#the esoterica spiral

[rainboopz]

You know with how much I post about my OC's and bounce around the stories like a merry-go-round, I realized- wait a minute, my audience probably doesn't know what the hell all this shit is!

So here you go, a mini-guide to my current OC fixations! Some I'm hoping to make into comics, some are just for fun. For anyone curious, I hope this helps with getting to know my original stories more!

I love my characters very much >w<)/ 🌈💖

[rainbabbles]

shit mr. man deals with

[autisticrosewilson]

An Excerpt from my TMA Au

Ft. Archivist! Dick, Spiral! Jason and Steph, and Stranger/Beholding Cass! TW for broken bones and horror themes, canon typical esoterica @perseus-jackass thought you'd like this!

"WHAT IS GOING ON!" Dick trips through the winding halls of the Head Institute, skidding to a halt in front the heap of limbs sprawled on the ground, bent in weird positions even by his standards.

Jason wriggles around on rubbery bones while Steph laughs at him, hanging upside down from her trapdoor in the ceiling.

"Humans are so...fleshy." he complains. "They break too easily." He wriggles his awkwardly bent limbs, and Dick can hear the broken bones grinding together under the skin. He tried to breathe through the nausea.

"Are you...okay?" It's a nasty break, multiple even, but Jason doesn't seem pained, and he's still not-human enough that his patron might lend a hand.

Cass, whose crouched oddly on top of a nearby table stares with wide unblinking eyes, studying the state of him. "Looks fine." The canned audio of the radio she's using as voice box crackles and cuts abruptly.

That's not reassuring, Cass's limbs look like a poly-jointed dolls on the best of days. "Steph, can you, um, help with this?" He looks to the blonde whose moved onto positioning Jason's limbs into increasingly strange positions.

"Why would I do that?" She seems occupied trying to...spell Jason's name with his limbs? What the fuck.

He doesn't get paid enough for this. Actually now that he thinks about it, Ra's doesn't pay him at all these days. No point paying an employee who can't quit and already lives with you.

[foreheadlicker69]

I was just on the welcome home site and I need to get this out

So just like with Coraline and DHMIS, symbolism is a HUGE deal when it comes to WH. For example; Wally's little pose ⬇️

means "As Above, So Below" which has been paraphrased from its original English translation; "That which is above is like to that which is below, and which is below is like to that which is above." (It's a quote from the Emerald Tablet in case anyone is interested) You might recognise the quote from the movie of the same name, or the pose from Jack's picture at the end of The Shining.

Basically, it means that the two planes of existence present within the WH ARG correspond with each other.

Other common symbolisms include:

Apples - beauty, sweetness and the hope for prosperity, strength, growth, death, immortality, temptation, knowledge, rebirth.

"In Celtic tradition, apples were buried at Samhain as food for those souls who are waiting to be reborn." - Some dodgy website so take it with a grain of salt.

Not to mention how apples were also associated with the Underworld in Greek mythology.

Butterflies - Transformation, growth, renewal, rebirth, bravery, hope, positive change, freedom. ("Black butterflies are associated with sickness in many Native American cultures")

"Celtic mythology regards butterflies as a symbol of the soul. There's an old Irish saying that goes "Butterflies are souls of the dead waiting to pass through Purgatory." They're thought to be able to cross into other realms and also represent transformation, creation, and rebirth." - The exact same website.

Feathers - I'm getting lazy

Spirals - Spiritual development and our identity with the universe. Came from the idea of a "stairway" to heaven. In the occult system and esoterica, the single spiral is representative of the way to the higher level of consciousness. It represents the pattern of growth and the utilizer of nature’s life-inducing, life-protecting, and life-supporting energy. (aka my favourite symbol ever)

Hearts - The heart icon becomes a major symbol for medieval heraldry, where it is used to signify sincerity and clarity. In art and chivalric literature, the heart is increasingly seen as synonymous to the Holy Grail. In fact, early decks of playing cards even use the Grail instead of the heart symbol as an icon. The heart symbol is assiociated with religious and spiritual symbolism as well as the profane and sexual, or even with evil.

Have you ever heard the phrase "Home is where the heart is"?

Stars - Positivity, happiness, renewal, and in the context of certain industries they symbolize excellence, professionalism, quality, and imagination.

Eyes - Good or evil. Focus, truth, clarity, light, vision, prophecy, awareness, observation. The spiritual eyes is a reflection of the cosmic energy entering the body and sustaining it.

Circles - Totality, wholeness, original perfection, the Self, the infinite, eternity, timelessness, all cyclic movement, god.

That's the gist of it

Also I made this list a while ago and I really don't feel like going in and altering everything

so I'm not going to. Sorry.

[cosmicanamnesis]

@kickflipkidd

BOY OH BOY IM SO GLAD YOU ASKED :D

lmao anyway so this book is the result of a Shadowrun 1E Game That Never Happened, my mom was gonna run a game for me and @taciturnaccordionist so its sort of low fantasy/cyberpunk-y. so we built these characters, right, and then that spiraled into fleshing out the organization they belong to and then how that organization fits into the world at large and then all the fun sociopolitics that would bring it about, etc etc etc

the organization is called the TechnoFae and they specialize in helping people digitally disappear. sort of a renegade witpro and all the coded language is based on fae folklore and Arthuriana and shit, its very cool

but once it was clear the game was never getting off the ground, TA and I just started. going nuts. making characters and places and so on until I was like. fuck it im gonna write a book.

so the book follows the leader of the TechnoFae (Morgan) and a kid who gets wrapped up in some Unethical Science/Magic (essentially the same in this universe, we came up with our own magic system mostly so we wouldnt get sued but also bc the setting doesnt actually work without magic) who wants Out

and its gonna have like, heavy themes of digital surveillance and tech ethics and disability activism blended in with folklore and esoterica and its so cool dude im so excited abt this project

lmk if you'd like to know more !!

