Blog
showing 31 - 45 of 173 post(s)
Antique Rug Decisions
I
imagine the opening sequence wasn't meant to make much sense
immediately, but I felt that while I wasn't getting the whole picture, I
was confident there WAS one. I like that in a story. It's important to
signal to your readers that while they're confused now, you're going to
take care of them, and they should trust you. A small quibble- muscle memory is not actually stored in muscles in any way. "Muscle memory" is just slang for procedural or non-episodic memory, and just like any other kind, using it activates middle temporal cortex. Using muscles over and over has two effects: strengthening the muscle itself (increased volume of muscle spindles) and perhaps strengthening connections IN motor cortex. Nothing about nerve endings connecting more. All of the plasticity occurs in the brain. But besides that opening bit, I found it pretty easy to suspend disbelief and go with your super cool premise. I like the moral quandries it brings up, and the way the picture slowly slides into focus as we figure out Tim's story and what happened. Though, not being a dualist, when terminology left "conciousness" and drifted into "souls", you sort of lost me. But I bet I'm an outlier on this, and most people probably didn't have a problem with it. A major question I found myself pondering, though, was why everyone around Tim was so casually certain that he hadn't killed anyone, or if he had, that it didn't matter. I felt it kind of subtracted from the drama of the situation. Much of the dialogue was fun and springy, and I really enjoyed that. Especially the scenes with Debbie. And when the wine bottle smashed voer the antique rug. One thing that bothered me was the Mexican jokes, because I couldn't tell if they were being played for laughs by the author, or if it was supposed to illustrate something about how shallow Tim is. If the latter, then fine, if the former, not funny. The pacing is fun and the whole thing very readable. Thanks for giving us something enjoyable! |
Antique Rug Stories
“Technically I’m with the ‘Men of Spirit’," Hoshi says, crossing the soft antique rug that dominates the center of the room. "They hired me for this crap job. Honestly, though, their cute little revolution is just too hopeful for my tastes. Claim they just want power to realize the dream of equality.” He laughs a bit as he finally gets the cloak folded neatly. “Power is not a means, it is an end. One does not establish a dictatorship in order to safeguard a revolution; one makes the revolution in order to establish the dictatorship.”
“What’s that?” She scratches the back of her head with the gun, then points is lazily back at him. “Are you a rebel leader or aren’t you?”
He smiles. “Orwell. And no, not really. Joined with the Men of Spirit for the effing work, not for the ideas. Betrayed them to the Lord Commander for money as well. Double-betrayed just for the fun of it, really. Effie Sagara is an idiotic bint. She was at the center of this intricate assassination plot against the Lord Commander, which basically consisted of ‘just kill this dumbass somehow.’”
“Well I’m pleased to hear you’re not a revolutionary, but you sound a little insane. Wasn’t it all incredibly dangerous?” She’s genuinely interested, now.
“Yeah, it was quite cool. Very undercover agent. I don’t do this for a living anymore, you know. I’ve made ten livings already. I just get off on it. I get bored.” He’s outright grinning now, in his leggings and undershirt. “So I’m a spy-for-hire. The galaxy’s only consulting conman.”
“Well, you’ll be doing it for a living now,” she says. “Because I want you to work for me as an unofficial RUST undercover agent. Black ops, illegal intel, that kind of a thing. And if you don’t do it we’ll have you executed for theft and treason. They proscribe ritual suicide for those crimes on this planet, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Why yes they do. You have a point there. Madame, I’m starting to get the feeling you’re threatening me.”
“Yes I am. Your options are actual death, or a faked death so I can get you off this rock and put you to work. So either way you’re a dead man. What’s it going to be? Give me your arm, or take a slug bullet to the temple, dear.”
“What’s that?” She scratches the back of her head with the gun, then points is lazily back at him. “Are you a rebel leader or aren’t you?”
