks well fit today’. Bloody useless.

“Well, keep thinking about possible candidates for master gum smuggler,” Reggie said after a while, giving Bobby a playful shove on his back.

“Will do, mate.” Bobby reached out his hand to shake Reggie’s, in a casual farewell. Reggie tried not to stare at where their hands touched, Bobby’s warm and comforting against his.

As he walked to the bus stop, he wondered how visible his blushing had been.

[movedyourchair505]

Non Mio (Napule Nights)

Had this idea with Elana ages ago, Alex telling Jade about how he stole somebody’s girl back in the day. Smut warning.

chapter navigation / playlist

x

His hand was resting on her thigh, steady, spread out, squeezing every now and then when he shifted, the heat of his palm a constant against her skin, and as much as Jade tried to focus on the back and forth between Alexander and the man sat opposite them on the other side of the table, it also hadn't escaped her that he was more smug than she was used to during meetings, a dark chuckle escaping him unsolicited, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly with amusement as if there were something he knew that no one else did, and while he did not seldom exude this vibe, she'd noticed it to a different level, anticipated a beneficial outcome of the meeting for him as much as its conclusion.

She didn't miss a word, nor an exchange of glances, had noticed too how the other man's gaze had lingered on her in a way that she knew would only fuel Alexander's possessiveness, as well as hostility towards him, and she was relieved when finally, he closed the deal with a quick handshake.

“Pleasure doin' business wif yeh,” Alexander drawled. “Feel free teh stick 'round 'n 'ave a drink. 's on meh,” he declared.

The man raised his eyebrows, nodding slowly, oblivious to the exaggerated politeness he was being offered, as Jade could tell more so than ever that none of it was genuine, and that her husband had absolutely no respect for the other man. “Very kind,” he said. “But my girl's waiting for me.”

Alexander's eyes widened, his gaze following the man towards the bar once Helders opened the door for them to exit the small room. “Oh,” he said with a small chuckle. “Reyht.” Followed by his security, he steered Jade to approach the bar with his business partner, his hand on the small of her back possessively. “I remember 'er.”

“Oh, you do?” the other man asked. “Right. Right, she came to a meeting with me a while ago.”

The brunette looked up when she noticed them approaching, looking from the man that kissed her cheek for a greeting to Alexander. “Mr Turner.”

“Alreyht, luv?” Alex drawled, giving a pointed nod. “Nice teh see yeh again.” He licked his lips. “Didn't realise yous was still an item.” A small smile spread across his face. “Luvleh.”

Jade watched him from the side, now convinced she was missing something, and eager for the couple to leave so she could investigate her suspicions, so she took it upon herself to dismiss them. “It was a pleasure,” she said, holding her hand out, which the other man took and shook briefly.

“And you, Mrs Turner,” he said.

She smiled, had in the last couple of months not grown tired of hearing her name said back to her out loud, nor reading it on countless documents. She gave a nod to the woman, waited for Alexander to give a dismissive nod to both of them before they turned and walked towards the exit, Cook following until they reached the doors.

Before she could speak, Alexander was facing the bar, had ordered two more drinks. “Cigarette, pupa?”

She reached to draw the thin gold case from the top pocket of his suit jacket, placed one between his lips as he parted them. “Alexander,” she said, watching them flame dance steadily for a moment, then lighting his cigarette for him, watching him take a slow drag as he trapped it between his fingers. “What was that?”

He tilted his head to the side, shifting to sit back on one of the stools. “Wha'?” he asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly as he regarded her with his now full attention.

“You know what,” she said, taking a drag as he held out his cigarette to her. “What's the story with that loser?”

He chuckled. “Fookin' joke, weren't 'e?” He took another drag, blowing the smoke away from her. “I mean, I done business wif 'im before, and 'e 'ad 'is bird wif 'im. Tha' bird tha' were joost wif 'im. Were a mess of a meetin' then. Pissed meh reyht off.”

“And you kept doing business with him? Why was he here today?” she asked, her brows furrowed and she reached for her glass as the bartender placed their drinks in front of them. “Grazie.”

“Might've gotten sum compensation,” he shrugged, pursing his lips.

She watched him slick back his hair, instantly missing his touch. “Compensation?” she questioned skeptically.

A smile played around his lips again, conceited, and he took another drag from his cigarette, followed by a sip from his whisky. “Yeh. I asked 'er if she wanted t'stay for a drink. Fook knows why 'e let 'er. Maybe 'e thought it would 'elp business.”

“And it did. We just had a meeting with him,” she stated.

“Per'aps. It were more me own personal fun though. Got a bit of satisfaction. I mean, sheh were luvleh. Yeh saw 'er. Pretteh fing.”

She was wearing a dress that didn't leave much up to imagination and Alexander hadn't been able to keep his eyes off her, hadn't tried to, she looked exquisite, and definitely too good for the man she was sat with. He cleared his throat as the man turned to leave, beating him to speaking. “Would yeh like teh stay for a glass of the whiskeh I joost 'ad brought in?” He directed his gaze onto the pretty brunette clad in leather. “Bella.”

Her eyes widened. “Mr Turner...” She looked over at the man by her side.

Alexander hadn't quite expected success with his offer, knew that if the man knew anything about him, about his reputation, he'd take his girl straight home, but there was hope, a challenge, and he was bored, wanted to rise to it, had felt disrespected despite the man's low status, and he did not want to leave the encounter the way it had been. He'd won in business, he wanted to win personally. “Yes, luv?”

“I... well...” She glanced back between the two, biting her lip when the man that had brought her gave a hint of a nod.

“You have a drink. I'll wait for you at my place. Turner gets the best liquor.”

A small smile spread across Alexander's lips. He'd hoped the man would believe the only thing he could offer to his advantage, that it would help business if he used his girl as bait. He just had no way of knowing what Alexander had in mind, nor did he know much about his nature. And that simply fuelled his satisfaction.

“Alexander...” Jade shook her head. “You could've just not done business with him.”

“It were a good deal, even if it were below me standards,” he shrugged. “And it were fun, I tell yeh. Sheh were great companeh tha' night... and the fact that 'e dun't know after all this time... fookin'ell...”

She slowly began to comprehend his complacency throughout the meeting they'd just been in. “I think maybe their thing is just quite open...”

“Wha'? For this long?” he asked, shaking his head. “Nah, not wif 'im. There ain't no good reason why she'd beh wif tha' clown still.”

Jade pressed her lips together, nodding slowly.

“Yeh ain't jealous, are yeh, doll?” He reached to cup the side of her face, angling her head towards him until their eyes met, his thumb pressing into her skin just below her chin for control.

“It was years ago,” she stated, pursing her lips. “And you're just getting off on your power high.”

“D'yeh not fink the fact tha' 'e dun't know is... amusin'?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I suppose so,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I mean, it's not like I'm surprised you succeeded, Alexander...”

He tilted his head to the side, watching her take a sip of the drink he'd had poured for her. “So,” he hummed. “'ow's yehr man treat yeh?”

She swallowed. “Well...”

“I mean...” He held his hand up to elaborate. “All I'm sayin' is... yeh can do better...” He took a sip of his own. “Stunnin' girl like yeh...” He'd watched her shift closer to him, tucked her hair behind her ear, his thumb dragging slightly over her cheek for a moment. “If yeh ain't comfortable 'ere... yeh could come back wif meh to me place. Been told the view from me apartment's stunnin'.”

Jade shook her head. “You're impossible,” she said.