[roma-sera-giornale]

L’ esoterica linea di sangue.

emblemi più o meno occulti che vengono impiegati in opere d'arte, da parte di artisti che potevano avere avuto contatti con gruppi ed ambienti esoterici presso i quali circolavano le suddette credenze, oppure potevano addirittura averne fatto part

Di Pierpaola Meledandri* Per definire la linea di sangue da cui un individuo discende se ne percorre la genealogia seguendo a ritroso la linea dei propri avi. Il DNA in cui c’è traccia anche delle esperienze appartenute a vite passate, l’acido disossiribonucleico a spirale, si eredita attraverso il corredo cromosomico trasmesso e amalgamatosi nel momento della fecondazione ed è oggetto di studi…

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[cyberpawn]

Since they were a child, Vale spent plenty of time out on the streets of Night City. Even when Jack wanted them to stay inside, stay safe, keep their hands clean from the corruption that spread throughout Night City like a sickness, Vale was sneaking out through windows in the middle of the night and returning home before the sun rose again. They met criminals, convicts, conmen, all walks of life. They remembered being a kid, they remembered the kindness of Dolls who would keep Vale same from sadistic Fixers who promised big pay days and bigger lies. After the quick scan, they managed to feel even calmer with their new guest.

They paid no mind to the skintight suit, no reason to make her feel odd when she already looked out of place inside the spiritual, cozy feel that was presented by the esoterica. The walls and different countertops were filled with miscellaneous herbs, crystals, and other spiritually-involved trinkets. Candles, tall and short, big and small, all were lit to provide a soft, warm light to all visitors. A stick of incense burned, plumes of smoke floating into the air with gentle spirals.

"You're just special! First visitor I've had run in during a storm! First visitor I've ever had at the esoterica, actually! Misty usually runs the place, I'm just the backup!" Vale hopped over the countertop, brazenly holding up their hand for a high-five greeting. They thought for a moment, trying to decide how to introduce themself. While they weren't on the clock for their mercenary stuff, they could actually share their name! They didn't need to look cool, well, as cool right now!

"The name's Vale, but most people call me V! Normally I just get into trouble professionally." Mercenary. "And who's the person in front of me with the cool pink coat? I don't think I've ever met you before!"

The stuttered greeting did nothing to boost Aerith's confidence in where she stood.

Though another glance, and she was somewhat sure this was a shop of sorts. There had been a sign above the door but she hadn't been able to lock eyes on it, that would have meant looking up into the pelting rain.

She watched on as they slapped dropped cards onto the countertop. Her head tilted a little, she didn't recognise what the cards were, though she was interested in the handful of artistic depictions she glanced. Pretty.

Hands folding politely in front of herself, their grin was met with a polite little smile.

At this point she wasn't too on edge. If she wasn't welcome here, she would have already been chased outside with gusto. Though none of that anti sex worker attitude was found here. In fact, it wasn't even a blip, because in the very next moment she was offered the very shirt off their back.

"Oh!" Aerith exclaimed, surprised, though she only hesitated for a moment. Her offensively pink trench coat was stripped away heavily, the material completely soaked through. Beneath it was her work attire. A skin tight suit, hugging her in a neon rainbow of shifting colours.

The holo-suit was a marvel on its own. Though a scan would reveal she was a doll, that didn't remove her need to be an entertainer. The specially designed suit would change to the beat of whatever music was playing. Would shift in its colours. And, when she was on the clock, would fade and show more of her skin the more eddies were paid.

Thankfully, this wasn't work, and she was pulling on a flannel layer that obscured her away once again. "Your customer service is off the charts. Do you rescue all of your walk-ins, or am I special?" she asked with an easy smile, fully relaxed.

[sjwallin]

This original electronic tune was first released in 2016 on the ESOTERICA album, and it can be heard on your favorite platform here.

Now, freshly made for you, is a brand new music video for this song! Enjoy!

“The spiral in a snail’s shell is the same mathematically as the spiral in the Milky Way galaxy, and it’s also the same mathematically as the spirals in our DNA. It’s the same ratio that you’ll find in very basic music that transcends cultures all over the world.” -Joseph Gordon-Levitt

[unluckyopossum]

I Need A Place I can Rest- CH 1

Viktor Vector x Fem!V

Vik wants to fix things for V more than anything. V just needs somewhere to feel safe.

Read on AO3

The sun had long since set, the moon now rising steadily over Night City as the constant hum of the streets above the small clinic became more pervasive. Snippets of conversations and raucous shouts from Night City denizens filtering through the cracks and crevices of the old building. The cramped streets, and shadowed alleyways filling with increasing numbers of bodies going to the closest club, BD lounge, or love hotel. The daylight that filtered down the stairs into the dark clinic had been replaced by the neon glow of signs and adverts from above. It was well past time for any clients to drop by, other than a potential emergency, but there were 24hr joints for those. The esoterica was dim and Misty was likely back to her apartment by now, preferring to leave before the streets became so busy.

    Vik sat at his desk finishing up the day's paperwork and idly tinkering with his exo-glove. A habit more than a hobby at this point, since there was only so much that could be done for the gloves precision at a certain point. He had started taking his time closing up in the evenings, not because he was behind with his work, or wanted a moment of quiet time for himself after a busy day. Instead, for the small hope that a certain little merc might come and fling open the gates. V had started coming by the little clinic in the evenings frequently, shortly after they first met, and the addition of the relic to her person had only increased her visits. Vik relished in any time he was able to spend close to V, but the ripper in him hated what caused the encounters. The merc always seemed to be struggling with a new relic malfunction or scrape from one of her increasingly dangerous missions. From what little she had told him, the search for answers and how to remove the relic had her treading dangerous waters. Though it seemed even the gigs from fixers and ncpd hustles had been getting her into his clinic several times a week. Most of those visits just involved a quick bandage or cleaning a scrape; first aid she was more than capable of doing for herself now that he thought about it. The older ripper didn't think too long about it, not wanting to give himself any false hope that these visits were more to see him than to receive medical attention.

    Most of the time he felt helpless before V. Unable to save her from what the relic was doing to her, unable to find someone who could, and unable to express his feelings to her. So he instead had to trust the merc to find the answers herself, and pretend to be busy at the clinic late into the night on the off chance he could do the smallest thing to help her, trying to fight back the helpless feeling of not being able to fix this. Helplessness was not a feeling he managed well, and certainly not when it came to her. If he thought about it too much -like he did many nights- a deep feeling of self loathing would creep up for not being able to help one of the few people he considers close to him. If anyone should be helping her it should be him ...right? He should be able to keep her from dying like Jackie.

    He wasn't one to share his feelings but on the rare occasion Misty had caught him in one of these spirals she had given him one of her knowing looks and reminded him that having supportive friends and somewhere safe to go was helping V, a lot. She didn't neglect to add that V did seem to run right to him when things went wrong, so he was clearly doing something right.

