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Zk | subconscious-aspects-of-the-fandom

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Did you know that I used to read tarot cards? I still have the embarrassingly large collection of decks, books, and other accessories that go along with the practice. I pull them out every now and then to remember the person that I used to be. I used to be intensely focused on the subconscious and all of the ways in which it wound itself through our waking lives. I used to daydream about spending the requisite hours necessary for a 78 card spread using every card in the standard deck, even if I only did it once, At one point, I even vowed to do one reading for myself a day for 78 days in order to write a book about the experience (an idea that crops up with just about every interest I pick up, I should note).

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I've talked about change before, and I have even laid bare some of the changes I have gone through personally. Even though my fascination with tarot has waned, I still retain the general interest in the ways in which the subconscious works in our lives, and I can still appreciate the deep symbolism that goes along with it. I would be lying, in fact, if I were to say that there wasn't some subconscious link tying me to the furry fandom. And, having had a few conversations on that point, I think that the same holds true for a lot of us here. What, then, might be some of the subconscious reasons for wanting to join in a fandom of like minded individuals, spending hours online or sometimes hundreds (or thousands) of dollars just for the chance to interact in person at a convention? What would pull someone to a loose-knit group of individuals with the general theme-in-common of totally digging animals anthropomorphized to some extent, or perhaps humans similarly zoomorphized? It is, of course, one of those questions that has a different answer (or perhaps several) depending on who you ask, but I think that they are likely to fall into several loose categories.

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First, though, I think it's beneficial restrict ourselves a little in order to focus better on the task at hand. There are quite a few reasons that someone might wish to join in a subculture, be around close friends, construct a chosen family for themselves; let's set those aside, however, and focus on the reasons that someone might be willing to construct for themselves an avatar through which they may interact with others. While it's certainly not a universal in our fandom, I do think that character creation and interaction are still quite common, and figure large in the ways in which we communicate, even if it is only to purchase art.

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One of the reasons that immediately springs to mind for me is escapism. This requires a little bit of explanation on how I really got into the fandom in the first place, though, and I hope you'll forgive the brief digression. Around about the second half of 2000, a lot of things happened at once within my mom's side of the family (my parents having originally gotten divorced when I was quite young), and the tension between my mom and then step-dad grew daily, eventually to the dissolution of that marriage as well. The first of the divorces happened when I was too young to remember, but the second occurred near the beginning of high school. I had just come out as, at the time,homosexual, as well, and the combined stress led to a strong desire to escape to some sort of place where these issues didn't loom quite so large.

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I think that this was a common theme among several of my friends within the fandom at the time, as well. Although, by virtue of being able to even escape onto the Internet to pretend to be animal people, we led rather privileged lives, we all had stresses of a sort, or own realities looming over us, providing the desire to escape into a fantasy world. I've mentioned before the startling banality of a lot of this fantasy in which we took part, with folks hanging out in parks or bars, being students or programmers, and I think that reflects a bit of that escapism: getting away from a hectic life to take part in what your segment of society views as normal. To fantasize about normalcy, even with that element of magical realism inherent in being a fox-kid, shows the need to get away from life as it stands.

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Of course, despite the normalcystrivenfor by the crowd that I hung out with, there are certainly more fantastic elements to the fandom. With character creation and world building, just about anything is possible, anywhere from simple non-binary gender roles to plant-cats and digital-huskies, from vast changes in financial class and social status to vast changes in size, even whole constructed realms with a fleshed out backstory, rules, or laws of physics. Beyond simply being happily normal, fantasy can satisfy out sense of grandeur.

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Many individuals have a need to better themselves in any number of ways: to become thinner, to get rich, to win friends or defeat enemies. Fantasy provides one outlet for this. Through the process of character creation, one can construct an avatar that fills this need for grandiosity. By becoming, however temporarily or shallowly, a fantastic entity, we can satisfy some of our mythic desires.

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This need to better ourselves needn't be on either extreme, of course. For many, simply the feeling of fulfillment involved in creating the person that we really wish to be is enough. For myself, I think this is of prime importance. Now that I've grown up, left college behind, and moved away from family (thank goodness), furry has taken on less of the escapist overtones and simply become the place where people can strive to be what they wish to be. Much of the psychological reasons for this were covered in JM's previous post on howour fursonas are happier than we are.*

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This was hammered home recently when I received word of a good friend's passing. Although he and I hadn't had much of a chance to interact in the past few years since he joined the army, prior to that he was someone that I looked up to and trusted in a sort of chosen-family, big-brother way. In fact, there are several people like that still in my life, those friends, usually older than myself, whom I sort of adopted as people to follow back when I was in that escapist mode. Thinking about this after my friend's death originally made me feel a little guilty, a little creepy; it honestly made me feel like kind of a sad person for having been raised by a bunch of older gay guys pretending to be animal people in an Internet gay bar.

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In the end, though, we all grow, change, and mature over time, and I think that I've come out alright. Rather than focusing on living a normal life online, I'm lucky enough to be living something like that in person in my own way, and my interactions with others through an avatar have reflected that. The death affected me deeply due to it being a rather blatant signal of that change, and now I know that I'm using the fandom more to help fulfill my needs to become what I want to be: not a fox person, per se, just my ideal self. This goal of fulfillment is something that I see in a lot of people within the fandom, too. Beyond simply playing an anthropomorphic animal, they are playing what they wish to become.

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These are just a few of the important factors of draw to the fandom, of course. Part of the whole reason of [a][s]'s existence in the first place is to try to explore those factors. I had originally thought that it might have lasted for a few articles and then devolved into a current-events site, or maybe into just reviews of all the wonderful creations out there. The cool part about our subculture, however, is that we truly do become part of it, and for all sorts of reasons. These reasons, these draws, these subconscious aspects of our participation all shape the way we interact with each other through our chosen and created avatars, and help shape those avatars in turn on a very fundamental level. I encourage everyone to consider the subconscious aspects of why they are involved with the fandom: that sort of introspection is always quite valuable.

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  • I should note that, as I was travelling for work, I wrote this on the plane before getting a chance to read JM's delightful article. I apologize if this seems a bit repetitive!
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Page generated on 2020-04-24

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Zk | three-meditations

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As mentioned before, I've been totally slammed by offline things over the last few weeks. It's been crazy, it's been fun, and it's certainly left almost no time for the writing process besides thinking in bed before sleep. There certainly is a place for that in writing, however, and so I hope you'll all forgive me for a post consisting mostlyof introspection. Now that things have mostly cleared up, I hope that I'll be able to get back into the swing of writing about the fandom in a less navel-gazey way. Until then, here are three ideas that I've not been able to get out of my head, recently.

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Process in Furry

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When I was working my way through my music composition degree, I wound up fixating on one particular style of composition that has stuck with me to this day. There are as many ways of writing music as there are composers (many more, really), but one can discern general trends in the process of creation. I've mentioned this before, actually, in the introduction to the article on meaning within the fandom. There is the watercolor method of writing, which I'm going through now: starting at the top and writing until you're finished. In contrast to that, there is the carefully sculpted architectural method of writing, where one creates a blueprint then writes an article to match.

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It's similar within music composition, and the style that I latched onto was process music, which is something of a synthesis of the strictness of form so important only a few hundred years ago and the freedom implicit in the postmodernist ideal. Within process music or process composition, one doesn't necessarily work with a form, but with a defined transformation. One of the most common ways of enacting the process is to come up with a set musical idea, a motive, and applies the transformation to it over time in order to help construct the piece of music. The use of the word 'help' is key there; the idea of a transformation in music is not a new one.

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In the early-mid twentieth century, the idea of a transformation was extended to the twelve-tone row (where one sets the twelve tones of the western scale in a certain order and makes that a primary motive to be used in the piece). One transformation is to simply shift the piece over some number nwhere nis less than twelve (as a twelve-tone row is a mode of limited transposition - more on this later), but one may also take every instance where one tone in the row goes up to the next tone and make it go down the same number of steps instead, and vice versa; or to play the row backwards. Of course, these are just transformations working on the same set of material; a very strict process, as it were.

