Follow the letters easier to write letters to children, pronounced helps.
- Results -
Pay close the line connecting the dots will stroke your baby infant children's fun.
Fine motor development, cognitive development, drawing animals, the brain intelligence brain stimulation study.
Character shapes coloring crayons. Crayons Child Care Education Child Brain Development.
Anniversary of Self-directed learning toys mom mother baby, we focused on our kids.
Alphabetical cat dead dog playing in red potatoes, cacao children.
Android app for, I'm guessing, learning to write in Hangeul (Korean letters) for kids. Long live machine translation. The last sentence is my favorite. Cacao?
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Us in the Future
Got linked this on fb, stay until the end for it to make sense.
The Chase by Philippe Gamer by Premiere-Heure
While in this case it can be forgiven, it still makes me sad that so much people seem to default to that blowing up policemen is fun. I always feel sad when I see those graffiti scribbles that say "cops are swine" or whatever, or when people talk down on them. As if "pigs" chose to be there so they only have themselves to blame for being shot. I tend to like cool bad guys, and cheer for them, but there's a limit to my acceptance for wanton destruction and the line goes where you're killing policemen excessively or for fun.
Killing civilians is fine. You get funny priorities from being a policeman's daughter ^^
The Chase by Philippe Gamer by Premiere-Heure
While in this case it can be forgiven, it still makes me sad that so much people seem to default to that blowing up policemen is fun. I always feel sad when I see those graffiti scribbles that say "cops are swine" or whatever, or when people talk down on them. As if "pigs" chose to be there so they only have themselves to blame for being shot. I tend to like cool bad guys, and cheer for them, but there's a limit to my acceptance for wanton destruction and the line goes where you're killing policemen excessively or for fun.
Killing civilians is fine. You get funny priorities from being a policeman's daughter ^^
Friday, March 16, 2012
An Unshakable Faith
For a long time I felt guilty about my faith shaking about total atheism, because it wasn't necessarily true; I still believed in *something* that I couldn't put words on but that I had a growing suspicion wasn't very fitting of an atheist. I adopted the Lifestream analogy as a way to ground my feelings, and I put up a "everyone has the right to believe what they want"-facade. Then I drifted on in slight discomfort, settling into a familiar tune of suspected guilt, and tried to leave the subject alone.
Religion came up again recently in my surroundings, and the conversations have made me realize that I no longer have a problem with it, personally. It's like the floating feeling has solidified into an unshakable truth about the divine in science and the science in the divine. I can go to church, because churches are like museums or giant monuments of human passion, no matter if that passion brought love or destruction. I can openly say I don't believe in god, because I know what I believe in instead; a pattern, a singular shape of the universe like a single line of the most perfect, beautiful code that could ever be produced. And the discomfort and guilt has more than gone away, it has turned into awe and appreciation and happiness for the amazing perfection that is the world.
I still have questions though. The most pressing question is this: is it right to condone religion? Is it right to not question religion where one finds it, but give it free way? Considering the good and bad religion accomplishes, it's hard to figure out if they balance out. How long and difficult would the road be before we've integrated the good of religion into other parts of our society, and would it be worth it? Are we ready for it?
Like the cells that make up our bodies, every human is now part of the neural (or you could call it cybernetic) network that is humanity (or in extension the creature that is the planet Earth, as of now). It would be foolish of me to say that not every single cell is needed, or that not every single decision is critical. Cancer starts with a single cell. It is also pretentious of me to say that the survival or condition of the human race as a whole is any more worth than a single cell in a single human's body, since our solar system could very well be the single cell in some other kind of life, but as a human, I would want to keep humanity around, for now (although that is not true all days).
What I'm trying to say is, I think the decisions we make concerning the inevitable adaptation of old religions that is coming might be one of those do or dies of our race, where the mistakes of a single cell and the ignorance of the cells surrounding it could spell a slow doom for our creature. But the implication paralyzes me. Personally I will never believe in God, and I will never join organized religion for any other reason than political ones, but my attitude towards others is also a part of this process. No one, nowhere, at any time, is excluded from the process, no matter how small their part is. So what is it? What does the pattern say? Am I to speak, or remain silent? Am I to cross the bridge and join in on shouting at people to come over, or sit down and wait for others to join me?
Who are we, those of us who are stuck between the conventions of religion vs science? Not confessing to religion, neither atheists. There's no word for us yet, but there will be I'm sure, because the symbolic answer is: We're evolution. We're synthesis. We're the future.
Religion came up again recently in my surroundings, and the conversations have made me realize that I no longer have a problem with it, personally. It's like the floating feeling has solidified into an unshakable truth about the divine in science and the science in the divine. I can go to church, because churches are like museums or giant monuments of human passion, no matter if that passion brought love or destruction. I can openly say I don't believe in god, because I know what I believe in instead; a pattern, a singular shape of the universe like a single line of the most perfect, beautiful code that could ever be produced. And the discomfort and guilt has more than gone away, it has turned into awe and appreciation and happiness for the amazing perfection that is the world.