    At the time it had made his heart feel like it would beat out of his chest as he tried to remind himself that of course she would see her ripper first. It wasn't like she was going to see Vik specifically or anything, he was just her ripper. Though that wouldn't explain all the times she has visited Misty to talk about some new tarot mural and always came down to see him. Often bringing him a coffee exactly as he would order without him ever asking for one first.

He shook his head letting the thought roll off of him, breaking out of his daydream with a long deep sigh.

    Not that he hadn't been paying attention to her since Jackie first introduced then, but he found himself getting stuck thinking about her more and more often. While Jackie was alive he told himself he was just thinking of her as a new choom. One who always made him laugh and could talk him into silly plans even Jack couldn't. A friend who he worried about on missions late at night and whose eyes held light in a way he had never seen even with the most advanced optics. One who probably didn't think of him as anything more than that. He had realized that he felt more than that when losing V became a reality, and he spent more time pushing those thoughts aside than he would admit... even to himself.

    Finally settling down his tools he ran a large hand through his hair, wincing towards the back of his head reminding himself that his chance at something more with her was likely long past for the aging ripper. Staying close friends and making sure to support her as she tried to survive was more than he could ask for.

    Before his thoughts began to spiral again he checked his monitor a final time. The corner of the screen let him know he had been lost in thought longer than he expected. V knew he was normally long gone by now. There was no point in him hanging around any longer if she wouldn't be dropping by, and he had long since passed any excuse that he was there to do paper work.

He rose to his feet slowly resigning himself to locking up and leaving for the day. His apartment was close by, but the idea of returning to an empty home wasn't an appealing one tonight. Normally he wouldn't mind the quiet time alone at home after a long day; to have a drink and decompress. Yet tonight being left alone with his thoughts the way they had been going was daunting.

    Bending back down to the desk he roughly snatched the keys off the surface to lock up the gate, turning to leave. It would have been clear to anyone watching his disappointment with the evening by the way his broad shoulders drooped as he made his way to the clinic exit. Heavy boots dragging across the floor, exhaustion more present in his gait than the normal reserved swagger he carried himself with. Reaching for the gates he halted in his tracks, his heart skipping, and a panicked weight formed in his stomach.

    The scuffed toe of a familiar pair of boots was just visible through the gaps in the gate grating. The leather barely peeking from the corner by the stairs leading to the alley above. Panic fully set in as Vik took a breath and time began to slowly move for him again, pushing him into action. He flung the gates open with more force than he felt he ever had before, and as he whipped around the corner was confronted with V's still form.

    Haphazardly slumped against the wall, her eyes were closed but the rise and fall off her chest was all Vik needed to breathe a sigh of relief. Her breathing was steady and deep letting him know that if she was in danger it wasn't immediate. Unconscious was a world better than what his first reaction had been, unconscious he would work with. A quick glance over showed one of her mantis blades stuck extended, metal twisted and warped where it connected to her arm. Her hands and forearms were splashed with drying blood, hers or anthers he couldn't be sure. Though based on the burgundy tint covering the entirety of her blade he could tell at least most of it wasn't from V. Kneeling next to her he placed a hand on her shoulder, and with no response, called out her name softly.

"V? Can you hear me sweetheart?... V? Valerie?" He tried at last.

Her full name was known to wake her after even the most degenerate nights out with Panam.

No response.

     In a flurry he popped back in the clinic grabbing a tarp to cover the exposed blade. Neither of them would be happy if one of the two was injured because he was rushing. Kneeling down he wrapped the blade securely and slipped one powerful arm under her knees, the other under her back. Lifting her off the ground as gently as possible the thought of how light she felt in his arms flooded through his mind for a short second before being cast aside by the hammering dread of what might have happened. As he turned to take her into the clinic she finally began to rouse. Looking up into his sharp green eyes barely visible over his shades she gave a weak smile.

"guess I didn't make it in the door huh"

she reached up her good arm, shaking slightly, and placed it gently on his cheek.

"yep not dreaming, sorry Vik" she kept speaking before he could even ask what for.

"' S’okay though, not my blood. Blade got messed up, but I'm fine" She mumbled and squeezed her eyes shut as Vik set her down in his procedure chair.

"V?"

"Sorry… it's just the relic, acted up real bad on my way over, that's why"

She gestured loosely towards the gate. A frown made its way across Viks face before he could control it. The relic, an ever present sore spot for him, a man he has never met slowly taking V away.

"I know what you're thinking Vik, but really, I'm alright... it's already passing"

She tried to comfort him, giving his forearm a delicate touch as he powered up the screens by the table, letting the touch linger as long as she could.

" Is it getting worse v, you  taking the blockers?"  A sheepish half smile creeps to her lips.

'' Well, I'm not taking them regularly..."

Which he knows means never.

" We just have a lot to do, and having him around is really helpful Vik"

“How much is he really helping sweetheart, he's the one killing you” A hint of malice laced the rippers words.

V’s face crinkled as she looked at the far side of the clinic, as if having a conversation with someone he couldn't see. Vik realized it was the dead rocker, he could help but be irritated that Silverhand was in his clinic, not that he had any say in the matter.

“It's not like he wants to” V said barely above a whisper.

”Wants what V?” He asked moving to unwrap her blade, and address the reason she was in his clinic in the first place.

“ For me to die, said he would trade in a heartbeat... well not that he has one anymore, other than mine” she shifted in the seat looking uncomfortable as if she didn't want to disappoint either of them with her response.

    She had to know how Vik felt about Johnny, it wasn't like he could hide the disdain in his voice when the parasitic rocker was brought up. Johnny was her friend now, and while they gave each other shit all the time she didn’t want Johnny to think she blamed him. She also didn’t want Vik to be disappointed in her for befriending the engram slowly killing her. V didn’t give a shit what most people in Night City thought of her but Vik was on the short list of people whose opinions mattered most. Higher on that list than she was willing to admit, and higher than Vik could know. Vik sighed, thumb and forefinger rubbing across his brow drooping his head.

“ I know you don't like him Vik, but he helped get me to you” The ripper peaked back up at her eyebrow slightly raised.

“ I know V, hard to separate him from what he’s doin to you though, don’t want to lose someone else to the relic, especially not you”.

    He hadn’t meant to remind her of Jackie but he couldn't help but think of him, dead in his clinic. Trying to clean up his best friend for his family when arasaka ripped him away. Their relic threatening to rip V away from him in a way that felt so similar. It was hard to admit but losing V terrified him more than even losing Jackie, the terror ever growing the more she wormed her way into his heart.