He smiles. “Orwell. And no, not really. Joined with the Men of Spirit for the effing work, not for the ideas. Betrayed them to the Lord Commander for money as well. Double-betrayed just for the fun of it, really. Effie Sagara is an idiotic bint. She was at the center of this intricate assassination plot against the Lord Commander, which basically consisted of ‘just kill this dumbass somehow.’”
“Well I’m pleased to hear you’re not a revolutionary, but you sound a little insane. Wasn’t it all incredibly dangerous?” She’s genuinely interested, now.
“Yeah, it was quite cool. Very undercover agent. I don’t do this for a living anymore, you know. I’ve made ten livings already. I just get off on it. I get bored.” He’s outright grinning now, in his leggings and undershirt. “So I’m a spy-for-hire. The galaxy’s only consulting conman.”
“Well, you’ll be doing it for a living now,” she says. “Because I want you to work for me as an unofficial RUST undercover agent. Black ops, illegal intel, that kind of a thing. And if you don’t do it we’ll have you executed for theft and treason. They proscribe ritual suicide for those crimes on this planet, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Why yes they do. You have a point there. Madame, I’m starting to get the feeling you’re threatening me.”
“Yes I am. Your options are actual death, or a faked death so I can get you off this rock and put you to work. So either way you’re a dead man. What’s it going to be? Give me your arm, or take a slug bullet to the temple, dear.”
Antique Rug Practices
Hoshi sits up, but looks down at the Persian rug below him. “I… I must admit to my craven nature, Lady. I have no wish to see my end coming for me.”
“Oh give it a rest, you’re already hired.”
Hoshi’s head snaps up at this. “Excuse me?”
“Well done with the Sagara girl. Her mother’s being arrested as we speak, and we’ll have enough to drag down half the court in scandal. More men will gather to the cause of the Men of Spirit, and revolution will be inevitable. Ojai will go down, the Lord Commander’s military dictatorship will be at an end, and the reformist Queen will likely be restored to the throne. If they don’t go for outright democracy. Of course, it will be messy, and take years. Do you look forward to the violence, Hoshi?”
“That’s not my name. I don’t know who this Hoshi is, please, I do not enjoy violence!”
“Well you’ve sparked some. In about a decade, Ryujin should be open for trade with the rest of the Republic.”
“I didn’t do this for you, Lady, or for your government.”
The woman chuckles loudly. “I don’t imagine you did, Hoshi. So. Who did you do it for? Who are you working with?” With this, she pulls out her side-arm. “This is why I brought all the muscle, if you’re wondering,” she says, waving her gun carelessly at the armed men. “Otherwise I’d just hire you. You were simply splendid.”
“I’m not working for anyone,” Hoshi pleads. “Please.”
“I said drop the fucking act,” she says and whips the gun out to a two-handed grip. “You’re not fooling anyone. Now if you say one more word in that dripping Ryujin fucking idiot accent, I will definitely shoot you.”
Hoshi falls back against the cot. “Yeah, alright. You’ve done figured me out, lady.” And now it’s an insult, not an honorific, and she’s obviously pleased so she lowers the gun.
“Oh give it a rest, you’re already hired.”
Hoshi’s head snaps up at this. “Excuse me?”
“Well done with the Sagara girl. Her mother’s being arrested as we speak, and we’ll have enough to drag down half the court in scandal. More men will gather to the cause of the Men of Spirit, and revolution will be inevitable. Ojai will go down, the Lord Commander’s military dictatorship will be at an end, and the reformist Queen will likely be restored to the throne. If they don’t go for outright democracy. Of course, it will be messy, and take years. Do you look forward to the violence, Hoshi?”
“That’s not my name. I don’t know who this Hoshi is, please, I do not enjoy violence!”
“Well you’ve sparked some. In about a decade, Ryujin should be open for trade with the rest of the Republic.”
“I didn’t do this for you, Lady, or for your government.”