I still have questions though. The most pressing question is this: is it right to condone religion? Is it right to not question religion where one finds it, but give it free way? Considering the good and bad religion accomplishes, it's hard to figure out if they balance out. How long and difficult would the road be before we've integrated the good of religion into other parts of our society, and would it be worth it? Are we ready for it?
Like the cells that make up our bodies, every human is now part of the neural (or you could call it cybernetic) network that is humanity (or in extension the creature that is the planet Earth, as of now). It would be foolish of me to say that not every single cell is needed, or that not every single decision is critical. Cancer starts with a single cell. It is also pretentious of me to say that the survival or condition of the human race as a whole is any more worth than a single cell in a single human's body, since our solar system could very well be the single cell in some other kind of life, but as a human, I would want to keep humanity around, for now (although that is not true all days).
What I'm trying to say is, I think the decisions we make concerning the inevitable adaptation of old religions that is coming might be one of those do or dies of our race, where the mistakes of a single cell and the ignorance of the cells surrounding it could spell a slow doom for our creature. But the implication paralyzes me. Personally I will never believe in God, and I will never join organized religion for any other reason than political ones, but my attitude towards others is also a part of this process. No one, nowhere, at any time, is excluded from the process, no matter how small their part is. So what is it? What does the pattern say? Am I to speak, or remain silent? Am I to cross the bridge and join in on shouting at people to come over, or sit down and wait for others to join me?
Who are we, those of us who are stuck between the conventions of religion vs science? Not confessing to religion, neither atheists. There's no word for us yet, but there will be I'm sure, because the symbolic answer is: We're evolution. We're synthesis. We're the future.
Monday, March 12, 2012
To the Future - Mass Effect leading the way
Thought this article had a very nice point, that I've been trying to put words on myself while playing it. It's short so go ahead and read it, but the summary of it is: the gender of your main character - Shepard - has little to no effect on the actual story and gameplay. There's a general limitation on who you can romance, which is quite realistic since not every person of every gender will throw themselves at you. Other than that your gender is basically never mentioned. In a future where people run around with biotic and tech implants left and right, complex AI's bordering on independent life, and fibers you can weave into your skin to make you sturdier, there's no reason why the gender of your soldiers would matter at all, rather you would want the right minds at the right places. Shepard has the mind of someone who gets shit done at any cost, and who can inspire people to do their best, and so she's a commander.
One can argue about the average boob size or the greatly uncommon and revealing dress of a certain news anchor and the frequency of female "dancers" but absence of male, but these are details. There are many things one can complain about in a game, but then again, there's a lot more one can complain about in reality. All I ever wanted out of games, as a female gamer and as a human being who believe we must abandon prejudice to grow as a species, was to see these minds in female bodies, because I know that they exist in real life already. There are women out there who make real commander Shepards, and while they still suffer from the limitations of their biology, there is no reason why that wouldn't be fixed in the future - why that wouldn't be one of the great things about the future. A world where what you are born as put even fewer limitations on what you can become.
Something that someone showed me recently made me think along these lines: If art and culture are to guide us into the future, if we are to learn morals and values and ascend through the works of Shakespear and Jane Austen, then that should be true of all creative accomplishments. Artwork, movies, and now in modern times, games. So here's to BioWare guiding us into the future, by showing us a possible future where it doesn't matter if you're black or white, girl or boy, a saint or a ruthless bastard. All that matters is that you get shit done, stand up for yourself and what is important to you, and are prepared to sacrifice everything if it comes to that.
One can argue about the average boob size or the greatly uncommon and revealing dress of a certain news anchor and the frequency of female "dancers" but absence of male, but these are details. There are many things one can complain about in a game, but then again, there's a lot more one can complain about in reality. All I ever wanted out of games, as a female gamer and as a human being who believe we must abandon prejudice to grow as a species, was to see these minds in female bodies, because I know that they exist in real life already. There are women out there who make real commander Shepards, and while they still suffer from the limitations of their biology, there is no reason why that wouldn't be fixed in the future - why that wouldn't be one of the great things about the future. A world where what you are born as put even fewer limitations on what you can become.
Something that someone showed me recently made me think along these lines: If art and culture are to guide us into the future, if we are to learn morals and values and ascend through the works of Shakespear and Jane Austen, then that should be true of all creative accomplishments. Artwork, movies, and now in modern times, games. So here's to BioWare guiding us into the future, by showing us a possible future where it doesn't matter if you're black or white, girl or boy, a saint or a ruthless bastard. All that matters is that you get shit done, stand up for yourself and what is important to you, and are prepared to sacrifice everything if it comes to that.
Monday, March 5, 2012
So Easy
Shadowolf told me that female-to-male transsexuals start losing their hair with old age if they have the genes for it, like they would if they'd been born male. It made me wonder if it's as simple as that the body finds male hormones and goes off to check if you're supposed to keep your hair or not. If it is, doesn't that sound like a pretty natural thing? Like, just another day in the life of a human body? "Hey guys, the boys up top decided to import some wares in wait of trying to set up our own supply, so they wanted us to check the blueprints again to see how these new things fit in." Like sex and gender are like hard- and software of a computer, where yes, some combinations work poorly or not at all, and running with the standard pre-installed works pretty well for most, but sometimes there's better things for just your configuration and specs.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Make the best of it
Just saw an ad for a webcomic (or something along those lines) that said: "Trapped in the body of an adult film star, your own body stolen by the devil himself - WHAT DO YOU DO" and I'm like.... have fun? GL with that body mr. Devil, I'm just going to enjoy myself over here (double entendre intended)!