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The process music that I found myself working with in my career follows a much looser standard, playing with the motive much more freely, while still applying a process to it over time. This was explained to me in terms of music that I had already written, however, and as with most all retrospection, it was something which I found applicable in many aspects of my life, such as when one learns about archetypes and, on looking back over their life, finds such scattered throughout, almost exactly where one would expect them.

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The way in which I found myself thinking about processes in furry was within the context of conventions. When I interact with my furry friends online, when I interact with my furry friends in person, and when I interact with furries at a convention, I'm often struck by the how we continue the wayss in which we socialize within the constraints of the medium. Put differently, I feel that I interact with furries in much the same way, no matter the medium, and all that happens is that I tend to put the interactions through a transformative process in order to fit them to the setting. The ways that I talk and move within the fandom, and the shifting settings and participants aren't mere pixels in some rasterized picture of my life, but more like vectors, something purer that traces tracks through time (and I freely admit that that is an enormously nerdy analogy).

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I suppose a lot of this is fairly obvious stuff, but I find it all very interesting, because of the correlation to music, another very important aspect of my life. Indeed, the parallel can be drawn through most aspects of my life, or even through trends in history. Mostly, though, I've been thinking a lot about the idea of processes recently, though, due to the recent familial conflagration that took place at our house during the marriage, and all that lead up to it. It was easy to see it as a single event, a goal. Then I started remembering the similar gathering that took place at graduation, at various birthdays, and so on, and it became a little clearer that life is more of a process that we experience over time, rather than simple events taken out of time.

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In the long run, I suppose we all deal with transformations of a motive throughout our lives. We're bound, whether consciously or not, to certain themes present in the world, and it's only the passage of time that helps us to change or be changed by them. It's a little bit of the old "there is nothing new under the sun," to be sure, but it's also heartening to think of the paths we make through each other's lives as we live out the processes of our lives in proximity with each other.

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Evolution Within a Subculture

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If one were to take a step back from the individual paths that we make in life and look at humanity as a species, it becomes clearly that we've really got a good thing going on with tool use. We've been at this whole "living on Earth" thing for quite a while now, and we seem to have grown accustomed to our surroundings, or, failing that, grown accustomed to making our surroundings fit our needs and wants. Sure, we started small with simple knives of stone and bone, then moved up through hammers and thongs to hammers and tongs, through stone to wood and bronze, iron, steel, titanium. We've surpassed many other species in a great many ways, arguably right up to species primacy. This is the process taken to the utmost extreme.

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Similar things happen within societies, when one takes a step back inwards: civilizations rise and fall, and change with the times. The Romans, they did great! Certainly a gold star for the republic, and then the empire gets special marks for effort, to be sure. But they aren't alone, of course. The Greeks, the Tsardom of Russia, the various monarchies of Europe, and so on, have all striven forward and achieved primacy in their own times. America did likewise, and even believed strongly in its own exceptionalism for quite a while, and we shall see where that leads. Needless to say, the same sort of evolution and process holds true on a cultural level, as well as a species level. Neal Stephenson discusses this in many of his books - whether it's the Chinese tiin his book The Diamond Ageor the struggle of societies in The Cryptonomicon.

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All of these struggles also surround tool use, in a way. The members of cultures are tools of the culture, as are the things they create. Not only did the individuals of the Revolutionary War help cement American exceptionalism in the cultural mindset of the times, but the use of inventions such as the atomic bomb helped to solidify them during times of stress. I'm being a little glib, of course, but the point stands: the use of what we're given in order to build with what we've got better than the others describes much of human civilization, in the macro or micro sense.

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There was, however, one invention that, at least to some extent, changed up the order a little bit, simply by virtue of ignoring the previous geopolitical boundaries already in place. The Internet's a great and grand thing - where would [a][s] be without it? - but it's shifted the race to primacy, at least in terms of social stability, one step closer to the individual from species and culture. The subculture is something that surely existed before the Internet, of course, as one had such things within occupations and hobbies, but without necessarily the same ease of communication. With the advent of the communications age, the subculture gained a greater deal of prominence within the lives of those so enabled. A hobby moved beyond something one might do with close local friends and by oneself in the basement, and into something one shared with like-minded individuals with a fervency that was magnified by a technology that mostly just aided in communication using written language for a good deal of its existence.

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Taken that way, the contiguous furry fandom these days has a lot going for it. We know our tools very, very well.

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Furry fits in nicely on the web: by virtue of having much of the primary purpose of its existence based around socialization, role playing, and communication, a medium that lends itself particularly well to such things was quite the opportunity for the growing fandom. It's not simply that we're all tech-savvy individuals, as that's demonstrably not the case, there are weekly journals in my own watch-list on FA and daily statuses on Twitter made by furries requesting tech-help. Simply being savvy with the underlying technology isn't what makes all of this so useful to us, no, it's tied into something deeper, something which will help to ensure the stability of our subculture in many ways. Furries are savvy, instead, in the concept of social currency within the context of their fandom.

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The whole idea of social currency suddenly became much more important with the invention of the 'net. One could have all the money in the world, or only enough to afford the means with which to communicate on the 'net effectively, and one could become rich in social currency: the sharing of ideas and words with those seeking them out. It's a little bit cynical, perhaps, and not very flattering for us, but [adjective][species] acts in its own way within that structure, bolstering its own social currency by providing the ideas contained by the authors, both of articles and comments, to a wider audience - not simply forcing it on them by way of intrusive advertisements, but by making it a genuine resource available to those in search of it. We do our best to earn our social revenue, but we are, when it comes down to it, actively seeking it out.

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Furries seem to be all about this, too: there are paid sites with limited-distribution furry images and stories, comics available only in hard-bound format, and countless individuals seeking profit in the more standard sense. However, for every image that's available only in a paid format, there are tens, hundreds, perhaps even thousands of images freely available to a wide audience through venues provided free of charge. And just as some form of man grew and rose to some form of species primacy, just how some forms of government grow and rise to some form of primacy in their respective times, the fandom is growing and rising into a space that sometimes seems made for it (avatars in SecondLife, anyone?). We're evolving to fit the environs and growing in stability as we do so.

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The Self-Aware Fandom

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I know that I have written about the idea of the contiguous fandom before, as that which is made up of those who identify as members of the fandom such that a semi-coherent group is formed. It's worth mentioning that in many cases, the idea of 'identity' is used to describe something that is pathological, or differing from the norm. For instance, I brought up the idea of basing a portion of my identity on my successes with my psychologist, and we wound up spending the next several weeks talking about what exactly could be causing such a problem. It's not so much that we have identities, of course, we all do, but that when we are conscious of our identities, it's indicative of some pathology, something differing from the norm, or some dis-ease; we may always identify as male, but when the idea of gender identity rises to the surface and occupies one's thoughts unbidden, then we start thinking of gender identity disorder.

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Doubly interesting, then, that furry has become a matter of identity. It's been brought up on twitter, at least, that many within the fandom may feel some sort of species dysphoria, or dissatisfaction or depression associated with the feeling of being the wrong species. While I went through a period wherein I would have agreed to that, I don't think that's the case for myself anymore, and I'm not sure that describes a majority of the fandom, either. I think we have something subtler and more interesting going on with the fandom. It seems a simple thing for us to say that we are furries, and yet [a][s] is only the most blatant instance of furries exploring or attempting to explain furries, even to other furries, never mind the world at large. Perhaps it's a symptom of the participation mystique I've brought up before, and perhaps not, but it's worth exploring either way.

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The idea of a furry identity is consistent with even a cursory observation of the contiguous fandom. The two examples that seem to show themselves most clearly is the combination of apologetic and defensive attitudes in regards to adult content, and the self deprecation that takes place in so many of the social outlets as favored by members of the fandom.

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The first of these, I believe, is due in part to a sense of just how loose-weaved the fandom is perceived to be by its adherents. What appears to be a split between those who are avid consumers and producers of adult content and those reject that it is a large part of the experience of being furry may in fact be so visible because of the simple perception that there is great diversity in the membership of the subculture, and the whole gamut between porn-obsessed freaks and those who are either most innocent of or staunchly opposed to the adult content that exists within the fandom. This site is not the only outlet of meta-furry content out there - I see fairly regular journals and mention of many of the topics we've covered and will cover here. Furry is something we obviously spend a lot of time thinking about, it's an identity that doesn't necessarily always sit naturally within our concepts of self and how we interact with the rest of the (non-furry) world, and perhaps that's due to the social nature of what much of furry has become.