“I fink I were fair,” he shrugged innocently, crushing his cigarette in the ashtray, then snapping for one of the girls that walked past and gesturing towards one of the rooms. “Get tha' readeh for us, yeh?”

“She couldn't help herself...” she said, eyeing him closely, the way his lip stretched as he spoke demandingly, how his eyes softened slightly once they were back on her. The top buttons of his white shirt were unbuttoned as usual, offered a view of his sun-kissed chest and chain that matched his rings, his tattoos on display too. He'd just gotten his hair trimmed that morning, the sharp edges of his face accentuated, especially in the flattering low lights of the bar.

“'s gettin' yeh, eh?” he teased, a dark chuckle following.

“Alexander,” she huffed. “You are too full of yourself.” She had no doubts about his power, not now and not then, though wondered how far he'd taken it, why exactly he'd been so amused, and she couldn't suppress her curiosity as he nodded for her to finish her drink, then led her to the room he'd requested, the one they usually got when he didn't feel like being watched by everyone, didn't want everyone to watch her, and she was eased when the heat of his palm met her lower back again. “Did she fall for it? The view?”

“The view at me old place were stunnin',” he muttered. “Dun't quite compare to now, but...” He tilted his head. “I weren't lyin'. Birds loved it.” He led her inside, sat back in the cushions of the large sofa instantly, his arm stretched out over the back, his knees pushed apart. “C'mere.”

She lowered herself onto his thigh, his hand instantly on her hip to keep her there, and she looked at him, waited impatiently.

“I bet yeh're wearin' summat luvleh under tha' dress, darlin'.” He pressed his lips together as he watched her stood by the window, taking in the view of the city. “I mean, I kno'... not intended for meh, but... I gotta say... I do like fings tha' aren't s'posed t'be mine.”

The more time passed and the more he saw of her, the less he could suppress his lust, fuelled by the greed of not letting the other man getting away with securing a deal that he didn't deserve. Alexander had worked hard, and he knew he deserved more, that the deal was below him and the standard he'd acquired. “'e buy yeh nice fings?”

“Sometimes,” she said, nodding slowly, taking another sip from her drink, her eyes now on him. “He used to more...”

He hummed, nodded understandingly. “Rehyt. Anehfin' else yeh wish 'e did?” he asked, stepping closer to her. “Yeh can tell meh,” he added. “Joost between you 'n meh.”

She shifted into his palm despite the surprise of his touch on her hip, met his eyes, had evidently fallen victim to his charm that she'd been warned about, her fingers clutching on to the cool glass in her hand when he drew his other hand from his pocket and he was right there, her knees weakening further from the look in his dark eyes, and then he was forcing her lips apart with his, his intensity irresistible, and she found her body arching into his beyond her control, his hand sprawled out and pushing against her lower back.

Jade swallowed, watched his mouth caress the words as he spoke, his top lip stretching.

“Sheh needed it,” he declared. “Clearleh.” He pushed his tongue into his cheek, lifting his gaze to her. “Yeh want meh teh continue?”

She nodded, reluctantly, torn between not wanting to give him the satisfaction and admiring his unconditional power.

“Yeh make meh feel good then, eh?” he hummed, nodding downward. “C'mon,” he added, shifting backwards and sighing contentedly as she undid his belt buckle without another word, obeyed instantly and started stroking him once she'd freed him from the restriction of his shiny pinstriped suit trousers.

“Mm...” He hummed with satisfaction as he drew back. “Luvleh...”

Her eyes widened, her hand coming down flat on his chest, but he spoke first when she parted her lips to.

“Dun't worreh,” he drawled. “'s our secret, doll.” A deep sense of reassurance filled him when she leaned in for more and he was only too happy to comply, angling her head to kiss her harder, keep her where he wanted, chuckling when she drew away for breath sooner than he'd have liked. “Yeh sure this is wha' yeh want?” he hummed.

She swallowed, though nodded instantly, completely drawn in by his manner of absolute control and unshakeable confidence.

“Yeh stay 'ere, doll, 'n I'll... take vereh good care of yeh.” He let his hand wander lower, closing over her ass and ready to push up her dress. “Might beh a lot, but... I promise I am vereh nice.”

“I want to stay,” she stated confidently. “Mr Turner.”

He hummed, a flick of his wrist and her dress was pushed up around her waist, in no time he had her pinned to the window, stood behind her with complete control. “D'yeh need a safeword, luv?” he asked, his lips brushing against the side of her neck.

“N-Not usually,” she whispered, felt his hand coming over her mouth the moment she'd spoken the words, the other dragging her thong to the side.

He reveled in the way her breath hitched in her throat, her voice shaky. “Are yeh usualleh this wet?” He chuckled as she instantly bucked into his touch, rolled her hips back so his fingers instantly sank deeper inside her with a soft gasp that made the glass fog. “D'yeh like the view?”

She tightened around his fingers instantly, had him humming, seemingly pleased. “Good girl,” he drawled, pushing his fingers into her mouth. “Relax into meh.” Her lips sucked around his fingers instantly when he started fingering her simultaneously, her body compliant. “Mmm, yeh, tha's it, sweet'eart, joost give in...” he hummed. “Tha's me favourite.”

He could feel her giving in further with each push of his fingers, appreciative of the way she sucked obediently on his fingers while she took what he gave her, the promise of her lips soon too much to handle as she started drooling around his fingers, too tempting to not take. “D'yeh wanna taste me cock, doll?” he drawled, his breath against her neck. “'s alrehyt if yeh do.”

“Jade,” he snapped. “Enouf of tha'. On yehr knees.”

She was surprised by the sudden change in tone, the abrupt demand, but needed no telling twice, lowered herself to her knees between his legs, hardly had time to comply when his hand was already at the back of her head, fingers wound into her hair and he pushed her down on him, making her gag with how deep he pushed his cock inside her mouth, a long drawn out moan of relief leaving his lips as he threw his head back and she mewled around him, her eyes wide, watering, but she swallowed needily around him when his eyes met hers.

“Fookin'ell,” he drawled. “Yes.”

While he'd been careful before not to overstep any boundaries to achieve his goal, he was now sure he had her, could tell from the look in her eyes when he was no longer touching her and she clearly wanted him to, ready to follow his every command. “Sure yeh'll beh luvleh on yehr knees, doll,” he declared. “Yeh wanna show me?”

He watched contentedly as she knelt in front of him and he took her chin between his fingers, smiling down at her. “Keep yehr 'ead up... good girl,” he drawled. “Look like a girl tha' knows wha' sheh's doin'...”

She parted her lips, blinking up at him.

“Pretteh lips...” he hummed, dragging his thumb across her bottom lip, tilting his head to the side expectantly. “Open wider for meh.” He groaned as she sucked him into her mouth instantly. “Relax yehr throat,” he snapped, his voice trailing off into a moan when his tip hit the back of her throat. “Oh, wha' a good girl...” he hummed.

She moaned around him, tried to keep him there as he gripped on to her hair, clearly not finished yet, his undivided attention on her as she choked on him momentarily.

“Beau'iful,” he remarked. “Sooch a luvleh girl.” He hummed as he dragged her off him, licking his lips as he watched her clear her throat, her eyes shiny. “More than yeh're used teh, eh?”

Before she could catch her breath, his grip tightened again, forcing his cock down her throat and she tried her best to comply, eager for more of his praise.