Sunday, February 5, 2012
What Society Taught Me Of Women 01
Om din man inte klagar precis såhär är du ingen riktig kvinna:
From: here
Inget ont om Rocky, jag älskar serien.
From: here
Inget ont om Rocky, jag älskar serien.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Swedish Democrats
*reads pamphlet*
Ice: You know, if I didn't know there's complete racist idiots in that party, the Swedish Democrats sound pretty reasonable.
N: How can you say that!
Ice: Come on, listen to this: "We want an open Swedish identity where the opportunity to be a part of this country isn't dependent on how you look or where you come from. What matters is a person's values and actions. We are also always clear with that it's the politics and not the immigrants themselves that is responsible for the failures of integration."
N: You know what those people really think.
Ice: You don't even have any arguments to answer me with. And this: "Multi-culture is the ideology that a nation should be built upon widely separated values working side by side, which in practice leads to separation and segregation. We want to stand up for the Western ideas of democracy, equality, animal protection and children's rights."
N: Western ideas? In practice? Besides, how can they both be equal and not allow some people to keep their culture?
Ice: If you're like that, you might as well ask "why be equal and not allow the people who want to to have crocodiles in their basements", maybe it belongs to someone's religious faith to have crocodiles? Besides, I'm not saying the Swedish Democrats are good people, I'm saying they have a point.
N: A point that is WRONG. Imagine what would have happened to those people who had been turned away, if our politics were harsher.
Ice: Imagine what could have happened to the people who got in, if they were treated better and not just tossed across the border with the "Everyone should come" policy? One of those human rights groups had a commercial a while ago that went, "there's a difference between being alive and living".
N: That's ridiculous, they were probably referring to people imprisoned in inhumane environments or starving in a desert, not to people with houses and clothes and their families around them.
Ice: Anna, what do you think?
Anna: I leave this discussion to professionals in immigration and economics.
N: Of course, since you can't get anything out of it.
Ice: In the best of worlds, the Swedish Democrats would have made the other parties look over their immigration politics, but since we have a habit of yelling NAZI every time anyone breathes anything that could possibly be considered anywhere near negative about people not Swedish, there can't even be a serious discussion. How is that for discrimination, anyway. Equality should mean we're allowed to talk bad about everyone.
N: Hear that? You're an idol of equality to everyone, Anna.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
A Quiet Birthday Celebration
Today, or rather, between yesterday and today since Korea's half a world away, Jaejoong had his birthday. I feel really happy because A) I remembered it and B) I celebrated it all on my own incentive and in a good and balanced way. That is, I fancied up a little and bought sushi and chilled. Outsiders might not be able to spot the difference between me celebrating and me not doing it, but I feel the difference quite noticeably. I didn't listen to his music to no end, I didn't watch sixteen episodes of the drama - I celebrated his birthday in the only way that truly counts; in my heart.
All of it made me think about mold and cornflakes, about the patterns in the universe and in our back yards, about the way cities grow and the way we breed animals; about how everything is one single beautiful whole, and in all that, Jaejoong is the one single thing that when I think about him I don't think about everything else. I don't think "but there is a statistical possibility that piracy actually severely damages culture in aspects that I might be ignoring because supporting free information furthers my own short-term agendas". I don't think "this book is such crap compared to what I know I'm capable of; if I'd just had the resolve I might have published my first book already, but even so, I know what I write will never be best-selling because considering mass psychology I write things too different from the general fare". I don't think, "which part of a person is DNA and which is not, and if all are, then why do parts of me contradict and what do people actually want?", I don't even think "all of this is hyped up fangirl mass-hysteria typical of my gender that enforces all kinds of woman-degrading ideas that circulate, and I am playing into the expert hands of marketing professionals that have molded some kind of public persona over whoever he is beneath".
There is always a "but", a "maybe", another view to consider, another detail to examine. Every time I look at a thread a spider web explodes in my head.
But not with him. I don't think. Every single thing - every single thing - I have found out about him, and seen of him, and heard of him, since the day I first saw his picture, has been perfect. No compromises, no thoughts, no justifications. No shrugs of "I guess I can live with that". I don't care if I never find out about the parts that some people seem to think "matters", or if I never exchange a single word with anyone in his general direction. It makes no difference who he is or how I discovered him or what he does for a living, all that matter is that the spider web goes silent. I look at him, and all I see is him. And until that stops being, god forbid that it does, I have one way to keep myself from going insane.
I am so happy you were born, Jaejoong, and I wish you everything in the world. For once, for one person, I can truly and with no hesitation say that. And I wish words could express how much I mean it.