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As for the second example of self deprecation, I've been watching waves of the hashtag #furriesruineverything wash over twitter over the last year or so. It began as simple snark, implying that furries really did take everything, turn it terrible, and set it loose on the Internet, but it's since gained additional layers of meaning. It's been inverted to add some sarcasm to the mix - furries "ruin" everything, by making it better - and it's been reverted back to the idea that furries can ruin even things that aren't necessarily furry in the first place, such as Twitter, kids shows, and so on. This is only the simplest and one of the most blatant examples of the self-deprecation that seems to move through the fandom, and it's occasionally found itself tied to the first example through off-color remarks about how most furries are sexaholics, but we love them anyway.

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What does it mean that we are all occasionally a little uncomfortable in our membership with this subculture? It's one of those questions that, yes, is another sort of process, the type of question we're continually finding new and better answers to, the type of process that continues to define who we are, hopefully toward the more healthy end of the 'identity' spectrum. It seems that, for a majority of those involved, the fandom has at least provided a positive influence on life, whether or not it makes us a little too conscious of the portion of our identities we've based on it. I know I wouldn't trade myself now for who I might be without the fandom, ever.

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Page generated on 2020-04-24

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Searching for fonts can be one of the more fun aspects of layout. Google Fonts is an excellent resource --- all of the fonts mentioned above are available there. Many of their fonts are under the Open Font License which allows usage online as well as in print. Simply view the specimen for the font and look for the link to the font's source.

From there, you've got the interior largely complete. If you have interior art, you'll have to consider whether or not the images will be full-page or not, and if not what sorts of margins you would like around them so as not to be too crowded.

However you layout your book, whether through Microsoft Word, LaTeX, InDesign, or something else, simply keep in mind that the best page design should be invisible to the reader, and that if they remark on anything, it should be the story itself. Stay out of the way and make life easy for them, and you'll have done your job well.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/apres-un-reve.html b/writing/post-self/apres-un-reve.html index 6d9590e2e..6d7fc5268 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/apres-un-reve.html +++ b/writing/post-self/apres-un-reve.html @@ -112,43 +112,10 @@ Reviens ô nuit mystérieuse!

The other team members nodded. None of them looked happy.

"Go on, get her cleaned up and sent to the handlers." She trudged out of the room slowly, her feet dragging. Pulling off her gloves, one by one, she added, "At least someone will get something out of this. Alas."

Prayers began around the corpse.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/assignment.html b/writing/post-self/assignment.html index 4e124dd7c..dcd8216f3 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/assignment.html +++ b/writing/post-self/assignment.html @@ -78,43 +78,10 @@

Be a reporter.

It was what the cult wanted, but ey felt the words and experiences stirring within em already.

Hell, it's what ey wanted, too. Finally, an interesting assignment.

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His own personal space this side of the rig was simple, spartan. The walls were white and the floor wood, but now, in the dark, the white of the walls had settled into a cool, comfortable gray, and the floor lost detail to dimness.

Throughout the room was suspended a constellation of his current work. Business-card sized slips of paper connected by thin strands of filament that shone of their own accord. He prowled around the display, turning cards this way and that to peek at their titles and get a glimpse of their contents, before allowing them to snap back into place.

Not finding what he was hunting for, Nicky dug through one of the decks set in the air next to the constellation, until he came up with a simple card with a string of forty letters and numbers embossed in its surface.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/index.html b/writing/post-self/index.html index 0ae9cc5c5..18a5457d5 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/index.html +++ b/writing/post-self/index.html @@ -43,43 +43,10 @@

"All artists search. I search for stories, in this post-self age. What happens when you can no longer call yourself an individual, when you've split your sense of self among several instances? How do you react? Do you withdraw into yourself, become a hermit? Do you expand until you lose all sense of identity? Do you fragment? Do you go about it deliberately, or do you let nature and chance take their course?"

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/001-a.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/001-a.html index 541cd1480..aee7b4886 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/001-a.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/001-a.html @@ -32,43 +32,10 @@

Or so she told herself. In truth, the darkness felt good. She could keep her eyes open and not be greeted with a tablet, a screen, a sim.

She sat long after finishing her snack, listening to her flatmates sleep, the sounds of the road outside, her own breathing. Sat, thinking in the dark of all the administrivia on tomorrow's docket.

Eventually, finding herself at as much of a dead end as she had at work, Carter ambled off to her room, changed from her work clothes into a comfortable pair of lounge pants and a night shirt, and crawled into bed.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/001-b.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/001-b.html index af2a1eb84..c293c0d7d 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/001-b.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/001-b.html @@ -30,43 +30,10 @@

The thought nagged at her, caught like some spinning shape against the threads of her mind in a way that the rattle and screech of the train couldn't displace. It tugged those threads free. Unraveled stitch by stitch, until it reached...what?

Until it reached the hem, and then the same thing over again.

"Holy...holy shit. Holy shit," Carter said, startling the elderly lady next to her. She murmured an apology and fished her phone out, thumbing in a quick message to the team.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/002.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/002.html index 5439913e0..0cc6c913f 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/002.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/002.html @@ -86,43 +86,10 @@

Prakash Das from the neurochem team raised his hand, and Avery from statistics and history volunteered. One of the lawyers, Sandra, gave a noncommittal shrug and promised some of her time, saying, "We're on shaky legal ground, I think, but we can probably keep it in check."

"Alright. Let's sync up, you three." Carter smiled toward the rest of the group, "Not leaving you guys behind. One-on-ones and daily stand-ups will continue at the usual times. We'll set another time-box of--" She checked her phone. "Three days, after which we'll reconvene and vote again."

Sanders strolled back toward his workstation, Ramirez's eyes on his back.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/003.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/003.html index ecd32b899..c7fb1fa45 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/003.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/003.html @@ -86,43 +86,10 @@

A safe answer. A rote one. A required one. The legal aspect was plain, the ethics clear. If she wanted to learn anything from the doctors treating this RJ or the Troupe, she'd have to file a request, wait for the ethics board, wait again for the lawyers, and even then, even if she succeeded, she would only be able to write a questionnaire for them to fill out.

And yet here, a half hour tube ride away, was a social connection. The very thing she wanted most to understand.

She was distracted, thankfully, by the host inviting them in to eat.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/004.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/004.html index 37770da32..ec5dd60d4 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/004.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/004.html @@ -65,43 +65,10 @@

"So what do you want from us?" Johansson's shoulders sagged, the intensity lessened, permitting emotion. "We miss RJ. It's been a real mess without em. Please, miss--"

"Ramirez. Dr. Carter Ramirez." She hesitated for a moment before continuing. "We're looking for...well, a few of us are looking for social connections between the lost, rather than just simple personality or neurlogical correlations. What can you tell us about RJ in that sense?"

Johansson looked up to his cast, then leaned a little closer to murmur, "O'Niell's, once we're done. Then we can talk. I have more to do here, so it may be a while. Please wait up, though."

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Johansson looked down into his beer. Then, with a decisive motion, drank most of it in a few smooth gulps, holding up the glass with the last remaining, an obvious toast. "To RJ, then."

Carter felt a little silly toasting to someone she'd never met, with a man she'd only just met, with a full glass of cider to his mostly empty ale. It all felt so dramatic, so theatrical, until she remembered who she was toasting with. She raised her glass and clinked its rim to Johansson's.

"To RJ."

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/006.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/006.html index c98a3b94f..d8cb4a708 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/006.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/006.html @@ -44,43 +44,10 @@

Sanders would have a fit if he knew what she was up to.

Even so, she wasn't quite sure it was only that which drove her to make the stack private. Some hunch. Some shadow lurking behind her.

She needed to be more subtle about this than she had been.