The woman chuckles loudly. “I don’t imagine you did, Hoshi. So. Who did you do it for? Who are you working with?” With this, she pulls out her side-arm. “This is why I brought all the muscle, if you’re wondering,” she says, waving her gun carelessly at the armed men. “Otherwise I’d just hire you. You were simply splendid.”
“I’m not working for anyone,” Hoshi pleads. “Please.”
“I said drop the fucking act,” she says and whips the gun out to a two-handed grip. “You’re not fooling anyone. Now if you say one more word in that dripping Ryujin fucking idiot accent, I will definitely shoot you.”
Hoshi falls back against the cot. “Yeah, alright. You’ve done figured me out, lady.” And now it’s an insult, not an honorific, and she’s obviously pleased so she lowers the gun.
Antique Rug Moralities
Heat stifles creativity, it's a fact. Everyone knows this, because it's common sense. However,
Persian Rugs!
A special Persian rug has been commissioned by a huge fan of Rafael Nadal, and it will depict the King of Clay at his prime. The piece is done in blocky greens blues and blacks and really looks wondrful. Not overstaed, it's hard to tell at first what the rug is depicting. But if you look at it, the image resolves itself.
Right now he's palying ANdy Murray in the semifinals of the U.S. Open, and the match is just out of control. Right now Murray is serving out the third set, and has a third set poing that he really needs to convert. He's really digging now. He needs to get his best game. Has a lot of these beautiful high backhand volleys, just beautifuly graceful, and he's really attacking Nadal with a serve and volley tecnique. His serves have just been screaming too. And just like that Nadal hits a return into the net and the set is lost. It's now two to one seAntique rug, Antique rugs, Vintage rugs, Antique carpets, Antique Persian rug, Old rugs, Antique rug dealer, Antique wool rugs, Antique Oushak Rugs, Large antique rugsd him well, he could do with more of it to defeat the baseline King of Clay.
They now are going to to fourth set.
If Nadal loses this match, hopefully the fan who commissioned the new Persian rug will not want it to be canceled. The Spaniard is still one of the best in the world, with ten Grand Slam titles.
It's a beautiful night here on super Saturday. The winner of this match will face Novak Djokovic, the number two seed, on Monday.
Essentially, Murray needs to keep coming to the net. He's been awesome. He has the momentum right now. Will he capitalize. Either way, this will definitely be a night to remember for all involved.
Right now he's palying ANdy Murray in the semifinals of the U.S. Open, and the match is just out of control. Right now Murray is serving out the third set, and has a third set poing that he really needs to convert. He's really digging now. He needs to get his best game. Has a lot of these beautiful high backhand volleys, just beautifuly graceful, and he's really attacking Nadal with a serve and volley tecnique. His serves have just been screaming too. And just like that Nadal hits a return into the net and the set is lost. It's now two to one seAntique rug, Antique rugs, Vintage rugs, Antique carpets, Antique Persian rug, Old rugs, Antique rug dealer, Antique wool rugs, Antique Oushak Rugs, Large antique rugsd him well, he could do with more of it to defeat the baseline King of Clay.
They now are going to to fourth set.
If Nadal loses this match, hopefully the fan who commissioned the new Persian rug will not want it to be canceled. The Spaniard is still one of the best in the world, with ten Grand Slam titles.
It's a beautiful night here on super Saturday. The winner of this match will face Novak Djokovic, the number two seed, on Monday.
Essentially, Murray needs to keep coming to the net. He's been awesome. He has the momentum right now. Will he capitalize. Either way, this will definitely be a night to remember for all involved.