All of it made me think about mold and cornflakes, about the patterns in the universe and in our back yards, about the way cities grow and the way we breed animals; about how everything is one single beautiful whole, and in all that, Jaejoong is the one single thing that when I think about him I don't think about everything else. I don't think "but there is a statistical possibility that piracy actually severely damages culture in aspects that I might be ignoring because supporting free information furthers my own short-term agendas". I don't think "this book is such crap compared to what I know I'm capable of; if I'd just had the resolve I might have published my first book already, but even so, I know what I write will never be best-selling because considering mass psychology I write things too different from the general fare". I don't think, "which part of a person is DNA and which is not, and if all are, then why do parts of me contradict and what do people actually want?", I don't even think "all of this is hyped up fangirl mass-hysteria typical of my gender that enforces all kinds of woman-degrading ideas that circulate, and I am playing into the expert hands of marketing professionals that have molded some kind of public persona over whoever he is beneath".
There is always a "but", a "maybe", another view to consider, another detail to examine. Every time I look at a thread a spider web explodes in my head.
But not with him. I don't think. Every single thing - every single thing - I have found out about him, and seen of him, and heard of him, since the day I first saw his picture, has been perfect. No compromises, no thoughts, no justifications. No shrugs of "I guess I can live with that". I don't care if I never find out about the parts that some people seem to think "matters", or if I never exchange a single word with anyone in his general direction. It makes no difference who he is or how I discovered him or what he does for a living, all that matter is that the spider web goes silent. I look at him, and all I see is him. And until that stops being, god forbid that it does, I have one way to keep myself from going insane.
I am so happy you were born, Jaejoong, and I wish you everything in the world. For once, for one person, I can truly and with no hesitation say that. And I wish words could express how much I mean it.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Sunday Morning
It suddenly occurred to me that I haven't had any paralyzing or mindfucking strikes of anxiety regarding life, money or the universe in general this weekend. I've been... happy. Satisfied with my position and progress. Oh well. It's still only Sunday morning, there's still time.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
OTHER NEWS: Commotion at the Cork Tree
We have earlier reported on the commotion at the Cork Tree regarding the modernizations of the cattle pens, where one of the current residents, a bull going by Ferdinand, has been conducting something of a non-violence protest - in fact, he hasn't done anything at all, including moving. We finally got past the blockade to speak to him directly.
"I understand if people want to get on with their lives," said Ferdinand, on the subject of the other cattle having left already. "It's nice to have company, but I'd rather sit here under my tree and smell the flowers alone, than listen to them talk loud and proud to each other about "not wanting to be helped"."
When we asked him what he thought of the complaints made against him, he said: "Before they wanted to make a tourist spot of this precise tree, people sighed and shook their heads and thought I was peculiar but cute, but now that they do, they sigh and shake their heads and say I am difficult and have social phobias and discuss motivational therapy or tow trucks to move me to an institution where they have painted flowers on the walls and sprayed perfume in the air. They say I cannot pay my rent by sitting under a tree smelling flowers, and cork trees are in high demand recently. But I don't think I bother anyone, really. It's not like I'm one of the new bred bulls that talk about depressing things and threaten with going to the slaughter house as soon as someone wants to leave. People actually listen to them. They just make me tired."
We asked how long he planned to continue his protest and what his actual goal was, but he did not seem to be aware of there being a protest going on anywhere, and said he didn't have any goals with his life and that seemed to be what upset people.
Footnote: A week after this interview was conducted, the flowers at the cork tree were dug up to make room for benches and a brand new water supplying system. Expressing a wish for keeping at least one flower, Ferdinand was taken away for obstruction of progress. We have not yet been able to reach him about a comment on this, but a spokesperson for Progress expressed assurances that he was "in a better place".
"I understand if people want to get on with their lives," said Ferdinand, on the subject of the other cattle having left already. "It's nice to have company, but I'd rather sit here under my tree and smell the flowers alone, than listen to them talk loud and proud to each other about "not wanting to be helped"."
When we asked him what he thought of the complaints made against him, he said: "Before they wanted to make a tourist spot of this precise tree, people sighed and shook their heads and thought I was peculiar but cute, but now that they do, they sigh and shake their heads and say I am difficult and have social phobias and discuss motivational therapy or tow trucks to move me to an institution where they have painted flowers on the walls and sprayed perfume in the air. They say I cannot pay my rent by sitting under a tree smelling flowers, and cork trees are in high demand recently. But I don't think I bother anyone, really. It's not like I'm one of the new bred bulls that talk about depressing things and threaten with going to the slaughter house as soon as someone wants to leave. People actually listen to them. They just make me tired."
We asked how long he planned to continue his protest and what his actual goal was, but he did not seem to be aware of there being a protest going on anywhere, and said he didn't have any goals with his life and that seemed to be what upset people.
Footnote: A week after this interview was conducted, the flowers at the cork tree were dug up to make room for benches and a brand new water supplying system. Expressing a wish for keeping at least one flower, Ferdinand was taken away for obstruction of progress. We have not yet been able to reach him about a comment on this, but a spokesperson for Progress expressed assurances that he was "in a better place".