“Thaa's it, sweet'eart,” he drawled as she swallowed around him again, stayed where he held her. “'ow wet's yehr cunt rehyt now, eh? Get off feelin' me cock in yehr mouf?”

He could tell she was struggling, took mercy on her and letting her catch her breath, stroking back her hair. “Vereh pretteh,” he hummed, drawn in by her swollen lips. “Would yeh like teh sit on me cock?” He tilted his head, surprised when she leaned into the touch of his hand. “Or d'yeh like teh joost beh used? Lie yeh down 'n I'll give yeh a nice fook?”

Even if she'd found her voice, she wouldn't have known what to say to him, too absorbed in his promises, everything he offered, had during the meeting gotten the impression he was all business, that the warnings of him were focused on the threat rather than the temptation of him, but she wondered now how many of his glances she'd misinterpreted, realised more and more that his mind was filthier than his manners when conducting business suggested.

“Yehr eyes lit up,” he remarked. “Like bein' pushed 'round? I could do tha', doll... yeh joost relax 'n do nofin'... joost take me cock...” He watched the excitement in her eyes. “Might beh sore 'n for a couple of days, but... promise yeh'll beh properleh fooked 'n taken care of.”

“Mr Turner...”

Jade gasped when he let her come up for air, had mostly let her suck his cock at her pace as he'd gotten lost in his story, though then refused to let her draw back, forced her down again and made her struggle so blissfully that the look in her eyes was worth it when she stared back at him. “Alexander...”

“Yehr mouf is fookin' luvleh...” he drawled. “Sooch a good girl...” He brushed his fingers through her. “Keepin' me cock wet while I tell yeh the storeh... yeh like tha', dun't yeh?”

She took his hand when he held it out for her, let him guide her into his lap. “Was she able to handle it?” she asked. “You fucked her?”

The sound of her voice had him almost losing control, as much as he enjoyed telling her the story, he really just reveled in her admiration. “Sit down on me cock, doll.”

“Alexander.” She blinked back at him, whining when his fingers closed around her throat.

“I fooked 'er,” he stated, squeezing lightly. “Overestimated 'erself though... 'ad teh stop meh at sum point... insisted teh suck me cock though, kept fankin' meh for takin' care of 'er...” As proud as he was, he was now speaking impatiently, watching her closely, an edge to his voice when his voice cut through the silence again. “On me cock. Now.”

Her grip tightened on his shoulder and she shifted her hips instantly, her head dropping down on his shoulder as his hand pushed down roughly to push her down in his lap and he filled her mercilessly, all at once and demanding to be felt, groaning loudly at the way she squeezed him in trying to adjust, her fingers digging into his shoulder. “Yesss,” he hissed. “Tha's me girl...”

“Alexander,” she whimpered breathlessly, the friction of his cock dragging against her walls too much, too blissful. “I-I... I love you.”

He stroked his hand down her back, possessively pressing down on her lower back to arch her body, to fill her deeper. “I luv yeh, Jade.”

The look in his eyes took her breath away, the depth of them, the intensity and devotion, and he pulled her in with his fingers still wrapped around her throat, capturing her lips in a deep kiss, consuming and with an overwhelming passion, the bitterness of smoke and whisky demanding to be tasted, the spice of his cologne intoxicating, the heat of his body forceful, his words slurred against her lips irresistible.

[sitpwgs]

everything always goes back to the 2014 les mis revival for me it is just like newsies

[anhed-nia]

BLOGTOBER 10/4/2020: SOCIETY

Without having a survey to back me up, I feel comfortable asserting that as a horror fan, you go through different phases with SOCIETY. It’s a basic fact of life, and yet it morphs and mutates underneath you, shocking you anew just when you think you’ve got a grip on it. You never forget your first time, because there is simply nothing like it. Then, after you get over the initial shock of its patented brand of body horror, you start to take it for granted; it's so broad and monolithic that it becomes something like the Grand Canyon--when it’s not right there in front of you, you begin to experience it more iconically, as part of the wallpaper of existence, rather than an in-your-face confrontation with the limits of experience. Then, you revisit it every few years (or months, depending on what sort of person you are), and the prophylactic layer that your brain has wrapped around your memories of it--the one that allows you to think of SOCIETY as a fun, wacky cheap thrill--begins to crumble, and you realize all over again how iconoclastically vile it is. Wherever you happen to be at, with this inimitable genre landmark, you'd be hard pressed to deny that it earns its royal status among horror movies, just for being so uniquely fucked up.

Filmmaker Brian Yuzna is best known as the co-creator of the indispensable RE-ANIMATOR (or as the co-writer of HONEY, I SHRUNK THE KIDS...depending on what sort of person you are, again), itself a milestone achievement in the blending of sex and gore that so characterized '80s horror production. That film clearly brought out the best in Yuzna and frequent collaborator Stuart Gordon (also of HONEY, I SHRUNK THE KIDS fame...among other things), but it's interesting to see how they operate apart, to understand the unique ingredients that each filmmaker brought to the more perfect union of their classic Lovecraft adaptation. Gordon skewed darker and more intellectual, as evidenced by the end of his career with the shattering mob thriller KING OF THE ANTS, the disturbing true crime drama STUCK, and the Mamet-penned EDMOND. Yuzna, for his part, is almost anti-intellectual, preferring to cook up blackly comic, semi-pornographic nightmares like his two increasingly horny RE-ANIMATOR sequels, the terminal S&M fantasy RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD 3, and the shamelessly hokey comic book adaptation FAUST: LOVE OF THE DAMNED. Yuzna's lack of shame is really his defining feature as an artist, and nowhere is this more obvious than in his directorial debut and signature masterpiece, SOCIETY.

Salvador Dali's "The Great Masturbator," a chief visual inspiration for SOCIETY.

Yuzna was able to leverage the success of RE-ANIMATOR to lock in two directorial opportunities, BRIDE OF RE-ANIMATOR, and a bizarre body horror exercise about a Beverly Hills orphan who discovers that not only are his adoptive family from a different bloodline, but they're not even from the same species. That both pictures employed the writing team of Woody Keith and Rick Fry gives you a little taste of what to expect from SOCIETY, but to be frank, the latter threatens to make the former look like a very special episode of ER; "overkill" barely begins to describe SOCIETY’s ambitious assault on the human body. In a recent interview, the philipino-american director giggles perversely, "I think my friends were a little embarrassed for me (when they saw SOCIETY)," and this sound bite reminded me that the last, most important ingredient that Yuzna contributes to any project is unabashed joy. It's a little hard to imagine stomaching SOCIETY without it.

In this unusual scene from the class struggle in Beverly Hills, Billy Warlock (son of HALLOWEEN 2's Michael Myers, Dick Warlock) plays Bill Whitney, a rich, handsome, athletic high school student with a heavy duty anxiety disorder. Although he appears to have it all, he is plagued by nightmares and hallucinations, reflecting suspicions that the family that spoils him is also out to get him. Perhaps this is all understandable, though. Bill is under a lot of pressure these days, with his parents devoting all of their attention to his sister's coming out party, and his narcissistic girlfriend pushing him to ingratiate himself to the assholes higher up the social ladder; it's enough to make any teenager feel alienated and insecure. But, do these garden variety anxieties account for his visions of his sister's body deforming itself unnaturally, or the dubious evidence he finds that her debutante ball involves incestuous orgies and human sacrifice? Is Bill simply crumbling under the strain of societal expectations, or is the friction with his shrink, his parents, and his peers all symptomatic of an elaborate plot against him by elites who are truly less than human?