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She hesitated, thumb hovering over the 'send' button. This was reckless, she knew, but the more she thought about the interactions of the lost, the more she was convinced that there was something to the connection. Especially here. Here, where she knew now that patient 0224e8 was RJ, and that aca973d7 was likely this Collin Sasha had mentioned.

And the more sure she was, the worse the letter from admin stung.

She gritted her teeth and hit 'send'.

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Rinsing her mug free of coffee residue --- additional caffeine at the moment being contraindicated --- Carter attempted a laugh. "Right, yeah. I've had sims crash before, but not myself."

The laugh didn't seem to soothe either of her coworkers.

"Well, either way, I'm kinda shaken up. I think...uh," she trailed off, looking at her phone. "Maybe a walk. Yeah, I think maybe a walk."

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/009.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/009.html index 03130d7f7..7dca5cde9 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/009.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/009.html @@ -93,43 +93,10 @@

Debarre let out a shout and, without a warning, signed out.

Carter hastily followed suit.

Fuck.

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"Maybe," Caitlin hazarded. "I guess it's nice to meet you. I heard about you from the boss and Sasha."

"Sasha! Shit. Sasha's lost now, too. That's why I'm saying don't delve in. Got an idea, though! I need a...oh good, there's one already here! I need the mirror rig."

She was shouting. Didn't know how to do anything but. If she was worried about attracting attention, though, she needn't have: similar hollering echoed down the hallway.

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She kept speaking until she had exhausted the knowledge of what she had learned over the last week. The pressure from on high. The data shifting. The rising panic. The only thing she left out was Prakash's involvement, the Sino-Russian Bloc's interest in the case.

And then she pulled back once more, sat up, and tugged off the gloves with her teeth. She shrugged to the police and, on seeing RJ sitting up, smiled over to em.

Ey did not smile back. "We have to get Sasha."

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/012.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/012.html index a3d0c6f5a..589eb664a 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/012.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/012.html @@ -14,43 +14,10 @@

writing fiction scifi novel chapter post-self qoheleth

TODO

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- diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/013.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/013.html index dab23d10c..b423932e8 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/013.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Carter/013.html @@ -14,43 +14,10 @@

writing fiction scifi novel book chapter post-self qoheleth

(Deposition on findings, encounter with DDR bill)

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- diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Ioan/001.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Ioan/001.html index f11f77f97..c0b3efb21 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Ioan/001.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Ioan/001.html @@ -36,43 +36,10 @@

Besides, ey thought. Maybe it will get the fox to stop using sensorium messages.

No luck. Less than thirty seconds later, Ioan received a sensorium ping of acknowledgment, a shiver up eir spine.

Ey forked and sent the copy of emself, #c1494bf, out to the meeting. Meanwhile, ey'd get some food, perhaps work on eir current project.

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Ioan nodded, "Thank you. I think I'll head home in a bit and sync up with myself, then start the research plan. Do you have any suggested avenues I should start down?"

"Of course." Dear smiled. "As for research, dig a bit more into the Ode clade for now, probably. When I send you updates, maybe those will lead to different topics." The smile turned into a sly grin. "I know you're not a big fan of sensorium messages, but as that's how the clade communicates --- those of us who do, at least --- I regret to say that you'll be getting quite a bit more."

Ioan gave eir best polite smile.

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"Of course, Dear." Ioan waved. Ey always felt silly interacting with sensorium messages. Would #tracker think em crazy? "Thanks for the project."

Dear bowed, signed off.

#tracker was, indeed, giving #c1494bf a bemused grin.

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All my best,

Ioan Bălan

PS - In engaging with this project, my searches and purchases on the exchange are shaping my reputation quite strangely. #Tracker has received several queries for future projects surrounding both novel forms of encryption and a few requests for historical analyses on speculative fiction. Ey has turned down all of the former and seriously considered all of the latter --- and ey wishes you to know that ey places the blame for this squarely on your shoulders.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Ioan/003-c.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Ioan/003-c.html index a01ac82b5..4c11066c6 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Ioan/003-c.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Ioan/003-c.html @@ -50,43 +50,10 @@

"How? Guide me how?" ey growled down at the paper. "It's all fucking encrypted."

#Tracker looked up, frowned.

Ioan#c1494bf shook eir head and apologized. Perhaps ey should take Dear up on the offer to stay with it and its partner.

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"Oh, we're all artists of a sort. Actors, mostly. A few sim designers. One of the other stanzas' lines painted this," it said, nodding to that unnerving black square. "But yes, we are all quite different. Perhaps you will see some day."

Ioan nodded.

Dear's grin had faded to some expression more thoughtful. Thankfully, not as glum. When it spoke, its voice came from some place remote. From some emotion happening elsewhere, to someone else. "Artists, yes, but increasingly few storytellers."

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The fennec adopted a look of concern. "Don't hit your friends, Ioan."

"Ha ha." Ioan rolled eir eyes. "Something's got you in a state today. Tonight. Whatever."

"Tonight." Dear's smile softened and it beckoned out toward the prairie. "Come, let's walk. Storm scheduled in an hour, let's catch all of the nice smells."

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Ioan marveled at the change in Dear, though with this raise in stakes, ey felt some of the same.

The fox's smile was weak as it added, "They have designs. Designs and reasons."

Ioan and Dear trudged back to the low block of concrete, a bunker against the storm, as a chill wind swept away the petrichor and brought with it the rain.

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Dear: I would be surprised if we manage to net all of them. [laughter] But I suppose I feel excited. Not necessarily because I have never met many of them so much as because it feels like we as a clade have a goal in front of us. Seeing them is secondary to them --- to us --- actually doing something. Accomplishing something.

Ioan: And what do you hope to get out of it? This gathering?

Dear: [smiling] A story. Others want answers, and I suppose I do too, but I mostly want a story. I want the story. I want to be the audience and a character. I want to dive into the story and bathe in it. I want a story.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Ioan/006.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Ioan/006.html index bfc761269..3c8c2fb6b 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Ioan/006.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Ioan/006.html @@ -114,43 +114,10 @@

"Yeah. Retaining all of those things from the original Michelle Hadje, yet following a dispersionista path more in letter than in spirit. Dear called them batty."

"It's called them that to me, too."

"I'm just wondering if it's right," Ioan said, finishing eir wine. "Maybe they are batty. And getting worse."

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Ioan/007.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Ioan/007.html index edff304cd..08e72ea08 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Ioan/007.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Ioan/007.html @@ -26,43 +26,10 @@

An historical document.

A story.

And finally, the day had come. Nearly two weeks after deciphering Qoheleth's last message, but it had finally come. There had been no further communications from the wayward Odist. He seemed patient enough to wait.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Ioan/008.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Ioan/008.html index 4d21e03d5..202ac11c7 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Ioan/008.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Ioan/008.html @@ -32,43 +32,10 @@

There were a few tag-alongs aside from Ioan, as well. Folks immediately identified as out-clade. A few friends. A few partners, singular and plural. Some who ey suspected were like emself: historians and helpers, here to witness and record. The 'catalogers, feelers, and experiencers' Dear had mentioned. One of the conservatives (at Ioan's guess, at least) had even brought a reputation analyst along with her, a slight Asian gentleman who introduced himself as Qián Guōwēi.

It was an interesting move, bringing along someone whose job was that of market analysis to perhaps the strangest family reunion in history. This Guōwēi did not speak much to anyone at all, and few spoke to him in return. It seemed to be some unspoken agreement that the reputation expert remain aloof, somehow above those whose reputations were at stake.

And then it was time. Dear announced that the party would be leaving in five minutes.

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"What just happened?" Ioan whispered to the fox when it came close.

"One of the conservatives took a bet."

Ioan did not press further.

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"We need a way for an individual to end. We also need a way to create new individuals, so perhaps they should be related. Qoheleth called it breeding, but it could just as easily be a way of ending one individual and having them live on as another."

The others nodded. Silence once more.

Finally, Dear gave a lopsided smile. "Perhaps that's my next project."

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"Of what? Of the goings on?"

"No, of the painting," ey said, nodding toward the canvas. The prairie and the ultrablack square.

"Haven't a fucking clue."