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
I think it was on Christmas Eve, late at night, after all the excitement was over, that I went outside for a little bit alone for some air. You can see stars in the city, at least my part of the city, but I had forgotten what it's like, when the night is perfectly crystal clear and there are no lights to interfere. Not just stars, but like you'd taken a handful of glitter and spread across the skies; all those small stars that you never see in the city because the sky is lit up too much. It gets so dark here on the countryside, so completely dark it engulfs you in an otherworldly feeling. It took my by surprise.
For a moment I felt completely alone in the world, and the incomprehensible vastness of space made the reality of my own mortality well up from the beast beneath. The intelligent mind likes to push it away, but the beast knows. I got tears in my eyes, maybe because the insignificance of my life and death in comparison to the stars was a bit too much for me, but mostly because everything was so beautiful. Mortality, death, distance - and the sky. It frightened me, but made me wish for more.
Beauty is cold. It is not a warm red Santa, or the glimmer in a child's eyes, or the warmth of a hug. It has nothing to do with love or generosity. Beauty is a cold mistress, a crystal constellation; beauty is smooth, hard ice and deep impenetrable darkness and distant, uncaring light. Those who confess to the god of beauty will live like skulking wolves in the borderlands of the glowing crystal ice, forever struggling against their fear of light to get a glimpse of their most beloved mistress.
My beast stared up at the stars, and for a moment it shared with me the absolute obedience and loyalty that only beasts can know. It let me feel the fear that only beasts can fear, at the border between light and darkness, and it showed me how the light burned against its skin and how it still longed and longed for it. Perhaps it was my totem sign, marking my belonging to the church of glass and razorblades. But then again, we all knew that already.
For a moment I felt completely alone in the world, and the incomprehensible vastness of space made the reality of my own mortality well up from the beast beneath. The intelligent mind likes to push it away, but the beast knows. I got tears in my eyes, maybe because the insignificance of my life and death in comparison to the stars was a bit too much for me, but mostly because everything was so beautiful. Mortality, death, distance - and the sky. It frightened me, but made me wish for more.
Beauty is cold. It is not a warm red Santa, or the glimmer in a child's eyes, or the warmth of a hug. It has nothing to do with love or generosity. Beauty is a cold mistress, a crystal constellation; beauty is smooth, hard ice and deep impenetrable darkness and distant, uncaring light. Those who confess to the god of beauty will live like skulking wolves in the borderlands of the glowing crystal ice, forever struggling against their fear of light to get a glimpse of their most beloved mistress.
My beast stared up at the stars, and for a moment it shared with me the absolute obedience and loyalty that only beasts can know. It let me feel the fear that only beasts can fear, at the border between light and darkness, and it showed me how the light burned against its skin and how it still longed and longed for it. Perhaps it was my totem sign, marking my belonging to the church of glass and razorblades. But then again, we all knew that already.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Lövet och Stjärnorna
Jag är ett löv på stora havets vågor
och driver fram och åter som det vill.
Man säger mig att jag kan växa åror
om jag är modig och stark och lite till.
Man säger att där finns ett träd jag kom från,
och någonstans jag kanske blir ett träd.
Och likt ett legendariskt barn på halmstrån,
Tre Vise Männen kan visa mig min väg.
Man säger, du som kan se stjärnor
du borde ro dit stjärnskådarna bor.
Att driva runt är som med svin och pärlor;
varför va löv när man kan vara stor?
Men jag är blott ett löv på havets vida vågor,
jag ser stjärnor när de själva ror förbi.
Jag varit båt om jag var ment för åror
- men jag är Löv, och löv ska jag förbli.
och driver fram och åter som det vill.
Man säger mig att jag kan växa åror
om jag är modig och stark och lite till.
Man säger att där finns ett träd jag kom från,
och någonstans jag kanske blir ett träd.
Och likt ett legendariskt barn på halmstrån,
Tre Vise Männen kan visa mig min väg.
Man säger, du som kan se stjärnor
du borde ro dit stjärnskådarna bor.
Att driva runt är som med svin och pärlor;
varför va löv när man kan vara stor?
Men jag är blott ett löv på havets vida vågor,
jag ser stjärnor när de själva ror förbi.
Jag varit båt om jag var ment för åror
- men jag är Löv, och löv ska jag förbli.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Pony Aliens
This:
Now that I have your attention, that is indeed a My Little Pony gone Alien.
There's an awesome artist doing pony versions of popular culture
figures, ranging from Batman to Marilyn Monroe, go check out
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Not a common cover
Wish I could have done this one better, because it's awesome (and also cheating - genderflipping Witchblade is like shooting paralyzed ducks with a homing rocket launcher) but it's got way too much detail and stuff so I just preserved some general moody darkness.