I can’t believe they use this cheapo blanket trick MORE THAN ONCE in a movie that is famous for its unforgettable special effects, and I guess I kind of love it.

In case I haven't made the answer abundantly obvious, I'll add that while SOCIETY is the purest expression of Yuzna-ness on the market, it has an important co-author in Screaming Mad George. The eccentric japanese FX master, whose name is apparently an amalgamation of Mad Magazine, Screamin' Jay Hawkins, and...George, has produced some of horror's most outrageous makeup and visual effects, mostly for Yuzna, many of them in SOCIETY. If you've seen even a trailer for Alex Winter's 1993 oddity FREAKED--which is itself a grossout criticism of American social standards--then you are already familiar with SMG's trademark style. He specializes in twisted perversions of the human form that would make a cenobite blush, driven by a penchant for puns, and influenced equally by THE THING's Rob Botin, and Big Daddy Roth’s Rat Fink style. Screaming Mad George is instrumental in articulating Yuzna's premise: that behind the shimmering veneer of success and sophistication, the upper class are just a bunch of degenerates, who literally degenerate into something unimaginable behind closed doors. It's impossible to imagine SOCIETY without his sinuous, slithering monstrosities, or his indescribable realization of their most important social event, "the shunt".

One of many great images from a zine I wish I owned, on SMG’s Facebook page.

It's easy to get overwhelmed by SOCIETY's visual impact, but its message is just as potent now as it was at the end of the Reagan era: Rich people are not only different from the rest of us, but in fact, they aren't even human. Writers Keith and Fry make an interesting choice of hero to help put this across. A lazier writer would have selected any archetype from the Freaks and Geeks set to create an easy Us vs Them tension, but SOCIETY is led by a promising young man who, for reasons he himself does not yet understand, is just not "the right kind of people". Bill appears to have every advantage in life, including a level of popularity that wins him presidency of the debate team despite his nerdier rival’s superior prowess--and yet, he suffers from a stigmatizing psychiatric disorder that is the natural result of feeling indefinably different from one's peers, and intuiting that, as a consequence, they don't even really like you. The shallow jock with deep-seated emotional problems is a much more interesting protagonist for this kind of social allegory than the charismatic outcasts that you get in movies like THE FACULTY and DISTURBING BEHAVIOR, for whom the idea that the elites could be aliens is just de rigueur.

It's worth noting that this complexity of character extends to Bill's love interest, sympathetic society girl Clarissa Carlyn (Playboy Playmate Devin DeVasquez). At first, she seems villainously eager to introduce Bill to the many splendors of "the shunting", but as the plot against him mounts to its horrifying conclusion, she defects. There appears to be a reason for this, although honestly, this is the most difficult part of SOCIETY for me to wrap my head around. Clarissa lives as an essentially independent adult, only burdened by her mother (Pamela Matheson), a possibly brain damaged hulk who lurks in and out of various scenes just to be disturbing, always announced by some toots on a tuba, before eventually siding with our heroes. I'm really not sure what's supposed to be going on in this part of the movie, except that this character contributes to a number of distasteful jokes. But, I hold on to the idea that by virtue of whatever disorder Mrs. Carlyn suffers from, she serves the purpose of priming Clarissa to rebel, since her very existence makes her daughter something of a societal outcast herself. That's the best I can do.

In any case, everyone working on SOCIETY commits completely, with Mrs. Carlyn being no exception. The movie's climactic orgy of the damned is an all hands on deck operation, just as reliant on Screaming Mad George's artistic abilities as it is on the actors' responsibility to make you believe that this fucked up shit is really happening. There's a visceral patina of sleaze spread over the entire film, dripping from the way that characters talk to and touch each other, flirting and flaunting their bodies in a distinctly unseemly fashion, even when it stays within the realm of mundane reality. This constant sinister, insinuating attitude on the part of the whole cast lays the foundation for what is to come, and while I appreciate everybody's hard work, my favorite performance is from an actor who only comes in at the very end: David Wiley as society king Judge Carter. Wiley's career consisted almost exclusively of the most ordinary sort of television work, which makes his outrageous turn in this alien porno flick all the more respectable. While other characters transition from suspicious pod people to full-on mutated perverts, Judge Carter has to show up just for the finale, establish his authority, rip off his clothes, and plunge straight into a sea of slime, happily fisting his way through the cast. Wiley meets this challenge with aplomb, making of himself a hybrid of Robert Englund and Gene Hackman, perfectly embodying the movie's joyful absurdity, and never betraying the slightest hint of embarrassment. 

SOCIETY is very much a don't-look-down type of endeavor, a fairy that could expire at the slightest lapse in faith. There's a visual pun in the last act that's so gross, so offensive, so frankly idiotic, that I don't have the courage to describe it; my whole body tenses up when I know this scene is coming, as if it were the meat hook scene in TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE or the brutal rape in the middle of SHOWGIRLS. I don't like it, but at the same time, I respect Yuzna's unhesitating commitment to show it to me, and I think that actor Charles Lucia should get some kind of award for shouldering the burden so valiantly. SOCIETY is a daring movie in the truest sense, a film with more balls than brains, and in this it exposes the limitation of intelligence and taste, and the real need for pure transgression, in producing art of any real value. You might argue with me about whether Yuzna's masturbatory magnum opus really qualifies as art, but to respond to that, I'll quote the great transgressor Alejandro Jodorowsky: "If you are great, EL TOPO is a great picture. If you are limited, EL TOPO is limited." So stick that in your shunt and smoke it.

undefined

PS Here, have this stuck in your head for the rest of your life.

[cometomecosette]

“In My Life” and “A Heart Full of Love,” Broadway, 2016. Alex Finke as Cosette, John Owen-Jones as Jean Valjean, Chris McCarrell as Marius, Brennyn Lark as Éponine.

Alex must have made quite a few audience members fall in love with Cosette in a way they never had before. For starters, she’s physically beautiful and sings with a sweet, crystal-clear soprano voice. But even more importantly, she’s fully believable as an innocent, confused, dreaming, yearning, giddily lovesick young girl. Her exchange with Valjean is excellent, as she conveys her frustration with his secrets yet never seems bratty, instead showing genuine pain at being shut away from the world and shut out of her father’s confidence, and with Marius her blend of shyness and ecstasy is spot-on.

John’s veteran Valjean is excellent. I’ve seen very few others act this scene as effectively: he’s tender with his daughter, firm in his secret-keeping yet not harsh, clearly doesn’t want to hurt her, and perfectly conveys his awkwardness and inner struggle as she pleads.

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: I don’t care for Chris’s voice in the role of Marius. In a more contemporary musical with a more thoroughly pop score, I’m sure he’d be fine, but I’ve heard too many gorgeous-voiced Marii to be content with such a thin, nasal, 16-year-old sounding voice for the character. Still, he’s believable enough as he pals around with Éponine and offers Cosette his sweetly awkward courtship, though he does it more generically and with less distinctive personality than other actors I’ve seen. He’s definitely the performance’s weak link, I’m sorry to say.

Last but not least, Brennyn’s Éponine makes a lovely impression with her warm, velvety voice and quiet pain. On a shallower note, she’s also strikingly beautiful: if they wanted to create a vibe of “Marius could have loved her if she hadn’t been a street rat,” they cast the right young woman.

Not the best performance where Marius is concerned, but excellent on the part of the other three.

[authoralexharvey]

30 Questions Tag

Thanks to @magic-is-something-we-create for the tag! Sorry I did it late @-@

Rules: Answer 30 questions and tag 20-ish blogs you want to know better!