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Dear shrugs, grins, quits. Very lovely fox. Really quite lovely.

No time to dawdle watching Ioan try and figure out up-tree instances, though. Must be getting ready. Quit this instance, flush the server of extraneous crap to guide Ioan a little more effectively --- yeesh, how old is some of this stuff? Need to re-encrypt a bunch of it anyway --- and maybe get ready for some visitors.

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Transcript of Ioan Bălan and Dear, Also, The Tree That Was Felled speaking at a cafe.

Node: [f6981a0738b43275059c37a9c8b744e42eb91fb9]

[Encrypted]

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Hebel Qoheleth.

The old name is dead. I have followed it to the letter: I chose death as I must. As we all must.

I am Hebel Qoheleth.

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I just need them invested. I need them fighting, which is easy, and I need them interested, which is hard. I need them invested in the problem before I stand up and clear my throat, and then I might have the authority, in their eyes, to speak, to teach.

I got them fighting by saying That Name, and I've got Dear interested. Lovely Dear.

I just need them all invested.

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It's been two weeks since I pinged Dear --- lovely Dear --- and although it had tried to contact me several times, and pinged countless more, I never responded. I did my part. I called them, got them fighting, got them interested, and I think I got them invested.

That's all I need, is for them to be invested.

Now, hopefully they will come.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Qoheleth/005.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Qoheleth/005.html index 78cbeed56..e8eae324c 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Qoheleth/005.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Qoheleth/005.html @@ -19,43 +19,10 @@

I'm going to shut down all the exits from this room so that there will be less incentive to wander away. Not that I have a whole lot left, mind. I'd probably better increase the size, too, in order to fit everyone comfortably. How much space does each Odist need? How much space does one two-hundred twenty year old mind, copied 100 times over, occupy?

Prefer too large over too small, perhaps. There's a joke to be made about ego here, and yet this meeting is too important for me to make it.

This is going to be fun.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Qoheleth/006.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Qoheleth/006.html index efaac42ab..46de5e531 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Qoheleth/006.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Qoheleth/006.html @@ -34,43 +34,10 @@

So close.

Tunnel vision. Blackness.

So close.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/001.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/001.html index 23bba752c..c158b8e9f 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/001.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/001.html @@ -70,43 +70,10 @@

Ey set eir left hand into its cradle. Tilting eir head against the headrest, feeling the comforting touch of cool microfiber and the little twinge of recognition from the NFC controllers, ey nudged the button beneath eir thumb.

The rig went immersive. As RJ delved in, the soft hum of a cooling fan picked up to handle the waste heat of countless computations.

Ey could no longer hear it.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/002.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/002.html index b36055c9b..4d3005dd5 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/002.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/002.html @@ -80,43 +80,10 @@

"I'll see you later, skunk, yeah?"

"Take care of yourself, okay? No working too hard, slaving over a hot rig..."

AwDae laughed and shook eir head. Gave the skunk one last squeeze before making eir way back through the crowd toward the alcove, already swiping eir command palette into view to head home.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/003.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/003.html index fd7731acd..070f50990 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/003.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/003.html @@ -55,43 +55,10 @@

Perhaps that was why ey felt so at risk. They all were, of course, but to dissolve one's concept of a body at work, and then come home to warp the very same concept into that of a fox --- no, a finely wrought amalgam of fox and self --- felt perilously close to being lost, sometimes.

Honing and forging, honing and forging. Risk and reward.

Ey slept.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/004-a.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/004-a.html index b780b137d..59064dafe 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/004-a.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/004-a.html @@ -90,43 +90,10 @@

On the way back to the tube station, ey stopped by a Thai counter and picked up a take-away container of noodles for the night. Ey made it halfway through the container before the rancid belch of station wind suggested ey pack it away before heading down to the platform.

Throughout the ride to Soho, RJ's mind continued prowling through the data in Sasha and Debarre's deck. Ey kept mulling over that surreal number of credits. Just how much social currency was bound up within the reputation market of the DDR credit system?

Cicero had built himself up into a proper political player.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/004-b.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/004-b.html index bd85ac927..064eda006 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/004-b.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/004-b.html @@ -75,43 +75,10 @@

Tall, narrow lockers. Blue. Yellow tile floors. Thin tile glued to cool concrete. The scent, the very feel of the place.

AwDae struggled against crashing waves of panic. Struggled to make all of this information fit in eir head. Struggled to make it all fit in with the fact that ey was currently vulpine. A fennec fox dressed in a suit, laying on the floor of the central corridor of eir old high school.

"The hell?"

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/005-a.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/005-a.html index 36fb07dda..db47bd38b 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/005-a.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/005-a.html @@ -69,43 +69,10 @@

A note, though. Doubly weird. The paper didn't act like a normal vcard. No menu, no ACLs ey could sense. And yet the closer ey looked at the paper, the more the data seemed to unfold, fractally nested and seemingly infinitely deep.

Ey blinked, and the moment passed. The note once more contained only tabulated transactions.

Frowning, AwDae refolded the note and stuck it into eir trousers' pocket. A small scrap of the outside world stuck in this elaborate fantasy.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/005-b.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/005-b.html index 44dfb1c48..06a838d59 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/005-b.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/005-b.html @@ -49,43 +49,10 @@

AwDae felt stupid. Insulted. Trapped for life and still solving riddles. Hopelessness dimmed eir vision.

Ey shook eir head, ears laid flat.

"At least it's something."

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/006.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/006.html index fffa759a2..f21e73dfc 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/006.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/006.html @@ -76,43 +76,10 @@

Sleep, then.

Sleep, perhaps dreams.

Or perhaps not. Sleep to get away. Sleep for nullity. Sleep for nothingness.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/007.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/007.html index 022ac56cf..ca1cd3e5f 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/007.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/007.html @@ -47,43 +47,10 @@

Did it, though? Did it confirm that? Did that truly follow? Did it say a thing?

Ey stepped out onto the sidewalk by the flagpole and stared. Shoulders sagged. Tail drooped. There were no answers. No answers.

Nothing for it but to keep looking.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/008.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/008.html index a51933f2c..1cb8212e7 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/008.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/008.html @@ -55,43 +55,10 @@

AwDae trudged on toward home, reaching a paw up to pluck a handful of leaves from one of the trees as ey passed, feeling the reluctant snap as they pulled loose from the branches. For all the sim's complexity, school in spring was pretty far remote from London in the winter.

School. America. Hopelessness. Stasis.

"You seem kind of frozen, kind of stuck, in a few ways."

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/009.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/009.html index 09c0b5200..b4f30ee32 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/009.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/009.html @@ -38,43 +38,10 @@

Struggling to bring those two parts of emself into alignment once more, AwDae levered emself up heavily. Ey leaned on one paw while the other straightened the fur of eir face, brushing the last aftershocks of that non-sadness away in a careful, calculated gesture. Intentional. A setting-aside of emotion.

Perhaps eir initial reaction had been wrong on the emotional side, but correct on the intellectual. Ey would have to at least figure out why. There would be no sharing it, no telling others, no end game other than the knowledge of a task complete.

It was the only thing left here in this null space that had any meaning.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/010.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/010.html index 83136a7aa..5e2a42c0b 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/010.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/010.html @@ -68,43 +68,10 @@

Was there?

Perhaps getting lost was as simple as layer after layer of redundant fail-safes failing in turn, implants remaining on even after contact was lost with the rig.

AwDae sat on the fence bordering the open space, watching the color of the light duck down through golden and into salmon. Ey realized ey would need to be more deliberate in eir search. If ey was limited to places ey had memories of, ey would have to remember just which places those were.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/011.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/011.html index 37178c1b9..9b246d05a 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/011.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/011.html @@ -51,43 +51,10 @@

Preempting another skip, ey scrambled to open the door of the car and hop out on eir own before it was done for em. With a satisfying thunk, the passenger door of the dusty blue sedan swung shut behind em.

Promising, ey thought. Perhaps I just have to be more deliberate about it. I'll get in the car later, follow the drive back home, and maybe it'll park in the driveway as easy as that.