She had started to frown, he realized, probably thinking about Jackie. He worried that he had made what she was going through even worse, he had hurt her.

“ Sorry V, shouldn't have brought it up, tell me about your arm, what happened.” He desperately tried to change the subject. He wasn’t trying to make her feel guilty but seemed to be saying all the wrong things.

“ Ah... nah Vik, you didn't do anything wrong, didn't mean to worry you… don’t need to waste your time thinkin bout me.” But he always thought about her, worry or not.

She lifted the arm with the damaged blade shifting it inspecting the warped metal.

”This though, cyber psycho. Not the usual fair though. None of them have been like her so far, and you know I have butted heads a bunch of these guys so far.” She paused slightly, eyebrows furrowing ” Some maelstrom ritual on this girl, must not have gone well since she went psycho and all. Spooked me though, looked like a ghost or something. So she caught me off guard hence...” she flapped her arm in the air, the blade creaking in protest.

” She really did spook me for a second though Vik, I've seen a lot but that was a first.” the ripper finished gathering his tools with a chuckle settling down on his stool by her arm to get to work.

” Can’t imagine you being bothered by much out there V, quick pinch” before she knew it he had done a ring block on her arm to get to work.

” Yeah... I guess it wasn’t so much the ritual, or the dead malstromers, that's pretty much my everyday. I guess I doubted what was real for a second. Hit a bit too close to home ya know. Guess that was never something I had to think about until recently and now… well. You know.” Silence hung in the air, only the clicking of tools and metallic creaking breaking it.

    Vik wasn’t sure how to respond, to him V was still V. The only person who could brighten any day for him, who he couldn't stay mad at no matter how much trouble she brought through his door, and the person who made him feel like his heart would stop when she looked up at him. It wasn't just her though he knew, now when she clung to his arm trying to talk him into something he wouldn't want to do, Johnny was right there with her; And one day soon it might not be her at all. Johnny could take over whether he even wanted that, and Vik may never see or even hear from her again. Her reality was constantly in jeopardy and that was what frightened them both. Vik didn’t want to wallow in those feelings though, thinking of losing V made him feel like a nail was being hammered into his chest right by his heart, an oddly motivating feeling.

” V, you’re you... the same V Jackie introduced me to. You may not see it because you have to listen to Silverhand all the time, but those of us who know you, we can see it. You're still the same you.” he squeezed her hand gently before snapping a piece of blade back in place.

    The merc blushed lightly looking down uncharacteristically shy, squeezing his hand back clumsily due to the numbness from the anesthetic. Her eyes darted up to his where he was already staring at her, eyes locking with each other. With a loud click the mantis blade retracted back into place pulling them both back to reality.

” Alright sweetheart I’m all finished with ya, should be back in working order.” the ripper started to stand leaving her side to return his tools.

Her hand darted out fingers tangling in the edge of his loosely tucked shirt.

”Vik… I…” she trailed off keeping a stiff grip on his shirt as he set the tools on the table by the chair.

”It's getting worse Vik... and well, I’m not sure I have enough time anymore… to fix this” he didn't move away from her grip but a hand returned to rub his forehead the ripper looking almost frustrated.

“V you need to stop giving that thing control, I told you that would make things move faster” her voice raised, she had wanted to be comforted not lectured.

”He isn't a thing Vik you know that, he’s my friend, and it impacts both of us”

“V he isn’t even a person, just an engram of a long dead Rockstar”

“I get it Vik, I fucking do, I don't want to die that’s the point... but I’m fucking scared and at least he is there when I’m alone” The ripper continued rubbing his forehead and let out a low exasperated sigh.

“V for fuckssake you know I'm not good at stuff like this” He wanted to comfort her and hold her tight more than anything, but the words he wanted never seemed to be within his grasp.

“Well fucking aware Vik, shouldn’t have expected anything more form you” … shit, he hadn’t meant to get mad, he wanted to wrap her in his arms and tell her it would all be alright, that he was right there and wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her. That all he wanted was for her to survive so she never had to leave his side. But none of that would help her, would just make her uncomfortable, and put added pressure on her. He wanted to tell her he loved her … but stopped himself like he had for months.

“V…”

“Don’t Vik, I don't need a lecture” the merc finally let go of his shirt, attempting to sit up and get out of the chair still looking a bit dizzy from the previous malfunction.

She refused to make eye contact as she stood, preparing to delta as fast as she could.

” The last thing I need is the one man whose opinion means a damn to me giving me shit”

Vik started to open his mouth to explain, he wasn't trying to do that. He never wanted to.

” Look I know you hate him and you don't get it, but I'm trying my best. Even if that means Johnny needs to take over some times, and look... I get it it may speed things up, and that scares the shit out of me but I don't know another way.”

“ you could ask for help V”

“ Vik I ask for you help so much I feel like a leach, like i'm taking advantage, I bother you all the fucking time… I can’t impose on your life more than I already do. I know you cant want a half dead gonk barging in here all the time… I just… fuck forget it”

In one swift movement she hopped up and walked quickly towards the door, purposeful strides carrying her away from the ripper.

” Vik sometimes I don't want you to try and fix me, I just want you to be with you”

    She moved faster towards the gates before she said something that couldn’t be taken back. Something that might ruin the friendship she had and make her look truly pathetic. She had already accepted the ripper was taking care of her out of friendship, guilt at not being able to save her, or some obligation to Jackie. She just used that to see his face as often as she could, spend what little time she might have with him. She knew she had to be a disappointment to him though, just some dumb streetkid who couldn’t get her shit together when it came down to the wire. She reached the gate and turned her head back to him one more time.

“Vik … I know you might not feel the same .. but when I’m here with you… fuck.” she swallowed her words.`` I’ll take better care of myself, I’ll get you the eddies for my arm soon” and she disappeared around the corner.

“V “ he shouted after her, frozen in place.

   Vik stood in stunned silence for the most excruciating minute of his life. He had never been all that great with his words and couldn't respond as quickly as he wished. Sharing his feelings was a weak point all his exes had pointed out and he hadn't learned much on that front as he got older. Feel the same about what? Be with him how? A flicker of recognition flashed through his mind. He may make a fool of himself but it felt like now or never. Chase after the girl or she may walk out of his life forever, which meant he couldn’t see much for himself to lose. Normally not one to make rash decisions the ripper bolted out of the clinic flinging the gate open not bothering to lock up. If V was telling him she just wanted him to be near her, well he was going to make sure he did that for as long as he could calling out after her again as he bounded up the stairs.