Looking closely also made me notice other things. Like that her blade-tentacle-censor thingy is drawn as if it's hands grabbing her boobs. And I have no idea what the snake has to do with anything. The dude (whose name is Darkness) actually doesn't have *that* crazy shoulders to be a comic book dude. Lately I've realized that to make men look even impossibly more buff, they draw their heads smaller relative to their bodies which, when you start thinking about it, makes them look more silly than cool actually - just like I think Witchblade and all her boob-job friends look silly. I'm not saying all artists draw either gender that way however, there are plenty doing a fine job of applying cool comic style without drinking too deep from the more-is-better-fountain and falling off the tower of exaggeration in their drunken stupor.
I can't actually remember ever seeing a graphic novel with this kind of cover. Yaoi can possibly have scantily clad guys in compromising positions on the cover, but not quite like this actually, even if that's how they end up in the pages. And for a woman to get this kind of position? No boob, hip or neck exposure and with a serious, dark expression... also notice her lips being closed, while the dude (you might not see this because it's so small) has his scandalously slightly open.
Looking closely also made me notice other things. Like that her blade-tentacle-censor thingy is drawn as if it's hands grabbing her boobs. And I have no idea what the snake has to do with anything. The dude (whose name is Darkness) actually doesn't have *that* crazy shoulders to be a comic book dude. Lately I've realized that to make men look even impossibly more buff, they draw their heads smaller relative to their bodies which, when you start thinking about it, makes them look more silly than cool actually - just like I think Witchblade and all her boob-job friends look silly. I'm not saying all artists draw either gender that way however, there are plenty doing a fine job of applying cool comic style without drinking too deep from the more-is-better-fountain and falling off the tower of exaggeration in their drunken stupor.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Amnesia
It's been around for a while, but I haven't talked about it so I will now. I'm gonna recommend Amnesia: The Dark Descent. And if you're not going to play it, or am too much of a wuss like me to play it, I'm going to recommend watching Day9 play it. It's not only very amusing, it's like a crash course in fantastic game design, and fear.
I found it very interesting, on top of getting to "play the game" through him, to see my own reactions together with his and see where they overlapped and stuff. It's obviously very different playing the game and watching someone else do it, but watching it is as much as my nerves can take (I am a huge scardycat in games) and I knew from the earlier games from the company that they are absolutely awesome at what they do - which is to slowly, gently, carefully wrap you in dread and leave you standing in front of a door going "no, fuck this, no, no no I'm not gonna open it, no".
It also struck me that you have to accept the conditions of fear to actually feel fear. It becomes very obvious in a game or movie, because you can go "this is just a game, those are just pixels, I'm not going to care" and kill the whole game, pretty much. It's harder in a game because you're going through the motions, which fools your brain into thinking that it's actually happening more than just watching a movie. And it can still freak you out once or twice, but only because nobody's completely immune to surprise. However, most of the game builds of dread, and dread only works if you play along with the conditions. I am scared as fuck in games because I can be scared as fuck in games, it's okay. In real life a little fear is a good way to protect yourself, but being scared out of your mind is mostly detrimental to the effort, so I try to cast off the conditions as best I can. Neither of those two are chosen; it's just how my brain has decided it should be, so I can't play scary games and I dismiss most real life fear within seconds - the more abstract the harder to dismiss. I'm trying to figure out exactly what the conditions are; it's clearly something about wanting a certain outcome, like survival, and being only partially or only under the illusion of control of the situation, yet not leaving it completely to chance, and that there must be a chance of success however small.
Anyway enough rambling. If you're going to ignore both recommendations, go look up a "best moments of day9 playing Amnesia" on youtube or something because it's really too good to miss.
I found it very interesting, on top of getting to "play the game" through him, to see my own reactions together with his and see where they overlapped and stuff. It's obviously very different playing the game and watching someone else do it, but watching it is as much as my nerves can take (I am a huge scardycat in games) and I knew from the earlier games from the company that they are absolutely awesome at what they do - which is to slowly, gently, carefully wrap you in dread and leave you standing in front of a door going "no, fuck this, no, no no I'm not gonna open it, no".
It also struck me that you have to accept the conditions of fear to actually feel fear. It becomes very obvious in a game or movie, because you can go "this is just a game, those are just pixels, I'm not going to care" and kill the whole game, pretty much. It's harder in a game because you're going through the motions, which fools your brain into thinking that it's actually happening more than just watching a movie. And it can still freak you out once or twice, but only because nobody's completely immune to surprise. However, most of the game builds of dread, and dread only works if you play along with the conditions. I am scared as fuck in games because I can be scared as fuck in games, it's okay. In real life a little fear is a good way to protect yourself, but being scared out of your mind is mostly detrimental to the effort, so I try to cast off the conditions as best I can. Neither of those two are chosen; it's just how my brain has decided it should be, so I can't play scary games and I dismiss most real life fear within seconds - the more abstract the harder to dismiss. I'm trying to figure out exactly what the conditions are; it's clearly something about wanting a certain outcome, like survival, and being only partially or only under the illusion of control of the situation, yet not leaving it completely to chance, and that there must be a chance of success however small.
Anyway enough rambling. If you're going to ignore both recommendations, go look up a "best moments of day9 playing Amnesia" on youtube or something because it's really too good to miss.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Why gays make perfect parents (but lesbians don't)!
