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Everything posted by radio414

  1. lyrics are kinda ehh, feels like they're trying to jam specific phrases into the meter, but also i did listen for the instrumental bits like five or six times so 7.5/10 overallOP Suggestion: I don't really have a good way to describe this song other than it's just so *cool*. Even when it dissolves into wobble bass wubs, it just oozes coolness 8/10
  2. The pillar plan fell through pretty quickly but at least Z.’s contribution worked out just as intended, so things were going pretty well, all things considered. They even got some laughs and a few extra contributions to the Clobbopus Pun Fund. Even the (ex-)mods desperately trying to hold things together couldn’t help but chuckle along. Any further wisecracks were cut short, though, by two things happening, the first being Hector/Newie/whatever they were supposed to call the Falinks doing some sort of acrobatic trick that was only 83% successful (and, looking at the Newies who did land on the pillar, probably even less than that), which, frankly, shifted all the attention from one mostly-helpless Pokémon to another, and the second being Clobbopus peeling himself off the pillar, rendering, like, half of Z.’s remaining jokes moot anyway. Only half, though. “Oh, don’t be such a sourpus,” Z. said as they slid down the pillar and back down to the ground. They stumbled a bit on the landing, probably a consequence of a new body and misjudging exactly the scope of what they’d been trying to do, but nothing worth drawing attention to themselves over. “Ol’ Spark Plug over there didn’t say it was a bust, she said there wasn’t anywhere to go. And that’s only mostly right anyway, there’s just a big ass-locked door in the way of all the other interesting stuff.” Ex-moderator Appletun the Chespin seemed to agree as well, going on about how it wasn’t actually a failed endeavor, which Z. appreciated -- “See, even the mods agree with me for once,” they said -- though then Appletun started waxing lyrical about the value of teamwork or whatever, which Z. immediately tuned out. “I mean, I even said I could be wrong,” they said instead. “I was like, ‘If I’m going the wrong way, sucks, but then at least we’ll know.’” A weird feeling hit them, just then. It kind of felt like, when their mental image of themselves shifted to the past version of them, so did their presentation, even though, obviously, the only thing that would have realistically changed was that past Z. was still dripping after their swim. It only took a second or two to figure out what it was, though. “Right, Zorua can do that.” A wry smile crossed Z.’s face as they realized the possibilities of such an ability, but, when they focused on Clobbopus, the only new sensation that they got was that something came out wrong. Maybe it was the color, maybe it was the texture and not accounting for the light, the point was, whatever it was, Z. dismissed it quickly their face turned to a hard grimace. Fuck, they hated being bad at stuff! And yet, again, the best way to deal with it right that second was to ignore it. As Es had said, Z. had to keep moving, so they just grit their teeth, mumbled, “Something to work on, I guess,” and did exactly that -- they moved on to the room’s other exit. The other room was pretty similar to the room Z. and Es had explored. It was similar in shape, for example, and there was water encircling a wall that itself encircled a landmark clearly demarking the place as more artificial and ruinous than naturally cavernous, though the water stretched out further than simply acting as a moat around a locked door, and, for that matter, there wasn’t a locked door at all. There were stairs where the door would be instead, ones stretching upwards into a now-customary inky blackness. “Ftairs! We have found ftairs!” Z. said, half remembering an old reference they’d made on the forum, and half actually calling back to everyone else, but, again, they never stopped moving.
  3. anyone involved with the us chess federation is medium-high int but took wis as a dump stat

  4. from @minbitt on twitter color picker says #93e5d3 if that helps
  5. 7.5/10 good coverOP Suggestion: Went on a folk music dive and everyone was suggesting the chieftains so now I'm passing it on to you 7.5/10
  6. To The Bin My Friend, Tonight We Vacate Earth They did, in fact, make it to the garden on the other end of the island in time to see the nighttime sky fade away. The garden itself was maintained well enough, though without Helmsley’s loupe it was difficult to tell whether that was thanks to receiving actual maintenance or t͠at҉ib͠us̨’ power making it appear as though it had. There was a fountain in the middle -- even the word of power had not restarted the water there, though -- and a ring of flowers surrounding it, and surrounding those were a scattering of trees and busts of people lost to history. The pathways, just like everywhere else on the island, were cobblestone, and where there wasn’t a pathway or other plantlife there was rich green grass. Joy paid no attention to any of this. She walked to the edge of the island and kept looking westward, looking for a specific point of light near the horizon. “There it is,” she said when she found it, extending a hand out to show her two opponents. “That’s where you’re headed after this, should you best me.” It was not a star at all, though it could easily have been confused for one, with its beacon of light constantly changing in intensity like a star’s twinkle. No, just visible underneath it was a lighthouse, resting on one final island. “Destino,” Joy called it. “Maybe there you’ll understand. The world has ended, my fellow watchdogs, and it is ending again. All I can do is give people some comfort on the way out.” She turned around, finally facing the two again. The light surrounding her intensified, then slowly shifted around her person until it concentrated in her hand. It then convulsed, bent, and stretched until it took the shape of a bow and a quiver of arrows. She selected one of the arrows and notched it, drawing the bow and taking aim. “My name is Joy Garnett, Watchdog of the Goddess Laeta,” she said. “Do not think for a moment that I will go down quietly.” OOC
  7. 8/10 show offs...OP Suggestion: If Soccer96 is gonna keep making new music even after last year's banger of an album I'm not gonna complain 8/10