Eir claws clacked against the pavement leading to the smoky glass doors. It wasn't overly warm out, but the cool air that breathed out of the clinic was refreshing nevertheless. Something static. Something still. Something known.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/012.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/012.html index 0be0f6cbe..526622cc5 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/012.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/012.html @@ -45,43 +45,10 @@

Ey felt it.

Ey reached out and, in one paw, clutched.

And eir fist was full of blanket.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/013.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/013.html index fc0bad48f..12338a711 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/013.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/013.html @@ -62,43 +62,10 @@

It was eir dream. Eir own, eirs alone. All the lost must perforce be dreaming their own dreams. Ey dreamed of homes and clues and boundaries, of cats that squirmed, of emself as a fox --- and that one ey would keep --- and could not begin to guess at others' dreams.

Could ey will Prisca to stop? To hold still and be eir pillow to cry into? Ey did not know. Eir mind resisted the question. Resisted, because ey did not want that to be the case. Did not want to will eir precious cat to be anything other than she was. To ask that question was to admit the idea that ey could dream anything other than that which ey must.

Ey let the cat down so that she could stalk self-righteously to her favorite spot and groom the tears out of her fur.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/014.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/014.html index 9ad3f4c58..7db8f5151 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/014.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/014.html @@ -52,43 +52,10 @@

What lives we lead we lead in memory, and the end of memory lies beneath the roots.

Ey could not forget, for memory ends at the teeth of death and is wholly inaccessible to the living, because the living know that they will die, but the dead know nothing.

And ey could not cry thus immersed.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/015.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/015.html index 495e4d148..be3d5d075 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/015.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/015.html @@ -43,43 +43,10 @@

"The only time I know my true name is when I dream," ey spoke through tears. "And may then my name die with me."

Madness grew to a cruel point, pierced bubble of dream, and then dissolved fox.

Ey dreamed.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/016.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/016.html index 4835f53b8..62b007cf6 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/016.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/016.html @@ -37,43 +37,10 @@

And perhaps the world was moving around em. What cared ey? Had ey been able to influence that world, to enact any sort of change, perhaps ey would have. Had ey been able to share this knowledge of viruses and routines, of stolen votes and stolen lives, perhaps ey would have.

But ey could not. All ey could do was dream.

Dream spires of color rising from the sea in graceful arcs. Dream the rattle of dry grass. Dream the scent of new rain. Dream the sand beneath eir feet. Dream the names of all things. Dream a slow descent into fractal madness.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/018.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/018.html index 4505dd521..4178d3d80 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/018.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/018.html @@ -14,43 +14,10 @@

writing novel chapter fiction scifi post-self qoheleth

(Rescued)

- Expand all
- diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/001.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/001.html index 954d3e775..80aa1b822 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/001.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/001.html @@ -98,43 +98,10 @@

"Guess now we have another lead," Debarre said.

"Yeah. And if she's a big name researcher, I bet she knows about Cicero, too."

At that, Debarre brightened, and for the first time in weeks, the two spent the rest of the night talking without tears.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/002.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/002.html index 945689a2c..42d6845c6 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/002.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/002.html @@ -78,43 +78,10 @@

Then, without ceremony, she teleported away.

There were three small alarm bells, and Sasha found herself back in her home sim. The throwaway had been recycled.

"Fuck."

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/003.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/003.html index 94fec5f21..3d4874eba 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/003.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/003.html @@ -80,43 +80,10 @@

And breathed in the cool air of an implant clinic.

There, beside her, also sitting up from the recliner and pulling off his headband, was, she supposed, Debarre. Short. Soft. Thinning hair. Ecstatic grin.

"Sasha?" The grin picked up an ironic twist. "Or Michelle, I guess. You okay?"

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/004.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/004.html index 2a0197b86..ffb9a8232 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/004.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/004.html @@ -14,43 +14,10 @@

writing fiction scifi novel chapter post-self qoheleth

TODO

- Expand all
- diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/005.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/005.html index 7431ec15a..5261b885b 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/005.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/005.html @@ -30,43 +30,10 @@

The rest of the evening was quiet, subdued. Sasha and AwDae sat with Debarre, each to one side. They supported the weasel as he cried. Cried over his lost partner, cried over the cruelty of family which had kept him from attending the day's first funeral. They supported him with silence and listening.

And when he had cried himself out and was willing to admit something other than mourning into the night, then they rejoiced together.

And if Sasha and AwDae were in some way distant, in some way not wholly there, Debarre either ignored it for forgave them their madness.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/index.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/index.html index 814083e5e..8ebb25efc 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/index.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/index.html @@ -261,43 +261,10 @@ - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/rum-and-coke/again.html b/writing/rum-and-coke/again.html index 3f00f0850..600a2b6f8 100644 --- a/writing/rum-and-coke/again.html +++ b/writing/rum-and-coke/again.html @@ -216,43 +216,10 @@

Michael thought for a moment, then shrugged, "Probably not. Not in the same way we did before, certainly, but it's good to have contact open again."

Bomber looked down and nodded.

Michael laughed and leaned over to hug both arms around his friend, "Hey, don't worry, whatever happens happens, not leaving my friends behind at all."

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/rum-and-coke/how-many.html b/writing/rum-and-coke/how-many.html index e2a7ac59a..8111332f1 100644 --- a/writing/rum-and-coke/how-many.html +++ b/writing/rum-and-coke/how-many.html @@ -261,43 +261,10 @@

"Yap!"

Andrew smiled, more earnestly this time.

Ian let Andrew precede him out of the bathroom. He thought for a moment, smiled, and hung up his towel. Anxiety quelled, he headed back out into the room, to both his partners.

- Expand all - diff --git a/writing/rum-and-coke/index.html b/writing/rum-and-coke/index.html index 8c43b387a..0e4cb34e3 100644 --- a/writing/rum-and-coke/index.html +++ b/writing/rum-and-coke/index.html @@ -20,43 +20,10 @@
  • Story: How Many
  • Story: Again
    • - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/rum-and-coke/what-i-expected.html b/writing/rum-and-coke/what-i-expected.html index 7b83bcafe..431237029 100644 --- a/writing/rum-and-coke/what-i-expected.html +++ b/writing/rum-and-coke/what-i-expected.html @@ -307,43 +307,10 @@

    "So," Peter began. "We've got one more day and one more night."

    "And everything after."

    "And everything after," he agreed.

    - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/sawtooth/a-theory-of-attachment.html b/writing/sawtooth/a-theory-of-attachment.html index 4b03e4bd2..f7b7fa610 100644 --- a/writing/sawtooth/a-theory-of-attachment.html +++ b/writing/sawtooth/a-theory-of-attachment.html @@ -620,43 +620,10 @@

    Aiden was quiet for a few seconds, then he smiled and brushed his cheek against hers in another soft kiss. "Do you think she'd like to have dinner over here?"

    "The three of us?"

    Aiden smiled and nodded. "The three of us."

    - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/sawtooth/acts-of-intent.html b/writing/sawtooth/acts-of-intent.html index a51d72398..caae4e7f4 100644 --- a/writing/sawtooth/acts-of-intent.html +++ b/writing/sawtooth/acts-of-intent.html @@ -72,43 +72,10 @@

    All that fire in his mind wound up on stone.

    All that patch of ice began to thaw.

    The coyote was already on his way back to the plaza, can of lubricant on back in his bag and all that unbearable meaning seeping from him as he slipped back into the evening crowd.

    - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/sawtooth/aposematism.html b/writing/sawtooth/aposematism.html index 3e89168ed..c2943b92e 100644 --- a/writing/sawtooth/aposematism.html +++ b/writing/sawtooth/aposematism.html @@ -55,43 +55,10 @@

    The mountain lion scowled, but accepted three chips each from Kira and the dog --- some breed with long, golden-colored fur --- before placing the skunk's chips on the square marked The Bled and scooting them one space to the south.

    The game continued apace. With each turn Kira and the dog's alliance grew stronger and Avery's frustration more apparent. By the fifth round, when it was possible to form concrete allegiances in the game, it was only natural that Kira and Riley would form one.

    They won handily. Kira even got their ornithopter.

    - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/sawtooth/centerpiece.html b/writing/sawtooth/centerpiece.html index ecf2c94f0..d840907e7 100644 --- a/writing/sawtooth/centerpiece.html +++ b/writing/sawtooth/centerpiece.html @@ -131,43 +131,10 @@

    Traces of other scents, other people, other species, other arousals.

    Voices, soft applause.

    And Aaron's voice, "The Centerpiece is ready."

    - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/sawtooth/chaotic-element.html b/writing/sawtooth/chaotic-element.html index 857022765..a150beea1 100644 --- a/writing/sawtooth/chaotic-element.html +++ b/writing/sawtooth/chaotic-element.html @@ -34,43 +34,10 @@ Friend (raccoon) - Sonya - Baron's ex, but still friend. Same ages as Baron, gre

    "Welcome, now, spirits of earth and water, fire and air. Welcome spirits to guide us, spirits to light the way ahead of us." Baron, having replaced the elements, now retrieved his small frame drum and, using the softer end of the mallet, began a slow rhythmic beat to keep up with his patter.

    "Today is a new day, a new day begun. Today is a new day, a new day to explore. Today is a new day, a day for the searcher within to guide and find. Today is a new day, a day to become ever more whole." The words rolled out of his muzzle with comfortable familiarity, and he felt the world around him dissolve into the background, a pot set to simmer while the rest of the ritual was brought to a boil.

    "Today we ask the powers of the east, the spirits of air, to lend their knowledge, that we may be ever bolstered by greater understanding." He turned away from the window to the right. "Today we ask the powers of the south, the spirits of fire, to lend their will, that we may be emboldened in our actions and all that we do." Turn. "Today we ask the powers of the west, the spirits of water, to lend their emotions, that we may learn from our feelings." One final turn. "Today, we ask the powers of the north, the spirits of earth, to lend their restraint, that we may not act beyond need and speak when silence is called for."

    - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/sawtooth/disapperance.html b/writing/sawtooth/disapperance.html index 13853c197..0cbb9b2e5 100644 --- a/writing/sawtooth/disapperance.html +++ b/writing/sawtooth/disapperance.html @@ -429,43 +429,10 @@

    "And you?" Aurora sounds sleepy. "What tipped you off about me?"

    I think of all the things I could say---the warmth of her breath, the trail of kisses, the way her nose drew lines through my fur. The way she rested her cheek on her paw, staring out the window. The softness of her form. Her very scent.

    We lay together in silence. A comfortable silence. The first in a long time.

    - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/sawtooth/every-angel-is-terrifying.html b/writing/sawtooth/every-angel-is-terrifying.html index c24c92a5c..700da0440 100644 --- a/writing/sawtooth/every-angel-is-terrifying.html +++ b/writing/sawtooth/every-angel-is-terrifying.html @@ -263,43 +263,10 @@ Every angel is terrifying.

    I have found my I.

    I fumble the snub-nosed revolver from the waistband of my pants, swing open the loading gate, and, one by one, dump the rounds into my bandaged paw. Acting on serene autonomy, I lock the gun into its case once more, and tip the cartridges out of my paw and into the trash.

    - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/sawtooth/fisher.html b/writing/sawtooth/fisher.html index 9abac425b..b22cea92c 100644 --- a/writing/sawtooth/fisher.html +++ b/writing/sawtooth/fisher.html @@ -27,43 +27,10 @@

    So he sat on the damp stoop and watched the trees across the street.

    The drizzle had dried up --- though he hadn't noticed when --- and all that was left was the occasional pat of drop on leaf as some bit of water got too heavy and sought a new home closer to the ground. There was just that gentle sound. Despite the hour, the street was empty of traffic, as though the shoddy weather had chased everyone inside.

    "Would that my soul were that calm," he mumbled to the bare street at last and levered himself up creakily, climbing the rest of the stairs to head inside.

    - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/sawtooth/folding-laundry.html b/writing/sawtooth/folding-laundry.html index 827f651d5..8ea7ca170 100644 --- a/writing/sawtooth/folding-laundry.html +++ b/writing/sawtooth/folding-laundry.html @@ -22,43 +22,10 @@

    Aurora grinned, stuffing towels, light and dark together, into the machine. A bra clung to one of the towels by the hooks. She chuckled. She slid the bra up, hoping to get it off the towel without problem. She laughed. A thread tugged lose from the towel, insisting on clinging to the bra strap. She laughed harder. Laughed and laughed.

    Laughter turned to sobs. Shaking sobs. Great, gasping sobs that left her clutching at the edge of the washing machine for balance. Yes ma, yes ma. You haven't talked to me since I needed a bra, ma. She plucked the thread from the bra and dropped both into the machine. Your son had died, ma, and you never wanted a daughter. She admonished herself through tears about not sorting laundry.

    Yes ma, sorry ma.

    - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/sawtooth/foxes-and-milkshakes-g.html b/writing/sawtooth/foxes-and-milkshakes-g.html index c2240b82b..082ac3477 100644 --- a/writing/sawtooth/foxes-and-milkshakes-g.html +++ b/writing/sawtooth/foxes-and-milkshakes-g.html @@ -52,43 +52,10 @@

    Still blushing, still grinning, still paw in paw, they continued on their way to the taller fox's house.

    "Times are changing," the smaller vulpine observed as they neared the low-slung suburban home. "I think they're getting better, don't you?"

    The other fox was slow to smile, but it was an earnest one. "Yeah," he offered, nodding slowly, as though his mind was still churning away. "I take back what I said earlier. Do you...do you want to come in for a while?"

    - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/sawtooth/foxes-and-milkshakes-x.html b/writing/sawtooth/foxes-and-milkshakes-x.html index 664e16856..79a7a6bc1 100644 --- a/writing/sawtooth/foxes-and-milkshakes-x.html +++ b/writing/sawtooth/foxes-and-milkshakes-x.html @@ -51,43 +51,10 @@

    Still not meeting each other's gaze for very long, both foxes were blushed almost to the color of their fur while fingers fumbled with elastic waistbands to free the erections held therein. With paws curling carefully around those, the pair moaned briefly and quietly, giggling afterward at the synchrony. Leaning against the other, each fox's paw slid along sensitive flesh as each had done to themselves, but never another.

    With all the excitement and tension built up, it wasn't long before the shorter of the two foxes stifled a whimper in the neck-fur of his friend, leaving the taller fox to watch in open-mouthed awe as he gained a sticky paw. The heady rush of imagery, scents, and warmth in his paw brought the larger vulpine to a similar climax, breathing heavy and tinged with a restrained whine.

    Several minutes later found both foxes in much the same position, holding close against each other with one damp and one clean paw each, sharing one last vanilla flavored kiss or three before dozing off leaning against the other, sore necks be damned.

    - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/sawtooth/happy-lesbians.html b/writing/sawtooth/happy-lesbians.html index f30704061..d9f14f7ed 100644 --- a/writing/sawtooth/happy-lesbians.html +++ b/writing/sawtooth/happy-lesbians.html @@ -165,43 +165,10 @@

    More than that, it eased tensions between her and Katrin.

    She hadn't realized how tense the lack of security made her wife until she had regained it. The vixen once again became easy to talk to. She laughed more easily. She gushed about new recipes and bitched about customers. All those little things that are part of daily interactions that had been tamped down in the face of trying to make ends meet were suddenly back and in full force.

    That Winter was now working in food service as well certainly helped her case. They could commiserate in ways that neither had expected.

    - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/sawtooth/malina.html b/writing/sawtooth/malina.html index d24c13b59..2ace672d8 100644 --- a/writing/sawtooth/malina.html +++ b/writing/sawtooth/malina.html @@ -113,43 +113,10 @@ but he does back off.

    A bad day followed by a fight with Cyril

    X

    Endless questioning into what happiness means

    - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/sawtooth/overclassification.html b/writing/sawtooth/overclassification.html index 4914c4f95..d2f8726b2 100644 --- a/writing/sawtooth/overclassification.html +++ b/writing/sawtooth/overclassification.html @@ -549,43 +549,10 @@ Temperatures have reached -30, stay inside and keep warm."