Persian Rug Tale
Oliver Mayhorn was walking back to his cottage after seeing a most wonderful play: a musical in which two star-crossed lovers are torn apart by their families AND zombies. These days the classics are always infiltrated with either zombies or vampires. Who decided that made any sense? The star of the show was Oliver’s favorite singer, Ralphio Antonio. When Ralphio sang, Oliver felt the heavens inch a few feet closer to the earth. In the last act of the play Ralphio turns into a zombie and in his zombie trance attacks Adette the fair maiden (his one true love). In order to save herself Adette is forced to kill her one-true-love Ralphio---who, in his last moments of life, remembers who he used to be as a human and how he loved Adette and leaves the world with an achingly beautiful last song as he dies in her arms. Oliver was so moved by Ralphio’s performance and his final song that he wept in the audience. They even made a Persian rug out of the story.
This was not a dignified single tear. Nor was it a subtle stream of tears that could have passed unnoticed. Oliver Mayhorn was full-on-grab-your-mama-talking-to-Oprah-on-the-Oprah-Winfrey-Show weeping. Hysterically! People were staring. One elderly man offered his handkerchief to Oliver right after he had finished a fine display of blowing his nose with it. It was a disgusting offer and Oliver declined politely. But the point is, Oliver Mayhorn was deeply and unashamedly moved. Deep in his heart, Oliver wanted nothing more than to be Ralphio Antonio.
When Oliver reached his home, still fantasizing about the night and picturing himself on stage in Ralphio’s role, he found a letter on his doorstep. It was a long scroll of parchment and it read:
Hear Ye! Hear Ye!
The Queen is declaring a contest in order to find the best singer in the land. The winner will be named The Official Court Singer and will sing for the Queen whenever she desires.
Auditions will be held in two weeks hence.
Sincerely
Harold, the royal messenger
Persian Rug Philosophy Session
There's a chance that violent video games may increase the risk that gamers will treat real people as poorly as they treat simulated characters. The fact that games like Grand Theft Auto and Manhunt affect overall ability to empathize is almost accepted fact.
To the utilitarian, this hurts those who may be affected by video game-inspired violence, for the Kantian, this fails duties to treat our fellow human beings with respect, and to the Aristotelian, it degrades moral character.
I believe this all to be true, and therefore, believe ultra-violent videogames to be immoral. (Although I myself do not have an automatic negative gut-reaction to them.)
But if we look at the issue from a practical standpoint –not just whether or not the action is immoral, but whether or not it should be allowed- other concerns emerge. From a utilitarian standpoint, we must look beyond the balance between possible harm caused by the games and the pleasure they give to the players- there is a third factor, which is the negative impact on society's greater utility that would result from banning this particular expression of free speech, and what that might mean for other similarly violent recreational past-times, like competitive sports, movies, and all kinds of online activities. Even something like a very violent painting or a Persian rug (or other antique rug) that depicts violent images. How far does it go? Living under a government that bans such activities for our own good is not worth the possible security we might gain from doing so.
To the utilitarian, this hurts those who may be affected by video game-inspired violence, for the Kantian, this fails duties to treat our fellow human beings with respect, and to the Aristotelian, it degrades moral character.
I believe this all to be true, and therefore, believe ultra-violent videogames to be immoral. (Although I myself do not have an automatic negative gut-reaction to them.)
But if we look at the issue from a practical standpoint –not just whether or not the action is immoral, but whether or not it should be allowed- other concerns emerge. From a utilitarian standpoint, we must look beyond the balance between possible harm caused by the games and the pleasure they give to the players- there is a third factor, which is the negative impact on society's greater utility that would result from banning this particular expression of free speech, and what that might mean for other similarly violent recreational past-times, like competitive sports, movies, and all kinds of online activities. Even something like a very violent painting or a Persian rug (or other antique rug) that depicts violent images. How far does it go? Living under a government that bans such activities for our own good is not worth the possible security we might gain from doing so.
Persian Rugs, not Parisian
There are many words in the English language that look and sound similar but mean something totally different from one another. For example, reign and rein are often mized up. Reign is the sovereign rule of a monarch or someone else in a position of power. They "reign" over the land. Reins, on the other hand, are those little tethers that you yank on to make a horse do what you want it to do. People mix them up all the time, like saying "i'll take over the reigns". That's quite incorrect.