  8. Have mercy on me, Oh Lord, a sinner Wipe away my transgressions, and let me be reborn anew in your glory Help me turn away from sin and move towards your eternal light. Lord, perhaps I am weak of faith, but I need some reassurance that your light shines here as well. I am asking for your help tomorrow The tasks I am meant to perform are slowly becoming clear to me. Zadkiel and Sandalphon were quiet even after Melissa left Mauvache’s room and returned to the apartment. It was only that night in her dreams that they even spoke again. They did not bother to manifest. Instead, Melissa found herself alone on a beach, kneeling on the shore doodling in the sand with her finger, and the conversation was punctuated by the waves crashing in. “Did you get to hear anything in there?” Melissa asked. No, was the reply. We did not spend our time idly, however. We have been working on the task you assigned to us, and we found new questions to explore in future meetings -- if Mauvache permits such things. “I- okay,” Melissa stopped drawing and watched as a wave came in to take all her progress away. The answer shouldn’t have surprised her, but she had still been hoping for something, like… Well, “coherent” was the wrong word. Especially after coming back from Mauvache, the angels’ response was direct and comprehensible. It was so to the point, actually, that Melissa was pretty sure there was a deeper meaning they were hiding behind it all the same, though instead of trying to dig in, she instead followed the path of least resistance. “What else did you want to ask her?” We wanted to ask if there was something similar to ADMIN on Prana. The response physically knocked Melissa back and she just managed to catch herself, ending up in some sort of reclined position, propped up by her hands, arms rigid. “Do you want to be rid of me?” Far from it. There are several reasons why we do not, even putting aside your initial kindness to us. We desire to know because it simply interested us. If something like that existed, it would be interesting to study. We similarly wanted to know if there was a way to access the assembly code of your watch or any other sort of documentation. It is true that we dismissed it as primitive, but that does not mean it is not interesting. Melissa nodded, but the answer still wasn’t quite satisfying to her. The angels hadn’t provided any actual reasons, for example, save the one that they were already disregarding. Worse still, the source of her discomfort was coming into clear focus. With all these conversations they’d had over the past few days, it was weird that she hadn’t noticed it already, really, but maybe her mind had been elsewhere, or maybe her encounter with Mauvache, as she thought earlier, really put things into sharp focus. “Am I anthropomorphizing you too much?” she said. “Or… angelicizing? I don’t know if that’s a word. But is that a problem I’m having? That I keep thinking you’re something you’re not? It’s only been a few days and ‘the voices in my head’ and ‘my angels’ got interchangeable real quick.” We chose these forms based on forms already in your mind. “Sure, but I have expectations of what angels are like also,” Melissa said, “and while you’ve been my glorious protectors on more than one occasion, you don’t always act the part. I’m just saying I don’t think you have to change that. I’m wondering if that’s a me problem.” Another wave swept the shore, and while Melissa pulled her hands back in front of her and returned to a neutral posture, the voices said, We have endeavored to be courteous guests. “And I want to be a courteous host!” Melissa shot back. “I mean, I guess that was why I wanted you to talk more outside of these dreams you’ve been giving me. You’re just as lost as I am, after all. I don’t know if Mauvache is going to want to see us again anytime soon after I talked her ear off about the sacraments I can’t do, but I can try to find you the things you need. I can try to make you more comfortable.” She reached out with a finger and drew an arc in the sand. “I don’t know if you’ve probed my memories enough to find this, but this is an old shibboleth of my faith. If the person you’re meeting with sees this and does the same, it means they’re among friends. It was necessary when it was created -- it’s just symbolic now -- but I would like to put it to you as well.” Slowly, the image of Zadkiel materialized before her, and, with its leg, added a mirror of Melissa’s arc, completing the ichthys fish. As soon as it was completed, a wave came in and wiped it away, though Melissa could still see a faint outline where it had once been. “Tomorrow, if we have time, we can start looking for these things you want,” she said. “Or anything else.” Thank you, the voices said, and Melissa’s dream slowly faded away into the void of sleep.“Do your best to present yourself to God as one approved, a worker who does not need to be ashamed and who correctly handles the word of truth. Avoid godless chatter, because those who indulge in it will become more and more ungodly.” -2 Timothy 2:15-16 (NIV)Melissa went downstairs still in pyjamas and immediately wished she hadn’t. Fen had gotten their first (that wasn’t the worrisome part) and had let in whoever had been ringing the doorbell waking everyone up. From the look of the new occupant’s demeanor and classic notebook that was drier than the rest of her person, it was clear they were some sort of reporter and, if she got her way, was bound to try and interview every occupant of the building, even probably the Slakoth if she thought it could talk (that was). She nearly threw herself into the laundry room to stay out of sight, but just managed to avoid such theatrics, and walked in instead. You seemed to do okay with that photographer, is this any different? “I didn’t have to talk to the photographer, and they also got me about as far away as you could get from whatever was happening in that clothing store,” Melissa hissed. “And did you see how close she got to Fen? I don’t want that, especially this early in the morning.” Would you rather us speak to the reporter in your stead? A wave of realization hit Melissa as she realized that it wasn’t so different from the photographer at all. That was right, she wasn’t in this alone anymore. “Only if you’re willing,” she said. “And maybe she’ll leave after talking to Fen. So I’ll call on you if she approaches?” With that sorted, Melissa came back out of the laundry room and made her way over to the rec room to check on the Slakoth. Breakfast would be after that. Or maybe someone else was already making it. If that were true, Melissa just hoped it wouldn’t be spicy.