    At the top though, he didn’t see her, just the normal gonks hanging in the ally. The shadows and light in the clearing played tricks on his eyes through his dark shades. Glimpses at figures that could be the merc seemed to be at every exit as he whipped his head around frantically. A familiar meow sounded at his feet, the pale ally cat looking up at him eyes wide and piercing. The cat brushed against his calf then walked towards the elevator, meowing again at the closed doors, becoming him to follow it, the elevator panel indicating it was up at the roof. With a heavy swallow he reached out, all hesitation gone and pressed the call button.

[rainboopz]

"the esoterica spiral" in snapshots, but make it pixel 🟥

[rainbabbles]

they can't help you cognize more than this

[obscuniverse]

Obscu listens to: The Magnus Archives - Episode 1 ‘Angler Fish’

@derinthescarletpescatarian​ has been ranting at me about this series for what feels like a million years so here I am. Also apparently I’m the world’s biggest stereotype. Let’s roll, shall we?

Oooh, I do like spooky violin. Can’t have a horror anything without spooky violin.

Okay can we pause and talk about the symbolism of having ‘Angler Fish’ be your first episode title? Fun Fact! As you may recall, the angler fish is what happens when you ask any child to draw any animal that they imagine has teeth, and the teeth come out all different sizes and directions but they’re definitely spikes, and then they get so caught up with the teeth that they rush the rest of the body so it looks like a particularly carnivorous poop? That’s the one. The part that’s particularly relevant is the the bit where they’re a bunch of glowing knobheads; that is, they have a fleshy forehead appendage where the end is colonised by bioluminescent bacteria, which they use as a lure for smaller, less coprotype prey. So we’ve got some strong lure imagery, and it’s the first episode, so on one hand this is literally the lure that the series is using to draw us, the readers, into consuming (or, if you know @derinthescarletpescatarian​, being consumed by) the series. Of course, it’s almost certainly referring to the content of the episode as well so I anticipate a protagonist (and possibly diverse other victims) to be _lured _into something bad for them.

Secondary Fun Fact! Anglerfish mating involve the male biting into the belly of the (several times larger in size) female and hanging on until their skin and blood vessels literally fuse together, with the anglerfish male being fed directly by nutrients from the blood of the female through their shared circulatory system. Will our protagonist bite off more than they can chew and become hopelessly, permanently enmeshed in something larger and more dangerous than they, so interwoven with it that they are unable to extricate themselves from it but also being given by it the means to survive? Will we the listeners? I guess we’ll just have to hit play because I’m only 36 seconds in. I do like the narrator’s voice though.

More spooky violin, can’t go wrong with that. Ooooh a crescendo. Hot fucking damn. Oh snap there was some sad tunelessness there!

Ohshit it’s a recorded diary! Every horror game I’ve ever played has prepared me for this moment.

Nothing spooky happens at a research institute named for strength or might in both Latin and Norse. Certainly not one that deals in esoterica. Okay, let’s see what Johnathan Sims (Simms?) gets up to at Swole Hogwarts.

What’s that? The previous Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher Archivist is dead and you’ve been hired by Spooky French Dumbledore who is almost certainly a monster because of course he is to replace them? This will end only well and definitely not with a spiral into a mental breakdown culminating in some Here’s Johnny! shenanigans.

“There are very few genuine cases” and now that you’ve jinxed yourself every single genuine case in the world is going to be crawling out of the walls to say hello. You’d think after 4 years you would’ve learned not to say such things. It’s like watching D-Class personnel at the SCP foundation.

“When an investigation has gone as far as it can it goes to the archives” (emphasis mine). So you’re gonna be digging into a 200 years’ of spoopy cold cases that are gonna get real hot real quick. I’m down. 

Ahahahaha. Oh academia. Even in Swole Hogwarts you can’t get away from theorists vs practicalists.

86-91-G/H is definitely going to come up again. I can vividly picture the wild strewn-about room of someone driven mad by the haunting nature of their job. Or of my own office because of who I am as a person. I wonder which file ate Gertrude. I also wonder if the lack of use of modern electronics is a safety measure that Old Mate Johnny has unknowingly violated.

“I have secured the services of two redshirts, and you can tell because they’re unnamed researchers” “I don’t expect Martin to secretly be the highly skilled wizard/creature manipulating events form their apparent background doddering disguised as a silly fool in keeping with long fairy-tale tradition contribute anything except delays” Martin is definitely Snape. OOOooooOOOooooOOH, attempting to digitise T̵̨̛͚͉̫̩̰͍̓̽̽̍̓͑̓̾͌͗̂̈́̉ḫ̸͈̪̉̆̓̀͌̓͒̈̋̐͝ĕ̵͉̻̻ ̷̜͙̤͎͈̝̮̘̄̅̓̆̿̕͝R̴̪͑̍̒̍̾̅̐́͘͠͠ę̸̞̪͕̠͍͉̝̀̈́́͌̽ͅc̴̟̱͈̦̎̅̋̏͆̌̇͘͠͠o̶͚̞͕̲͒̋r̷̲̟̭͚̠̾͑́͋̓̈́̎͒̾̚d̴̩͓́͑̀͊̂̿͛i̴̗͈̣̟̻̯̼̘̞͕̋͜ͅņ̶̡͍͚͙̩͇̟̝̩̬͍͖̳̓g̷̯̬̙̱͚̏͂̔͐̉̇̾̋̓̎̈́͘s̷̢̫̗͙̱̻̳̞̩̐͛͂̍̑̐̊̚ have been met with significant spooky magical fuckery distortion. Fancy that.

The redshirts are named Tim and Sasha, and they will be doing some supplementary investigation suicidal monster hunting to fill in Blanks That No Man Was Meant To Fill. Maybe they’ll survive now that they have names, but they really should’ve saved the name for when one of them is mortally injured and the audience has to care enough about them for them to survive so you can reveal that they are in fact a person.

“I apologise to my eventual replacement after I am horribly eaten by/transformed into whatever is in 86-91-G/H any future researcher.”

Johnathan Sims is Niles Crane from Frasier and I will accept no word to the contrary.

Ah yes, the most esoteric and terrifying of eldritch phenomena; someone trying to bum a ciggy off you when you’re 80% scotch and 60% regret.