Another example is regimen/regiment. A regiment is an organizational unit within the United States Military, usually comprised of hundreds or thousands of marines or infantrymen. A regimen is a new training schedule you'd like to stick to. A new regiment might have a mile-running regimen. I have a new beauty regimen to keep my skin looking young. Afghanistan has a new regiment of foot soldiers.
So, a Parisian rug is a rug from PARIS. A Persian rug is from PERSIA, or Iran in today's terms. If you type out that you have a Parisian rug, maybe you mean you bought that rug in Paris. Not that it is a middle-eastern woven antique rug. There is a massive difference in styles and expectations about rugs from those two areas. Persian rugs have a very specific aesthetic, certain patterns and colors, etc. A Parisian rug could probably be about anything. It could be a bright orange rug with purple polka dots. (Let's hope it's not.)
So don't make these sad mix-ups! English is hard but these fine distinctions are important for clarity of communication.
Another example is regimen/regiment. A regiment is an organizational unit within the United States Military, usually comprised of hundreds or thousands of marines or infantrymen. A regimen is a new training schedule you'd like to stick to. A new regiment might have a mile-running regimen. I have a new beauty regimen to keep my skin looking young. Afghanistan has a new regiment of foot soldiers.
So, a Parisian rug is a rug from PARIS. A Persian rug is from PERSIA, or Iran in today's terms. If you type out that you have a Parisian rug, maybe you mean you bought that rug in Paris. Not that it is a middle-eastern woven antique rug. There is a massive difference in styles and expectations about rugs from those two areas. Persian rugs have a very specific aesthetic, certain patterns and colors, etc. A Parisian rug could probably be about anything. It could be a bright orange rug with purple polka dots. (Let's hope it's not.)
So don't make these sad mix-ups! English is hard but these fine distinctions are important for clarity of communication.
Persian Rug Smugglers
If
you stay in the capital long enough, you either get with a gang or you
die, because these gangs don’t mess around. Territory disputes, honor killings,
revenge… there’s enough bad blood between just the Snipers and the Red
Orchestra to fill a morgue. Luckily, the Cairo gang wiped out its main
competitors, the Second Sons, several years ago and have run of the East-end
mostly to themselves. They trade mostly in items small enough to fit in a rolled up Persian rug.
Blue’s generally a free agent and only signs for short stretches, but she’s been with the Cairo gang for almost a year as their mid-level arms dealer. They pay okay and these bad news boys figured out not to mess with her a bit quicker than most. She likes the City and how sometimes seems like the whole thing’s been done in scratchy inkwash, with a dash of red here and there.
The city looks its absolute best for the hour between sundown and nautical dusk, when the sky is dark blue watercolor tattooed by the silhouettes of spindly buildings, cranes and construction scaffolding.
Unfortunately, this deal is going down in the middle of the day, and the light from the red giant sun is unbearable; everything is ruby-sultry and stinks like a sailor. Nobody does anything in the middle of the day in Jack City, so the greasy speakeasy they’re camped in is totally empty except for the cairo members who are on this deal. Blue is manning the back door, flipping the safety on her Marky Six on and off to the beat of her tongue clicking on the back of her throat. The arms dealer wishes the bar was manned– she could use a mouthful of dirty grus like ten minutes ago.
Luckily, part of today’s deal is moonshine. Blue isn’t too sure what the other part is– probably med supplies, because if it were guns she’d know about it, and the Cairo doesn’t trade in whores. Not since Cueball’s been boss.
Blue’s been running more and more deals, even ones that don’t have to do with weapons. The higher ups must like her style. She scares everyone.
Today they’re trading with the Zeester, a pirate ship she’s actually heard of. Supposedly the captain, a psycho by the name of Sal Bridges, once smoked an entire battalion of RUST cruisers. She also heard that the Zeester once pinched blind but she doesn’t believe that.