1. Name/Nickname: Alex/Sunshine, darling, turkey (by my dad), Cosmina

2. Gender: I’m nonbinary. The specifics are quite nebulous, but. Yeah. They/them pronouns.

3. Star Sign: Aquarius

4. Height: Uhhh I think 5′4 or 5′5

5. Time: 12:25PM

6. Birthday: Mid-February

7. Favorite Band: It’s constantly changing but right now, it’s a tie between Death From Above 1979 and Chase Petra

8. Favorite Solo Artist: Either Halsey or.... Bo Burnham or Mothica

9. Song Stuck Stuck In My Head: All Eyes on Me by Bo Burnham

10. Last Movie: uhhhhhhhhhh I think the last movey I watched was Toy Story 2. Been a few days.

11. Last Show: Phineas and Ferb

12. When I Created This Blog: March of 2020

13. What I Post: Writing (mine and others) and story stuff. Advice, inspo, etc.

14. Last Thing I Googled: Jamba Juice egg bite thingies.

15. Other Blogs: I currently don’t use any of them, but from what I can remember uhhh @cosmina-miki was my witchblr that I doooo want to come back to... and uhhh @fourth-hour​ was my guro blog,,, which I also want to go back to posting on. I also have an old old personal blog, two dead writing blogs, I think I deleted my nsfw one, uhhhhhhhh there was a fandom one, a short-lived positivity blog,,,,, I think that was it aside from a couple of group projects.

16. Do I get asks? Yeah! Sometimes it takes me a long time to answer them, but I still try to.

18: Following: Currently, 89. I need to go through again and thin it out.

17. Why I Chose My URL: I was running out of ideas considering the number of dead but not deleted blogs I have. It’s a play on “space cadet”, a euphemism my best friend and I share when we dissociate too much lol 

21. Lucky Number: 18, 1111, 808......... I think that’s it.

19. Followers: 98!

20. Average Hours Of Sleep: 6 or 7

22. Instruments: I used to play violin, which I really want to get back to, I sort of know how to play a guitar, I have a small kalimba and an ocarina.

23. What Am I Wearing: an oversized dress covered in moons and crystals. It’s laundry day.

24. Dream Job: Game designer. Mayyybe an accountant. I’m good with numbers.

25. Favorite Food: Mac and Cheese

27. Nationality: American

28. Favorite Song: I....cannot choose.

29. Last Book I Read: Alice Isn’t Dead by Joseph Fink and Edge of the Breach by Halo Scot

30. Top 3 Fictional Universes I Would Like To Live In: Oh god no.

K I’m not going to tag 20 people cause that seems so fucking excessive so instead I’m leaving this tag open! Do it if you want.

[cecilspeaks]

164 - The Faceless Old Woman (Live)

[applause]

Jeffrey Cranor: I’m really excited, we wrote this script recently coming up in this last performance for tonight. And I got real excited for writing it, cause we haven’t written like a, to do a live show full length in a new voice. And it was a lot of fun to do.

Joseph Fink: Yeah so tonight we are presenting the first Welcome to Night Vale show that is entirely from the point of view of someone who is not Cecil, this is the time when the Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In Your Home gets to step out from her secret.. place in your home. [laughter] And tell you a little bit about herself.

Jeffrey: One of my favorite things about writing the Faceless Old Woman stuff is cause the way Joseph and I work is that we’ll write episodes or write parts of episodes and pass it to the other and that person will, sometimes have questions but oftentimes just maybe like add something to it. So a lot of times it’s either, when I get stuff back from Joseph and I dunno if he feels the same way getting stuff back form me, with the Faceless Old Woman script it was always either something really hilarious for something really upsetting. [laughter] And I really love that a lot.

Joseph: This is maybe the most upsetting thing we’ve ever written, I hope you guys enjoy it. [laughter]

Jeffrey: Have fun, good night! [applause]

Joseph: I guess we should start that show we talked about.

Jeffrey: Let’s do it. You guys, let’s welcome to the stage your friend and ours, Mara Wilson!

[applause] [long silence]

Mara Wilson: I am the Faceless Old Woman who secretly lives in your home. Hello. You don’t know me, but I know you. I know you very well. I’ve been going through your medicine cabinet. You take too much Advil. Do you realize how hard that is on your digestion? I know a couple gelcaps and a glass of water before bed can alleviate a morning hangover, but it also puts you in a bad mood, because you don’t get good sleep with all that extra stress you put on your guts. You know what’s a better hangover cure? Not drinking like it’s the last day of community college. I replaced your vodka with clear Windex, and your Advil with Ipecac. This won’t help your hangovers, but it certainly will be more entertaining for me. I don’t sleep, so I need better late night entertainment than Netflix. I’ve already watched every episode of “Money Heist” and “Criminal Man” and “Planet documentary”, I have to spice it up a little bit.

Which reminds me, sorry about the tarantula incident last week. And here I’m speaking specifically to you, Tony. Yes you, in the shirt. The one hoping I’m not talking about you. I’m not sorry you woke up with a tarantula covering your face, nor that it bit you, causing your eyelids to swell up like Kinder eggs filled with purulent discharge instead of toys. I am sorry that I forgot to turn the flash off of my camera, which alarmed both you and the spider, and I never got a good photo. I’ve been building up my portfolio for an art exhibit I call “Gross Things on a Sleeping Tony”. It’s going up June 1, exclusively in your living room.  I’ve already gotten “Open-mouthed Centipede Bouquet” framed. You’re gonna find this show absolutely terrific.  Wait no, not terrific, what’s the word? Terrifying.

Tony, you’re one of my favorites in Night Vale. I know you hate your direct marketing job selling high interest credit cards to twenty-somethings, but the benefits are great. You have health care, a 401k, and you get to take advantage of people less fortunate than you. Everything is its own reward. But I’ve read your poetry, you love poetry. To be fair, there isn’t a big job market for poets, but you need to explore what makes you happy. I tattooed one of my favorite lines of poetry on you last month. It’s by Mary Oliver. “Instructions for living a life. Close your eyes. Be scared. Good luck.” And then I drew a little butterfly next to the words. I’m not the best artists, though, so it kind of looks like a radish or a sarcoma. Doesn’t matter, you still haven’t noticed. It’s just right below your right shoulder blade, don’t try to find it now, it’s still healing and given that I used the metal rod from that fondue set in your closet as the needle, it’s possible it’s infected. Better to leave it alone.

Tony, look at me. Imagine where my eyes would be. You have a lot to work through. I’m here to help you, I really am. I’ll prove it by giving you some advice. If a venomous arthropod is on your face, don’t scream.

Anyway, it’s not you Tony who’s bothering me, it’s the new people. They are elderly, like me, and they just moved into a house in the center of Night Vale. Or maybe this is decades from now, time is a little hazy for me. I’ve never been in this house nor noticed it before they moved in. it’s a one bedroom and there are three of them. I thought polyamory, but they have three separate beds and they never speak to each other, rarely look at each other, and never leave the home. The first night I secretly lived in their home, I realized they never slept either. They brushed their teeth, put on pajamas and get into bed. But they all lie there, eyes open, through silent hours of darkness.

I tried whispering to them but got no response. Usually when I reveal myself in the dark, I get the thrill of witnessing horror dawn across a person’s distorted mouth and bulging eyes as they see my faceless face pressed up against their own. One of the best parts of visiting new residents. But not these three. For once, I’m the frightened one.