Boys apparently need fathers to show them what it really means to be a man. I'm quite sure I had a mother, in exact terms I have two; although one is absent that clearly does not remove a father's label so it shouldn't hers. But can someone please explain to me what it really means to be a woman? I think I have a better idea of what it means to be a man, in fact, which I find an itsy bitsy bit amusing. Maybe our fathers are supposed to educate us on that matter too? Since they're all-knowing on the subject of manliness, they should reversely know what is womanliness, since it's all about polarization and stuff. No pressure, boys. It's not manly to get nervous, or have insecurities, or fail. Even women know to teach their sons that.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Special Flowers - A Superhero Gender Switch
I happened upon some "girl" versions of male superheroes, and was stuck by how extremely over the top sexual they were. To put Batman or Wolverine in that type of porn-poses would certainly raise a few eyebrows, but apparently females do not suffer the same respect. So I looked around and found that, yes, fanart is indeed extremely exaggerated most of the time, but the actual comics are more sensible (it seems even most comic book artists figure you can't fight Magneto in stilettos). This being of course sensible comics, I can't mention Witchblade or Fathom in this context and keep a straight face. (Just google it if you don't know.)
Well, so I decided to make my own gender-switch fanart, but with two conditions:
1) keep the original costume as true as possible.
2) keep the original pose as true as possible.
So here's my little transexual darlings, with the originals down below (since blogger still refuses to put images next to each other... -.-) The coloring is very lazy because, well, I'm lazy.
I'm not happy about Wonder Man, and I apologize to the world for Batwoman but that's his pose I can't by rules change it. On the other hand I'm in love with Spider Man (I loved that suit already on Boobs McBoobpants, so on a pretty boy... mmm), and Superwoman is clearly over-awesoming the original. And who knew that when you turned Invisible Woman male she turned into her brother? A clever eye will see that the only difference between Spider-Man and his female counterpart is boobs, but it's because of his pose ok! There's no curves to work with and no muscles to shrink. And it's "superwoman" not supergirl and "batwoman" not batgirl -.- I'd like to see "Batboy" and "Iron Boy" try to be taken seriously. Invisible Woman is, in many ways, the first lady of Marvel (or superhero comics) in her whole-body suits and "woman" not "girl" name. Which they of course quickly remedied in the movies.
I have failed my conditions on one single point, I'm sure you saw; I kept the Hulk shirtless and even ventured for nipples, but I couldn't put the male Supergirl in a skirt. The point was actually not to make fun of it or whine about sexism, but to see that many of them still make sense (like the gender-switched Superman and Mr. Fantastic) and that women not dressed in skimpy outfits and posing like porn stars are also cool and awesome - as well as the reverse! Special flowers like Elektro also deserve some space - look at that Hand assassin, isn't he some sexy shit? The male Storm turned into a manga character... but this is one of my least favorite Storm costumes.
Don't hold your breaths, but there will probably be more, I have some epic pictures of said Witchblade I'd love to switcharoo and even more agressively manly Batman (I know, how is it possible?!?).
PS. If you're dissatisfied with the average boob size in this post, I would let you know that I suck at drawing girls, and suck even more at drawing boobs, so you should be glad you have boobs to look at at all. I'm rather sure I got progressively better the more of them I drew though, mostly because for every n:th girl, I had to redraw them inifinity - n times.
Well, so I decided to make my own gender-switch fanart, but with two conditions:
1) keep the original costume as true as possible.
2) keep the original pose as true as possible.
So here's my little transexual darlings, with the originals down below (since blogger still refuses to put images next to each other... -.-) The coloring is very lazy because, well, I'm lazy.
I'm not happy about Wonder Man, and I apologize to the world for Batwoman but that's his pose I can't by rules change it. On the other hand I'm in love with Spider Man (I loved that suit already on Boobs McBoobpants, so on a pretty boy... mmm), and Superwoman is clearly over-awesoming the original. And who knew that when you turned Invisible Woman male she turned into her brother? A clever eye will see that the only difference between Spider-Man and his female counterpart is boobs, but it's because of his pose ok! There's no curves to work with and no muscles to shrink. And it's "superwoman" not supergirl and "batwoman" not batgirl -.- I'd like to see "Batboy" and "Iron Boy" try to be taken seriously. Invisible Woman is, in many ways, the first lady of Marvel (or superhero comics) in her whole-body suits and "woman" not "girl" name. Which they of course quickly remedied in the movies.
I have failed my conditions on one single point, I'm sure you saw; I kept the Hulk shirtless and even ventured for nipples, but I couldn't put the male Supergirl in a skirt. The point was actually not to make fun of it or whine about sexism, but to see that many of them still make sense (like the gender-switched Superman and Mr. Fantastic) and that women not dressed in skimpy outfits and posing like porn stars are also cool and awesome - as well as the reverse! Special flowers like Elektro also deserve some space - look at that Hand assassin, isn't he some sexy shit? The male Storm turned into a manga character... but this is one of my least favorite Storm costumes.
Don't hold your breaths, but there will probably be more, I have some epic pictures of said Witchblade I'd love to switcharoo and even more agressively manly Batman (I know, how is it possible?!?).