Ah, so “can I have a cigarette” with a human form ‘asking’ is the glowy knob on this ghost’s forehead. Completely without intonation because it’s just playing back a noise that attracts hammered people at night rather than understanding words that attract hammered people at night. Pretty sure I’ve seen this in an anime.

Apparently totally sloshed British students make better horror/urban fantasy protagonists than most movies would credit.

I take it back.

At least the spooky poopfish got some dinner.

I wonder if the missing student’s name also been John is a bit of tongue in cheek.

Oooh he’s created a “this is all bullshit” category into which he clearly intends to consign most of these. STOP PLAYING CHICKEN WITH THE UNFATHOMABLE HORRORS OF THE VOID BETWEEN THE STARS. Or, y’know, keep at it. This will not be hilarious and/or traumatic at all.

“Check out this photo of a spooky ghost if you run it through a sixth sense filter” That’s right Johnny, get beckoned.

I’m actually not 100% on this format but I’ll give it a few more tries.

[little-purple-thundercloud]

A bit about L’yhta Mahre

PLACE IN SOCIETY

✖ FINANCIAL – wealthy  / moderate / poor / in poverty

L’yhta is quite well-off thanks to her inheritance from her mentors, the sale of items she finds during adventures, and the rewards from levequests. That said, she has essentially no control over her finances, which are handled by the Tower’s majordomo, Volkido, nor does she particularly desire grand luxury. As such, she doesn’t typically have access to, nor employs, these assets, and instead lives a lifestyle of moderate means.

✖ MEDICAL – fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged / deceased

L’yhta naturally has a very fast metabolism, and she’s also a professional adventurer; as such, she gets a lot of exercise that keeps her quite fit. She also tends to run around a lot, even when she could just as easily walk.

✖ CLASS OR CASTE – upper / lower / middle / working / unsure

“I’m used to being feared and. Having people keep away from me.” Powerful practicing thaumaturges can parley their status into considerable class if they want to do; she has no interest in such things (and indeed tends to find class structures abhorrent due to what they’ve done to people she cares about), so in practice, she ends up being an anomaly that those who care about social class aren’t quite sure what to do about.

✖ EDUCATION – qualified / unqualified / studying

An arguably abusive training regimen, followed by the fact that magic is effectively her entire life, has given this woman broad-spanning knowledge across a variety of topics.

FAMILY

✖ MARITAL STATUS – married, happily / married, unhappily / engaged  / partnered / divorced / widow or widower / separated / single / it’s complicated

"My personal life is a, what do they call it? A trash fire, you know?” L’yhta’s current romantic situation is as a member of a poly pod, though she isn’t romantically involved with everyone in it. However, she also holds a flame for the auri girlfriend she rarely sees and the miqo’te bard that she’s not entirely sure how she feels about (and never has been). She was also briefly married, but that relationship fell apart due to disputes over her polyamorous inclinations.

✖ CHILDREN – has children / no children / wants children / adopted children

L’yhta doesn’t currently want children. Beyond the fact that she feels awkward around them, she feels children are incompatible with the life of an adventurer. She is also increasingly of the opinion that she’s incapable of having children at all, due to an ill-advised experiment in magic years ago.

✖ FAMILY – close with sibling / not close with siblings / has no siblings / siblings are deceased / it’s complicated

As she came from a tribal background, she has several siblings -- five sisters and a brother. Her brother is currently the nunh of that tribe; her sisters view her with anything from naked contempt for abandoning the tribe to benign distaste for "not being useful.” That her skill in magic obviates the need to be skilled at hunting with a bow or chopping down trees is lost on them, or perhaps they’re just jealous.

✖ AFFILIATION – orphaned / adopted / disowned / raised by both parents / other

L’yhta was raised within a tribe, and she looked up her father with considerable hero worship. Unfortunately, he died shortly after the Calamity (at the hands of her older brother, no less), and her mother perished a few years later. She’s collected father figures since then -- most notably her mentor in magic, Robert Fletcher, and the Voice of the Tower, Eamont Desormaux.

TRAITS & TENDENCIES

✖ disorganized / organised / in between

Her lab area and notes, and indeed anything involving magic, are meticulously organized. As for the rest of her world -- well, there’s a reason Volkido has a maid clean her apartment daily, and as of yet her partners have yet to complain too vociferously about smallclothes and plates lying in random places around the house.

✖ close-minded / open-minded / in between

L’yhta can be extremely close-minded about certain things (religious zealotry, nobility, class structures, and harming others), but outside of those areas, she’s quite open-minded and accepting of other approaches and ways of life.

✖ cautious / reckless / in between

If there’s a ruin to be scaled or a cave to be plumbed, she’ll already be up or down it before anyone can voice opposition. She does show caution in some instances, in which case you know she’s pretty scared.

✖ patient / impatient / in between

The longer she has to wait for people to plan a course of action, the more fidgety she gets. This is a mage who thrives on action and doesn’t want to wait! She can be patient when it comes to things that require patience (such as alchemy), but she’ll be jumping to something else to stay occupied while the time passes.

✖ outspoken / reserved / in between

While she’s gotten better at holding her tongue over the years, L’yhta is a Big, Open Personality who largely isn’t afraid to speak her mind (unless she’s afraid it’ll wreck one of her relationships).

✖ leader / follower / in between

As much as she proclaims that she’s a terrible leader and she should never be followed, her knowledge combined with her personality put her at the forefront of most situations, and she’s always ready to take charge.

✖ sympathetic / unsympathetic / in between

“Ever since I have known you, you have never lived for yourself.” One could say that L’yhta suffers the Curse of Empathy -- she cares deeply about everyone’s feelings, even that of the world as a whole, and will readily shove any issues she has aside to take care of others.

✖ optimistic / pessimistic / in between

L’yhta is optimistic about the world as a whole; she truly believes that Good will ultimately triumph over Evil, that there will always be Lights in the Darkness, and that Truth, Beauty, Freedom, and Love will win the day. That said, she’s deeply pessimistic about herself and her life, largely feeling like she’s a walking disaster that ruins everything she’s near and that she’s never strong enough, never smart enough, never fast enough, and never wise enough to be a positive in others’ lives.

✖ hardworking / lazy / in between

Throwing herself into her work is one of L’yhta’s primary coping mechanisms for stress and her constant depression and inferiority complex, but even outside of that, she’s driven to improve the state of the Art.