Speaking of frightening, did you get your taxes (-) [0:08:20] on time Alex? You, you’re Alex. You with the shoes. I had to file for an extension. I don’t owe any money because I have no income, but I’m over 200 years old, never got a social security number, have no permanent address and I wasn’t born in this country, it’s a lot of paperwork. And Alex, you know your Wi-Fi is terrible and I was having a hard time downloading the forms I needed, so I just wrote my name on some yellowish-black Boston lettuce you’ve left in the crisper for the last three weeks. But the leaves kept falling apart, I think more like melting. After about 20 minutes, I got frustrated and just made myself a salad. Also, I used the last of your parmesan cheese, but don’t worry, I replaced it with dried skin I’ve been collecting from your bed sheets. Don’t be grossed out, Alex. Same texture and nutritional value, you won’t know the difference. I got the idea from a Food Network’s “Beat Bobby Flay”, where this one winner tied up Bobby and ran a (micro-) [0:09:17] across his forehead to make a chimichurri sauce.

I love that show, but I’m a bigger fan of HGTV’s “House Hunters”, the desert dystopian version. That’s where I met you, Addie. Yes you, with the face. You were shopping for a new home here in Night Vale. You told the realtor - who was inside of a living deer, its belly horrifically distended and quivering with every one of the agent’s words and gesticulation – that you wanted three bedrooms, a back yard, and something close to an outdoor community space. The first home, the yard was not in good shape, lots of (- remains) [0:09:55] and the lawn was glowing, perhaps from underground radiation testing. It was well under your budget, but you would have had to spend your savings on fixing it up. Also, in the bathroom mirror you saw, crawling across the ceiling, a faceless old woman devouring what looked like a rat. You didn’t need to worry about a rat infestation, Addie. It was a chipmunk. The second home was a condo right in the heart of the arts district. You loved the design: a simple large black cube, no doors, no windows, no interior. A true closed floor plan, so popular these days. But you weren’t sure there was enough room for entertaining, or anything else at all. The house you selected was perfect. Three bedrooms, a Jacuzzi en suite, and a large patio backyard. Plus it was right in the middle of town next to a community dog park. Although you would be disappointed later to learn that your dog had been arrested for domestic espionage after peeing inside the park’s forbidden walls. I think you made the right choice, Addie, but I can’t help wondering every time I watch “House Hunters”, who is this person running away from? You left Queens to move to Night Vale. Queens is where your family lives, where your best friend lives, and your girlfriend of two years. Are you afraid of stasis, Addie? Of being loved, of commitment? You might be afraid of that pinkish ooze coming out of your ear, might wanna see an ENT about that. Or if not an ENT, an entomologist.

Speaking of putting woodboring beetles inside orifices, I tried a similar thing with the elderly room mates who recently moved to town, or will move to town many years from now, again time is strange to me. But these room mates are also so strange. When I went to put a beetle into one of their ears, I noticed a lot of scar tissue there, making the hole too small. In my haste, the beetle scurried away and I got kind of desperate and just made a bunch of spooky moans and hisses like this: [moans, hisses] but not one of the three responded to me. They continued their meaningless pantomime of sleeping, and in the morning they got up and each went quietly about their days. One of them made coffee, but did not drink it. They then went to the window and waved at their neighbor, Susan Willman, who was on her porch stretching before her morning run. Susan looked at the figure in the window next to her and froze. She stared in terror, then darted back into her home and locked the door. Susan has always been unfriendly. I ran her bed sheets through her office shredder as a reminder to be more open and loving toward the world.

The other two room mates climbed into the shower at the same time. I’m not one to get off on others’ sexual activities, I just thought I might see something new, something human here. But no, they stood side by side, cleaning their cold gravity-defeated bodies, not once looking at each other let alone speaking. A squelch and a squish and grey water falling around yellow toenails. They toweled off, but when they hung the towels up, those towels were completely dry.

I’m used to being the one who does inexplicable and disturbing things. Last year during the community players’ production of “Romeo and Juliet”, I decided it would be more fun if they used actual poison. But it was a last minute idea, so the only poison I could find was Borax. Which just gave the two kids playing the leads several unhappy hours in the bathroom on the night after the show ended, so I don’t know. I could have made a stronger directorial choice. But so could the actual director, I get that Shakespeare plays are long, but he cut out all the best parts like the train robbery, and also Tybalt winning his bowling league. Although I did appreciate that they left in Juliet’s famous line: “Good night, good night, your blood and guts and marrow, which worms shall eat inside your grave so narrow.” It’s a classic story. Kids these days just don’t try to fake their own deaths anymore.

Oh. And Morgan. Yes Morgan, I’m talking to you, you with the fingernail sand the teeth. I need to explain something to you. You tip 20 per cent. You can afford it, stop using it as a measure of how much you approve of the restaurant service. A 20 per cent tip is not  bonus, it’s a fee. Restaurant owners don’t pay their staffs, instead they make the diners pay their employees through this idiotic notion of capitalist meritocracy. I don’t care how bad the service, tip them. You have money, Morgan. I would also tell you to stop asking to speak to a manager every time your Long Island Ice Tea is a bit like, but I got out your tongue last month, so they wouldn’t understand you anymore anyway. Do you know what a cut human tongue tastes like, Morgan? Yes you do. You just don’t know that you do. Remember Applebee’s last week? You ordered soup. It was a beef base with  little onions and little perfectly sautéed flecks of your own tongue that you had used to lash out at a manager the last time you ate there. You could blame them for poorly expediting your orders, but really the onus is on you for going to Applebee’s. Which serves neither of the items its name promises. It’s false advertising. It’s like an egg cream soda, or Taco Bell.

Speaking of eating, the elderly room mates made lunch together, but not for each other. They were all in the kitchen at the same time making separate meals in silence. They sat around the dining room table together and ate. They carved and stabbed and pushed foods quickly into their mouths, but their eyes were empty. One of them began to spit out their food. No one seemed to care or notice. They all began to vomit, but not with muscular heaves of shoulders and necks, the vomit spurted out like water from a hand pump, their torsos and heads perfectly still. After each bodily rejection of food, they would start shoveling it back to their mouths, repeating the same process. Eventually one of them stood up and threw their plate into the kitchen window, glass bursting everywhere. That person leaned into the hole and began punching the jagged shards out with their clenched fists as blood poured out of their forearms and wrists. They screamed mournfully into the suburban street. Neighbors and passers-by passed only briefly, as if they had barely heard the sad howls spreading across the valley. Susan’s lemon tree next door died instantly and all the lemons fell with wet plops to the ground. The fruit pealed open and inside of each was a fleshy crimson pulp, like meat that has been ground for too long. The other two room mates kept eating and vomiting, not even noticing the shattered glass being subsumed by the growing pool of blood on the floor.

You know, I wasn’t always like this, faceless or old. Secretly living anywhere. Once I was born upon warm water. The smell I remember is sharp citrus and the peppery sting of grass. The salt funk of ocean. I was once a child. I grieved once. I smelled blood. Once I was a thief. I lived among thieves, I saw empires rise and fall, centuries cast themselves upon infinity as fruitlessly as waves upon cliffs. Once I was a recluse. I lived amongst bandits and farmers, I spoke a different language then. I’ve spoken many languages.