    She checked the clothes dryer, but it was empty, with the clothes she'd lent Amber piled beneath, so she did a load of laundry

    She slowly reorganized her life around this Amber-shaped hole, patching together feelings into a new whole.

    And the only thing missing was her catalog of folktales.

    - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/sawtooth/party/1-2-hostess.html b/writing/sawtooth/party/1-2-hostess.html index be614ceda..64f3ca272 100644 --- a/writing/sawtooth/party/1-2-hostess.html +++ b/writing/sawtooth/party/1-2-hostess.html @@ -121,43 +121,10 @@

    "Kitten will make sure to rub both paws, correct?"

    "Yes, mistresses." Aaron's voice was muffled, still nuzzling against that paw.

    "Good." She grinned, "If kitten does well, He'll be able to move on to tastier treats."

    - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/sawtooth/party/1-3-breeding-pair.html b/writing/sawtooth/party/1-3-breeding-pair.html index 63f487556..7a02b6140 100644 --- a/writing/sawtooth/party/1-3-breeding-pair.html +++ b/writing/sawtooth/party/1-3-breeding-pair.html @@ -105,43 +105,10 @@

    He repeated this to himself almost as a mantra as he shuffled back to the den. He felt listless, unanchored, and, in an airy sort of way, upset at himself for not thinking things through before.

    Always so difficult to disentangle genuine anxiety from the side effects of being high.

    (, tries to go for joan but is rebuffed, left to fawn over erin, turning down others to hold her paws and whisper dirty things, ambiguous whether or not he gets a chance)

    - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/sawtooth/party/1-4-hostess.html b/writing/sawtooth/party/1-4-hostess.html index 7a2d5f36c..950dab93f 100644 --- a/writing/sawtooth/party/1-4-hostess.html +++ b/writing/sawtooth/party/1-4-hostess.html @@ -15,43 +15,10 @@

    writing furry kink erotica fiction sawtooth party novel chapter

    By the time Aaron had been allowed up along her body far enough to bury his muzzle in the velvety-short fur of her groin, Joan had fallen into a comfortable rhythm with Elise. Using someone more submissive than her as a toy while she remained the pet to her mistress was not something they'd had a chance to try --- or even talk about --- before.

    It appeared to be working for the three of them, though. Joan felt the pressure of Elise's dominance as a sort of comforting blanket around her shoulders, and Aaron was quite good at what he did as a submissive: she had been brought to the bring of orgasm a few times before, as Elise spotted the signs, the cat was directed away. For her part, Elise seemed to be relishing being the capricious mistress, instructing Aaron first this way, then admonishing him that way, letting Joan get close and then taking that away. Aaron showed just enough will of his own to make things interesting: whining, pushing his limits, adding a touch of brattiness, but never going too far.

    - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/sawtooth/party/index.html b/writing/sawtooth/party/index.html index 5a8544c86..67c5d9006 100644 --- a/writing/sawtooth/party/index.html +++ b/writing/sawtooth/party/index.html @@ -106,43 +106,10 @@ - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/sawtooth/ritual.html b/writing/sawtooth/ritual.html index 06bef1d12..ddea80457 100644 --- a/writing/sawtooth/ritual.html +++ b/writing/sawtooth/ritual.html @@ -19,43 +19,10 @@ * Mercury: trans guy, tries to balance salt and sulphur

    Entire story takes place during ritual with planning and interpersonal conflict told through flashbacks. Mercury having a ritual with Salt and Sulphur before his ??? Surgery? Something?

    "My little coven: magic is magic."

    - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/sawtooth/robbed.html b/writing/sawtooth/robbed.html index 645fd261c..ac8c09096 100644 --- a/writing/sawtooth/robbed.html +++ b/writing/sawtooth/robbed.html @@ -61,43 +61,10 @@

    Out of habit, Linus twitched his wrist to get his watch into view, despite the clock on his laptop. It was late.

    [11:50 PM] tlcarraway> Love you too. Make sure you actually sleep in bed instead of the comp chair this time <3

    No reply. Good. If Carrie got to the point of barely intelligible keyboard mashing, she'd sleep basically wherever she was. Linus just had to hope she actually made it.

    - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/sawtooth/running-away.html b/writing/sawtooth/running-away.html index 0c90b950c..a737bf4a2 100644 --- a/writing/sawtooth/running-away.html +++ b/writing/sawtooth/running-away.html @@ -40,43 +40,10 @@

    "Amber, get in the fucking car."

    Amber rolled her eyes and swung the passenger door wide, taking to heed her friends' advice, slung her backpack into her lap --- rather than into the back seat --- as she slouched in beside her mother.

    - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/sawtooth/the-fool.html b/writing/sawtooth/the-fool.html index 2ad40e1fa..3f5cf3f4d 100644 --- a/writing/sawtooth/the-fool.html +++ b/writing/sawtooth/the-fool.html @@ -181,43 +181,10 @@

    I feel unfortunately tall. A rectangle. A lummox. A big, dumb cat.

    I also feel understood, appreciated. Welcomed. I return the hug carefully. Then, with her farewell in my ears, take that first step out into the evening air.

    And then the next.

    - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/sawtooth/valentimes.html b/writing/sawtooth/valentimes.html index a2265186c..a3c1874ad 100644 --- a/writing/sawtooth/valentimes.html +++ b/writing/sawtooth/valentimes.html @@ -88,43 +88,10 @@ it's completely new.

    On the flip side, it got me back up to Adam's before too long, and gave me the freedom to use my name again, to start hunting for a real job. Tomorrow's my first day back at work. The guy who runs it out of the front half of his house is quirky enough that he laughed at my story and hired me on the spot.

    Whatever, I'll take it.

    Now I just need to continue figuring things out with Aurora, and maybe I'll eventually find a way to settle down, feel happy.

    - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/sawtooth/what-defines-us.html b/writing/sawtooth/what-defines-us.html index 5235daf8f..8f2ba0f6f 100644 --- a/writing/sawtooth/what-defines-us.html +++ b/writing/sawtooth/what-defines-us.html @@ -93,43 +93,10 @@

    Can you still come up for Christmas?

    LYFA

    D

    - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/sawtooth/what-remains-of-yourself.html b/writing/sawtooth/what-remains-of-yourself.html index cf56498e6..e8ab6b98b 100644 --- a/writing/sawtooth/what-remains-of-yourself.html +++ b/writing/sawtooth/what-remains-of-yourself.html @@ -121,43 +121,10 @@

    Alex nods. She's a good pup, a good puppygirl. Eager to please, eager to please. She leans forward onto balled up fists. Good dogs sit, good dog good dog. Thoughts grow faint. Just a dog, just a pup.

    Jeremy leans forward, gather's up the cat-- the dog's scruff in his paw, clutching and lifting, pulling, tugging her closer, tugging that vinyl nose close until it bumps against the crotch of his shorts. Nose flooded with his scent. Eager to please, moaning, eager to please,

    "We have all night. You're my pup. It all belongs to me, what remains of yourself." A fond growl, a claiming growl. "What remains belongs to me."

    - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/surgery-novel/index.html b/writing/surgery-novel/index.html index 1b9ab18f4..6f33d0bd5 100644 --- a/writing/surgery-novel/index.html +++ b/writing/surgery-novel/index.html @@ -125,43 +125,10 @@ Matthew - husband

  • End with the concert?
    • - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/the-second-ridge.html b/writing/the-second-ridge.html index d2ffbb15a..cb873b4b0 100644 --- a/writing/the-second-ridge.html +++ b/writing/the-second-ridge.html @@ -64,43 +64,10 @@ - Expand all - diff --git a/writing/with-his-arms-outstretched.html b/writing/with-his-arms-outstretched.html index d6498bc62..dabd3b94c 100644 --- a/writing/with-his-arms-outstretched.html +++ b/writing/with-his-arms-outstretched.html @@ -116,43 +116,10 @@

    "Yep, just need to get off of the bulb." She thinks for a moment. "Eight, do you have your display still? Mine's out."

    "Yeah. I'll help steer." There's a pause, and then, "I'm the green beacon."

    "Thanks." She shifted her other hand to press against the bulb, bent her elbows and knees

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