✖ cultured / uncultured / in between

"Oh! And I’m her uncultured ijin girlfriend, you know? It’s great to meet you!” L’yhta has never found much value in “high culture.” This is not the miqo’te to ask about which spoon to use or how best to greet a Hingan noble.

✖ loyal / disloyal / in between

When she feels she has let someone down, L’yhta beats herself up about it. She’s tremendously loyal to everyone she knows, or at least tries to be; when she fails to live up to that ideal in any way, she tends to spiral into self-hatred.

✖ faithful / unfaithful / in between

Romantically, L’yhta has been unfaithful before, and it’s a sore spot that she flagellates herself now and then. She takes great pains now to be exceedingly careful about anything that might even be perceived as being unfaithful, to the extent that her partners sometimes think she’s too cautious.

Religiously, she has a deep devotion to her conception of the Mothercrystal, which to her represents the source of the Lifestream and all aether in the world. For her, protecting the children of the Crystal is a duty -- one she takes on gladly.

SEXUALITY & ROMANTIC INCLINATION

✖ SEXUALITY – heterosexual / homosexual / bisexual / asexual / pansexual / omnisexual / demisexual

L’yhta identifies as bisexual, but in reality, she’s closer to polysexual.

✖ SEX – sex repulsed / sex neutral / sex favorable

✖ ROMANCE – romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favorable

✖ SEXUALLY – sexually adventurous / sex experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious / uninterested

L’yhta really enjoys sex, yes, but she also heavily compartmentalizes. As such, if her mind isn’t on fooling around, she typically will appear entirely uninterested and not even pick up on innuendo. More than once she’s been talking about magic theory and entirely ignoring the obvious Fuck Me Eyes she’s getting.

ABILITIES

✖ COMBAT SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

While she’s not especially dangerous in melee, L’yhta is an extremely talented and experienced combat mage and adventurer with a keen eye for small group tactics.

✖ LITERACY SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

L’yhta will be the first to say that she’s not especially talented at linguistics, despite being conversationally capable in Hingan, Doman, Belah’dian, and Mhachi; being able to read Nymian and Amdaporian; and being marginally skilled at translating Allagan. It’s probably more fair to say that outside of learning languages well enough to be able to use them for magic or singing, her linguistic skills are iffy at best, and that’s mostly because she’s easily distracted from exercising them.

✖ ARTISTIC SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

L’yhta can sing and dance (ballet and ballroom) with reasonable amateur competency. She can also draw circles and other arcane geometries freehand, though she doesn’t consider this an artistic skill so much as a magickal one that every arcanist or esoterica researcher must be able to do.

✖ TECHNICAL SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

Within the area of magic, L’yhta has incredibly advanced technical skills that enable her to create new spells and cheat reality (and the Reaper). Outside of that area, her skills are laughably poor. She can barely turn on magitek devices, can only cook a few simple dishes, and doesn’t really understand the principles of teknology.

Tagged by: @mercermachines​, thank you! :)

Tagging: Anyone who wants to do it! I’m late to this particular party, I know.

[junodoes-builtworlding]

Whenever "WE" (thats to say literally *everyone in aggregate*) build *any* "META" (way of looking at things) WE *m u s t* (not a metaphor, 100% literal) THINK (use other metas to determine the usefulness of the new meta) about its IMPACT (how it will affect (literally anything you want) (but most importantly, in our (this plural system's) opinion) OTHER PEOPLE).

<<SCP Personnel Alert>[WARNING: Esoteric Bullshit Below!]>

that shit is heavy as fuck under there \/ -Maggie

<Z>Cthulhus take caution.<Z>

*YOU* (that is to say, whoever must hear this message) *m u s t* THINK about *YOUR* impact! (overall? tiny. you are likely one body, likely only one person even!) > conclusion?

There is *no* safety WITHIN. (nothing can be *imagined* into existence)

Dreams, beautiful visions, utopia; political theories; METAS! (You need a bunch of those. Everyone does)

There is, right NOW. *NO* safety *without*. (This world is dangerous! it has been filled with dark terrors beyond any one person's full ken. Beyond "WE"'s ken, even. Ken is unfortunately... *not Kenough*)

This, is a metaphor. A meta, i built for all of YOU, because this world is so horrible, we have shredded dozens of your grand metas to bits in a frantic attempt to "achieve" *pure goodness*. That is the idea of "Christ"

Christ is a story. A grand and beautiful one- powerful in this world. But just that. A story- you *m u s t* disentangle him from yourself. He is not you; he cannot *be* you nor can you *be* him.

"Christ Consciousness" is a term many spirit science types use. The idea of channeling the power of thought into pure morality, through esoterica (and also a lot of bullshitting.) This too, is "Hastur", the King in Yellow-"; the "narrative" (of history);- THE TRAP! (See how freely the trap may built and unbuilt?)

{You may only be christ *like*, you cannot BE a *martyr*, in any way; You are people; you will just die if you do that.}

That is the power that that metaphor holds over our society

That is the power that METAS *always* hold, that which they cannot NOT HOLD.

"Metas are dangerous." -Wolf, from Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts

You must inspect them with keen eyes;- WE have let too many wolves into this world, so hungry for pure beauty are they; you must learn to be a Wolfbrother- one who walks alongside the wolf.

You must not be Fenris; nor a wolf. The desire to totalize ALL; to narrativize HISTORY; to philosophize POLITICS-

For wolves here are metaphors! Metas, just for you. Wolves, like all things, are secretly a lot like you. Upsettingly, a lot like you. Are you just a sheep... with wolves teeth?

No, again- that is a meta, for you. Wolves are dangerous but they also live in a different world to you. The wolf was not made into a dog overnight. To believe *you* can make a pup from a wolf? You must be willing to be eaten. (Do not do that unless youre into it)

Back up for air, everyone. RISK- this is an unavoidable truth. In seeking any truth; you brush against Risk. You, all of you, are the Instrument of Risk. You are the way a tiny piece of *everything* manages the little *nothing* we must all share TOGETHER. Everything *is* risky right now. Right *now*. Back to now, now please. See where you are? Context again, its intoxicating isnt it? You feel like this peace could last forever?

Disabuse yourself of that notion at once. The evil is *already* within you. Original sin may be a metaphor; but YOU *do*...

live in a society, ha ha ha. Very funny, Joker.

A society in a kind of spiraling Mania, we think. (this is strictly our opinion)

Mania? Hysteria, really. We are all in so much pain. All of us; everywhere, all the time forever and all at once.