Once I was under the sea. That was a quiet time. I lived amongst the coral and dead-eyed fish. Once I was a wanderer. I’ve seen the (head) [0:18:14] waters of the Mississippi and I’ve seen the cobbled streets of Paris and I’ve seen the empty arches of Franchia. But I’ve never seen anything like those three room mates. Of all the things I've been – child, thief, recluse, wandered, faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home, I’ll tell you this: I’ve never been more scared.

Fear is in the unknowing and the mystery. Fear is seeing everything about an old woman except her face. Fear is the uncertainty of her secretly living in your home. Fear is not the spider you see on the wall. It’s the spider you no longer see on the wall when you look back again.

In the unnerving din of shattered glass and mournful howls of that house, I found the loose thread that unraveled this mystery. The room mate who screamed had no tongue. And one of the others had an ear swollen shut from a previous surgery. And the other had a red mark, like a radish or sarcoma adorned with poetry drawn upon their shoulder blade. I realized I knew these three strange room mates. They are you, Tony, the special tattoo I gave you. And they are you, Addie, with your oral scar tissue from the beetle I jammed in there. And you, Morgan, with your tongue removed and digested. The three of you do not exactly live together in that home, not at the same time. You are living three different lifetimes in that same space. You do not speak or respond, because you are dead. Each of you alone in that house together, or you will be, time is confusing for me. Decades from now after you die, your souls will be trapped in the house, because something in this world is unresolved for you. You know this, paranormal neuroscience is required for all high school freshmen. But what they don’t teach you is how to resolve it. I know how and when each one of you die. I wrote it down on the back pages of your journals. Iv’e done this for everybody, but nobody ever reads it, because while people always think they’ll write every day, after a few pages they fall off the wagon and never see the lsat pages of their journals. Except Jonathan Franzen. He didn’t seem bothered by what he read. But he did cross out all my adverbs and added some Oxford commas. In case you’re wondering how Jonathan Franzen dies, here’s the answer: he doesn’t.

I am the faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home. You might find this ambiguous, after all the word “home” is singular. So whose home is it that I secretly live in? Listen, some things in this tangled world are simple. I live in your home, and your home, and your home, I live in all of your homes simultaneously. I am many. [echo] I am many. I am one. [echo] I am one. You all live such different lives, teeming, that’s what you are: teeming. And I am there watching you.

You, Tony, you dream of being a poet. Resolve the unresolved. The worst that can happen is crushing disappointment and public mockery, and eviction when you can’t pay your rent. Many more awful things after that, get to it!

And you, Addie, you fled your previous city to escape a murder charge. Strangely, you didn’t commit the murder you were charged with, but you have committed murder. Weird choice to go on “House Hunters” as a wanted fugitive, but maybe it was a good first step to healing your soul.

And you, Morgan. You have an idea that could save us all, an epic defining idea, one of the greats, but you don’t know which one. You have so many ideas. I can tell you this: most of them are not important. One of them is vitally important. Good luck. Also, tip 20 per cent.

And you, I forgot your name, you tweet too much. We all tweet too much, but that doesn’t let you off the hook. That’s why I ate your phone. You can thank me later. You can all thank me later. Because you all will be seeing me soon. I think that tonight is the night to let slip my secret. You’ll soon see me fumbling wet and gray from out of the bathroom mirror, or folded up strangely loose skin and mashed bones in the bottom drawer of your dresser. Or you will see me scuttle on your walls, the hair hanging down from my faceless face. Or you will look out your kitchen window and there will be someone standing in your driveway, and it will be me, and there will be no one in the driveway and instead, I will be next to you in the kitchen. Faceless and so very very old. Won’t that be nice?

I’m the Faceless Old Woman who secretly lives in your home. And your home. And your home. And every home. And I will be seeing you very, very soon.

[music, applause]

Today’s proverb: Never judge a book by its cover. Judge it by the title page instead.

[slothgiirl]

shadowplay part 11

"Well I'm pooped," Breana announces as Matt pulls in to Monterey bay.

 It had barely been what felt like ten minutes since you'd gotten back inside after Breana's mini photoshoot at a bridge, which had been pretty enough, but you felt like a selfie had been enough. Six hours of doing nothing but sitting had not been fun. 

Zack had turned out to be easy to talk to, excitedly pointing put landmarks and cities as you passed, and trying to get Matt, after they had switched driving positions, and failing to get him to pull over at every point of interests. "But its a danish town," he'd cried, smacking the headrest much too Miles' amusement. "We've got to go there."

"You've been to Denmark," Matt had replied undeterred, even as Breana mentioned it would be cute too stop there. "I want to get there before dark," Matt had countered, unmoved, the car rolling on by. 

There was lots of trees and ocean to see. Lots of California to take in that wasn't just the hollywood sign, as much fun as that had been. 

You were much more interested in exploring with the time you had then documenting it in flawless social media bound pictures, though that might have been because you weren't all that photogenic. You had no clue which was your more flattering side. 

When Matt had tired of taking pictures of Breana, she'd roped you in which you had to take for a good sign. After all, you were going to spend a week with these people and you couldn't spend that entire time hiding in whatever room you got. 

"We should go to the aquarium," Zack immediately proposes as you all get out of the car, before explaining to you, "it's supposed to be world famous."

You shrug, "I'm never not okay with an aquarium. . ."

"An aquarium is an aquarium," Miles quips back, shaking his head, and stretching out right next to the car. "How special can it be?"

"Guess we just have to go check it out," Zack smiles hopefully. 

"No. I've already made an itinerary," Breana says, shutting down all his ideas, "We're going to go eat at Cannery Row and get some pictures before finishing the drive.  

"And who gave you that right," Miles says teases archly, his brow rising to his hairline. 

She rolls her eyes, "I made a groupchat and you assholes never said anything. Not my fault." She carefully fixes the audrey hepburn-esque scarf around her hair in the car's window, attaining that effort-effortless windswept look. 

"Why don't we," Alex offers casually, as he lights up a cigarette, having , "just split up? Meet back here in an hour or two?" 

It's a fantastic idea as far as you're concerned. And alright, you won't lie, while your claim to Alex is as solid as your fake relationship is real, you've gotten used to having him to yourself. To having him over at your flat or going out for a drink or food, or walking around the park in the rain, all of his attention on you. That and you can't help but feel like the odd one out here. 

All your past boyfriends have been friends of friends or close friends where it wasn't this awkward to suddenly be hanging out with their friends. 

Maybe that was just adulthood. 

Your circle of friends was much smaller now than it had been in trade school or even back in college when you could always rely on having known someone, even if you weren't close, since you'd started attending school. 

Zack throws an arm around Miles, grinning widely, "the aquarium was name checked in Finding Nemo." 

Miles shakes his head, chuckling, as he takes Alex's cigarette as his own, "you've got to find yourself a girl mate! You're starting to take your friends out on dates."

"Easier said than done," Zack comments, his features taking on a somber cast. 

"Two hours," Breana asks even as she stares everyone down, forcing them to comply, a woman with a plan. 

"Sure," Zack answers, already pulling up an uber on his phone. Reflexively, you look over at Alex, assuming you're going where ever he goes. It would be strange if you didn't go with him, your supposed boyfriend, wouldn't it? 

Only to meet his gaze, already on you, a tint of red on his cheeks as he smiles softly. 

You smile back. 

"Two hours Kane," Breana shouts as she and Matt walk off. 

"Al's way more likely to forget," Miles calls back.

Instead of responding Alex, cups you cheek, kissing your lips softly. You don't mind at all, readily kissing him back. There's only a hint of smoke on his tongue. 