  9. 92a.jpg

    Not that Paprika, silly. We're wrapping up our discussion on Satoshi Kon with his adaptation of the novel.


  10. ←Previous Post Movie Four -- Paprika Or: I Dreamt Of A Butterfly Who Dreamt It Was Me Content Warning: Aside from the obvious feeling of doubting one's own reality that permeates the movie, there is one moment I would like to point out specifically. There is a massive sexual-assault warning after Paprika gets captured by butterflies. Also, one of the main characters is overweight and spends a good portion of the movie dealing with fatphobia. I have seen people get (reasonably!) turned off of stories for less, so fair warning there as well. This is obviously not Satoshi Kon’s first foray into dream logic -- again, quite the opposite, unfortunately, as this would be his last -- but it is the first time it is dealt with so directly as to actually be dreams causing the surreality. Instead, Kon takes advantage of the decade of cultural change since Perfect Blue’s release in 1997 to go back to the well his first movie introduced and dig a little deeper. In this way, Paprika asks its questions: “How do we see ourselves? Through what lens?” Even without the characters spelling it out in the middle of the story, the fact that the movie brings them into such close contrast would be evidence enough. On the internet of 2006, you can be anyone you like, just as people often become other things in their dreams. But in both cases, that doesn’t make these creations “not you,” merely another facet. And this is true even when you try to deny it. To put in the perspective of a modern (at time of writing) meme trend, it would be like reading something you posted in some other character and being like, “This is nothing like me!” “My friend in Christ,” comes the reply, “You typed the words.” Or, for those who’ve played those games, I guess it’s like the Persona series. This is all probably getting a little complex, though, to be fair, we’ve dabbled in Jungian topics such as these before. Even still, it’s possible to pull back a bit and just enjoy the movie for what it is: a murder mystery straight out of Ghost in the Shell combined with a psychologist double-life story with a healthy dose of Cat’s Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut thrown in there for good measure. That still makes it sound more complicated than it is, and, to be fair, I was being a little smarmy coming up with that combination, but really there are only three key themes at play here and we’ve already started talking about one of them. The murder mystery turns out to be part of a philosophical battle. The chairman is introduced with a long-winded monolog about how science is intruding on something sacred, with the culprit taking their own stand against what they perceive to be the natural order of things. This is especially apparent when it’s revealed that the machine in question, the DC Mini, was designed by genius inventor Kousaku Tokita for function first and safety… never. Given that this is a Japanese movie and similar circumstances led to the creation of the atomic bomb, well, I’ll leave the viewer to draw their own conclusions on the ending there. Suffice it to say, the nature of dreams and reality is the second key theme. To match the question motif I’ve been asking, this question would be “How do we see the world?” Finally, then, is “How do others see us?” The initial motive suggested is that the culprit was jealous of Tokita’s genius, which Tokita himself seems difficult to see, but, then again, he doesn’t fare well in social relationships anyway. Meanwhile, Doctor Osanai outright says that he’s jealous of our lead, Atsuko Chiba, but she doesn’t think anything of it until much later in the movie. I’m trying not to spoil this one because it is a mystery worth solving. Like with the Perfect Blue post, I’d like to just ask the questions to keep the viewer thinking throughout the movie. I will also add that the movie’s dream logic means it uses recurring motifs to draw the connections. When Detective Konakawa comes through that door or turns that hallway, he always moves the same way, for example, or how the parade always introduces itself with the same appliances at the front. Again, you can tune out and enjoy the gorgeous animation -- Kon and Madhouse were once again at the top of their game for this one -- but I would encourage you to keep thinking. In terms of a finale, I don’t have much for this one because I spent most of that at the end of Paranoia Agent. I don’t even have a happier ending besides enjoying myself much more in these movies than I did with the show. I don’t have a happy ending in real-life, either; Kon remains dead, his final unfinished work remains in development hell, and, to tell the truth, these movies did not make that much money in the theater anyway. They were successful, sure, and obviously they’re good or I wouldn’t be talking about them, but not to the degree that investors might have hoped. And yet, we remember them. Maybe that’s a happy ending enough. -r I don’t know what’s going on next. I’m definitely taking a month-long break again, but after that, I don’t know if I have something in mind or if I’ll throw up another poll. If anyone has suggestions, I may as well listen, but otherwise, keep on the lookout for any of that. ←Previous Post
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