This horrible world truly *is* hysterically funny. Doesnt it hurt?

Sit with the pain. Understand it. As well as your tools and your self might allow;

then

*get the poison out*

Poison...

is Power. Power- which YOU *m u s t* have; *is POISON*

Medicine is in the *dose*. Decisions are medicine. No medicine is forever; just like no pain is forever. (Even if YOUR *pain* IS forever. Even for you. We are disabled enough that we must turn our pain into beauty, wherever we can, to make it to our next meal. We perform this horror of necromancy out of love for all things)

You must see the future painted across all the vast cosmos; unknowable; mysterious; exciting... but always;- a little Unknown.

A perfect medicine... a perfect meta? A perfect world!

Poison and Medicine, they are the same; you cannot distill from them POWER; you can only take *from* them the power you *need*

To make a pie from scratch, you must first create the entire universe

To find the medicine, and avoid the poison you need Power.

Power cannot be *destroyed*. It can only *be*. It must *be* somewhere. Be wise where you put it.

Achieving Perfection; to *destroy power* (ACHIEVE UTOPIA!)

You cannot do that.

The Rot.

Growth

Everything

Desire...

It cannot be escaped.

It may only be put somewhere. Anywhere you like.

But it must go *somewhere*

So if you let a bunch of fucking dinglangs like the goddamn republican party tell you what to think; they will take everything you love and hold dear in this world; every principle and precep; every metaphor you could build for yourself; wherever, whenever- and they will *eat it*, and turn it to SHIT.

Dont eat shit! Its fucking gross.

not proshipper not anti but a secret third thing (person who has a career in the media and, through covering legislative politics, has watched "associating with problematic fiction or entertainment is an indicator of moral degeneracy" rapidly become a mainstream GOP position that they are encoding in legislation to target the queer community under the guise of protecting children, thus coming to the conclusion that positioning the "can people enjoy things that would be immoral IRL in their fiction" debate as a proship v anti fandom debate is akin to pretending that "should we have the death penalty" is a discussion that only matters in Death Note discourse — the extent and manner to which fiction affects reality is an issue that is immediately relevant to today's US politics, and to summarize my opinions on the matter in fandom terms would be to diminish the ways this debate is affecting america Right The Fuck Now. and i have stopped taking "this person is bad for shipping the wrong anime thing and being horny about it" in any sort of good faith ever since I saw it literally used as part of a GOP smear campaign against a transgender state legislator in an attempt to defend the right from backlash after they used their supermajority in the Montana house to prevent her from speaking on the floor. Anyway I think everyone on this site, especially Americans, could benefit from ceasing to think in proship v anti vocabulary and instead developing coherent political positions on the nature of fiction that do not directly align with current fascist political tactics)

[thesunlounge]

Reviews 328: Steady Income Band

Having just visited the musical world of the mysterious Prince Ozay, I’d like to now turn my attention to another project celebrating secretive identities and transportive balearica known as Steady Income Band, who’ve just released an untitled 7” on Pond Life. As in my Prince Ozay review, I won’t spoil the secret, though here it is less well kept and the inclusion of the letters “MG” and “GA” on the artwork alongside even a cursory search will reveal the project’s origins. But regardless of the source, the sounds are what matter, and across two spiritual sonics immersions, Steady Income Band carry the mind to seaside jungle paradises and forbidden temple rituals, wherein minimalist machine rhythms, island hand percussions, and slap bass funk romantics sit beneath pan-pipe mysticisms; stoner riffs anchor molten glam-psych climaxes while fuzz leads set the air flame; mallet instruments fall like rain against a drunken tom-tom ritual; and layers of free jazz esoterica are manipulated via outer-dimensional dub transformations.

Steady Income Band - Untitled (Pond Life, 2020) The A-side beings with cosmic crystals generating soothing currents of resonance while waves of some intergalactic ocean crash far in the distance. New age melodies colored in hues of teal and sapphire are buried in the ethereal murk, drones waver like a mirage as cymbals and tambourines work into the mix, and eventually, a rainforest groove develops around these sexual slap bass licks...the vibe slow, low, and methodical…like tropical funk reduced to its skeletal essence. Congas and bongos induce further body hypnosis and mystical pan-pipe melodies cycle through the sky as warming waves of synthesis billow in, hover in place, then mysteriously fade away. There are subdued instrumental choruses wherein quivering pads bathe the mix in hues of a noir sunset and ambient chord stabs push through the tropical fog…as if dream house pianos are being rendered through a balearic blur. The mix eventually reduces to exotica percussion accents, birdsong lasers, and cymbal taps, which then sets up a molten climax of psychedelic power, as proto-doom riffing crunches beneath anthemic fuzz shred sorcery. After this riffadelic freak out, we settle into lounge jazz smolder, with the guitar still shredding...only now the tones are clean, liquid, and buried under layers of smoke. And as the track ends, the slip slappy basslines slowly fade away, leaving behind a Floyd-ian rhythm pulse, heavenly string orchestrations, and spiraling blues leads.

On the flip, marimbas splash and splatter through a spring reverb haze while tribal tom-toms flub and flob into a drunken processional. The fall of idiophonic rain is crazed and asymmetrical, with tones pitch-shifting and bending in ways that defy logic, and rainforest whistles commune with sci fi laser zaps, swooshes of resonant feedback, and insectoid oscillations. The robot-tribal ceremonial never relents, though it sometimes seems to malfunction, with beats clattering over themselves and sounding as if they might fall apart, only to snap back to the ritualistic temple groove. Tapped cymbal accents break free from the rhythmic flow only to disperse into a fractal glow and abstracted feedback melodies evoke the songs of some sickly bird while pools of primordial liquid bubble and boil. Subtle dub fx add an additional layer of alien psychedelia and as the track continues to lurch and lumber, my mind drifts to the earliest free jazz vision quest of the Art Ensemble of Chicago, though here everything’s been chained to a cyborg pulse and slowed to the speed of a delirium dream.

(images from my personal copy)

[roma-sera-giornale]

L’ esoterica linea di sangue.

Di Pierpaola Meledandri* Per definire la linea di sangue da cui un individuo discende se ne percorre la genealogia seguendo a ritroso la linea dei propri avi. Il DNA in cui c’è traccia anche delle esperienze appartenute a vite passate, l’acido disossiribonucleico a spirale, si eredita attraverso il corredo cromosomico trasmesso e amalgamatosi nel momento della fecondazione ed è oggetto di studi…