"Any place in particular," you ask him, the first to pull away, all to aware of his touch as he holds your hand. 

"I've got a place in mind," he admits, "unless you've-."

"I didn't google a thing."

"Ya don't mind walking love?"

"All the better to take in the sight," you point out, glancing around the car park. The beach was right there. Only a couple hundred meters away. Painted houses on stilts coloring the view. "So where are we going?"

"A park," Alex tells you, as you find the walkway, only semi covered in sand and oh well, there go your loafers. Though you have had these forever so maybe this'll be a good thing. Get a pair of those ridiculously expensive and ridiculously cute miu miu ballet flats. "Well, sort of a park. It's also a beach."

"A really nice beach," you question, looking over at all the beach that currently surrounds you meaningfully. It would be nice regardless you were sure of it. Spending time with Alex was always a win in your book. Even if lately it left you way more flustered than you would have liked. 

"I 'fink all beaches in California are extremely nice," Alex says even as a pout forms on his lips, a tell-tale sign that he was sinking deep into his thoughts. "It's the sun. . .hard to be disappointed if the day's nice. . .. ya know?"

You laugh easily, "I'll give you that. But can we walk by the water. I didn't fly all this way to not get my feet wet."

"We can do that."

So loafers in hand you trudge through the sand, that makes its way into all creases of your jeans, glad to be stretching out your legs. Alex pops his sunglasses on, sunglasses you hadn't even thought to pack. 

You were pretty sure you didn't even have a pair of sunnies, in the perpetual habit of getting a cheap pair for a hol, or during the summer, sure you were going to use them, and inevitably losing them in a hotel or taxi. 

"So Matt and Breana?" You have to ask. 

You've been to their house but you still can't picture them together. Matt seems like every other lad you've ever met at a pub. Breana was. . .californian in the way you'd imagined people here to be like which wasn't a bad thing, now that she was beginning to talk to you. Then again, maybe being careful just came with being famous. 

"Have been together for a long time now," Alex tells you, careful to keep his boots dry as you let the cold water soak your feet. The bottoms of your jeans now wet. 

"Well," you utter, hoping to get a laugh out of Alex, "Some men do get pegged."

Alex snorts. "she certainly keeps Matthew in line."

"Don't you ever get lonely," you wonder, "if all your friends live out here? I mean, not that I have loads and loads of friends, or go out all that much, but just knowing I could text them and see them is nice."

"I've got you don't I," he points out, as the waves rush out, leaving behind uncovered shells and rocks. 

The water is warmer than any English beach, or maybe you've got rose coloured glasses on, being a tourist and all. 

You blush, "you know what I mean! I'm no Miles." 

As much as you loved Sam, who'd kept texting you as if you could reply immediately and didn't have to wait to steal wifi from a Starbucks or some other free wifi establishment, you'd go crazy if she was your only friend. You needed friends like James, that while as dorky as you, was much more out going, and willing to wake up with you at dawn for a sample sale.

 And you were sure Sam needed friends who also loved to go out as much as she did. 

"And you have no idea how glad I am," he grins, "dunno if there's enough room for two Miles' in the world."

"Ah so he's the Mick Jagger to your Paul McCartney."

Alex lets go of your hand, placing it over his heart dramatically, "are you calling me boring love!"

"Don't be so sensitive," you cry out, kicking water at him ruthlessly, "it's a compliment. I love when you come over so we can both sit in silence and not talk while reading. Just the best."

"I can't tell if your being sarcastic," he says with a shake of his head. It had been the same ruthless joking as he'd gotten ready this morning. You'd watched him use up so much gel and pomade and couldn't stop laughing. Alex had taken much longer to get ready. 

Your heart aches as you lean over, kissing him for once because sooner or later you'd have to initiate wouldn't you? To sell the act. It would look strange if Alex was the only one who went about kissing you. At least you told yourself, a rush of heat burning your cheeks as your lips meet his. "I really do enjoy it," you admit, pulling away much too quickly for your satisfaction. 

You'd be lying if you said you didn't want to kiss him properly, the very scent of him imprinted in your mind, probably from all the times he'd stayed over at yours. Coffee, the sharp smell of high quality leather, and smooth musk. "I think you're the only person I don't mind going to the pub with."

"Oh don't mind," Alex notes, not missing a beat or a the subtext, "how generous."

"I know. I know," you laugh, wondering when he'll hold your hand again. There's no need, since his friends are in some other part of the city. No need to pretend. But then again, there was no need to kiss him either. "I'm the only British person to hate beer." 

You know you've arrive when Alex suddenly stops, looking around pensively. It looks like the rest of the beach you've just walked through. Only with a car park and more green. Houses ringing the area. Some people were lucky enough to have the beach steps from their homes. 

"It's 'spposed to be a park," Alex finally explains, "cause you love parks. Even when it rains."

"Maybe Californians," you joke, slipping your hand through his arm, patting his shoulder gently, "are confused about what a park is. And you sort of have to go when it rains. It's practical. I'm not waiting for the four days of the year when it doesn't rain in London." 

It was so thoughtful of Alex to spend your meager amount of time in Monterey somewhere he'd thought you'd like. It was that thoughtfully romantic streak that ran through all of his actions, regardless of if you were actually dating. 

The same streak responsible for Alex remembering which curry you got at every indian place. That had him remembering where you stored the spare blankets in the morning when he was folding them up as you hurried to make it to work. 

He was a great friend. 

You couldn't imagine how he was with an actual girlfriend. 

" 's nice," he admits, taking out a cigarette, "walking through a park in the rain. Makes me appreciate the rain. . .Long as it isn't full on storming."

"There's a sweet spot," you concur. "I don't think even I could manage a full on storm. I'm not Jane Eyre."

You take a seat on some large rocks, taking in the scenery. Watching people go by on bikes, running with their phone in hand, or simple strolling about. It really is a lovely beach. 

The whole place is lovely. you're glad you walked. 

A dutiful tourist, you take out your phone to take pictures. To remember the place and to appease Sam and James who you're sure will interrogate you as soon as you get back home. You can't help but laugh as you note how relaxed everyone's style here is, lots of loose and cropped clothes, compared to Alex's getup. 

Shamelessly, you take a picture. 

"Always taking the piss outta me," he shakes his head, gaze never straying far from yours. 

"You make it so easy." 

Alex surprises you entirely by asking an older man walking his large dog, tail waggling, to take a picture of the two of you. Saying girlfriend needlessly, butterflies in your stomach at his words. 

It's dumb. It makes you feel dumb, and you never want this to end. This slice in time, where it's you and Alex and you can loose yourself in the idea of him actually being your boyfriend as ridiculous as that is. 

None of the pictures are flattering. The light harsh in the noon sun. Alex is looking over at you in all the pictures instead of the camera and you are grasping at straws for that to mean something.

 Fuck. You're not going to make it through the week. Sam was right and you hate her for it. 

You don't think that you can remain friends if you don't air out your feelings for him. 

But then again, maybe that would ruin everything. You can only hope that the feelings will go away soon. 

Highly doubtful. 

"Want to take an uber and get food," Alex asks because you only have an hour left. You could spend a whole week here. With a towel, bathing suit, and a pile of books. Easily. 

"I've been in the states for twenty four hours and haven't had Mcdonalds yet," you tell him. 

"Mcdonalds is for when its 3 am and your pissed love."

"Sushi." You raise a brow. 

"I can do sushi."

You laugh, "what an enormous sacrifice Alexander."