PS. If you're dissatisfied with the average boob size in this post, I would let you know that I suck at drawing girls, and suck even more at drawing boobs, so you should be glad you have boobs to look at at all. I'm rather sure I got progressively better the more of them I drew though, mostly because for every n:th girl, I had to redraw them inifinity - n times.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
A Different Kind of Travel Diary
Berlin.
Now nothing but a token in my head, like a notch on a bedpost. I didn't want to take general pictures, at first, because I wanted it all inside, I wanted it to be all mine. No one and nothing can steal memories. They can take them away or destroy them, but never steal them. Then I took pictures, on my "sightseeing day", because the girl I was with did it. Conformity, mimicking to make a bond, more than trying to preserve visual memories. When I came, I knew there were only two photos I wanted and was going to get at any cost. The big arc, and the pieces of the wall at Potsdamer, and I wanted those for one reason only: proof. I was there. I had been there, at those locations, which were exactly where JYJ had been two days earlier. But when I took those two, I thought, in this modern age of internet, photoshop and reality-like graphic technologies, what kind of proof is a photo? No. I still cherish those two photos, but in reality there is only one proof: memories. All mine.
I've been emotionally haywire, it's starting to settle now. Haywire in my own quiet way. And though the dust has settled, the pigments sunk to the bottom of the glass and the water is clearer, I can conjure it back. Just take my little finger and gently draw it over the water surface and see the colors swirl. All I need to think is "I walked away, I left of free will." Being on my own in a foreign environment, I realized, happiness doesn't come in many forms it comes it one. One. And it has not been here for a while. I walked away, I left of free will, I willingly walked back into my cauldron of despair.
Loving someone you don't know is like an addiction to the pain. A pain that makes you feel more alive than ever, and then, when it settles, makes you want to claw your eyes out, just to a moment later be chasing the high again. I must never let go of my vow to never drink alone. I must never smoke a cigarette, and I must be careful with medicine. Because it's so easy. It's so easy to want the addiction, and once you want it, you're not longer steering the boat, you're just riding the waves, the ups and the downs. It's wonderful, it's liberating, it's an illusion of freedom so strong you can no longer see any other freedom.
Berlin.
Without JYJ Berlin is just a city like any other city, filled with people like any other people, and buildings like any other buildings. Sticks and stones, flesh and bones. But it's not about JYJ, you know that, just like it's not really about alcohol or pills or cigarettes. It's about that through my own madness, for one day only, I gave Berlin wings and turned it into something beautiful. And like all true art, it lasted only for an all too short time.
Now nothing but a token in my head, like a notch on a bedpost. I didn't want to take general pictures, at first, because I wanted it all inside, I wanted it to be all mine. No one and nothing can steal memories. They can take them away or destroy them, but never steal them. Then I took pictures, on my "sightseeing day", because the girl I was with did it. Conformity, mimicking to make a bond, more than trying to preserve visual memories. When I came, I knew there were only two photos I wanted and was going to get at any cost. The big arc, and the pieces of the wall at Potsdamer, and I wanted those for one reason only: proof. I was there. I had been there, at those locations, which were exactly where JYJ had been two days earlier. But when I took those two, I thought, in this modern age of internet, photoshop and reality-like graphic technologies, what kind of proof is a photo? No. I still cherish those two photos, but in reality there is only one proof: memories. All mine.
I've been emotionally haywire, it's starting to settle now. Haywire in my own quiet way. And though the dust has settled, the pigments sunk to the bottom of the glass and the water is clearer, I can conjure it back. Just take my little finger and gently draw it over the water surface and see the colors swirl. All I need to think is "I walked away, I left of free will." Being on my own in a foreign environment, I realized, happiness doesn't come in many forms it comes it one. One. And it has not been here for a while. I walked away, I left of free will, I willingly walked back into my cauldron of despair.
Loving someone you don't know is like an addiction to the pain. A pain that makes you feel more alive than ever, and then, when it settles, makes you want to claw your eyes out, just to a moment later be chasing the high again. I must never let go of my vow to never drink alone. I must never smoke a cigarette, and I must be careful with medicine. Because it's so easy. It's so easy to want the addiction, and once you want it, you're not longer steering the boat, you're just riding the waves, the ups and the downs. It's wonderful, it's liberating, it's an illusion of freedom so strong you can no longer see any other freedom.
Berlin.
Without JYJ Berlin is just a city like any other city, filled with people like any other people, and buildings like any other buildings. Sticks and stones, flesh and bones. But it's not about JYJ, you know that, just like it's not really about alcohol or pills or cigarettes. It's about that through my own madness, for one day only, I gave Berlin wings and turned it into something beautiful. And like all true art, it lasted only for an all too short time.
Friday, October 28, 2011
That Which Wants
I want such peculiar little things.
I want to lift my feet when it vacuums,
and do its laundry,
and not mind when it walks in on me dancing stupidly in my headphones.
I wouldn't mind walking with it,
but I don't want to bike with it,
or drive with it,
unless I can ride in the back.
I don't want to share my cat cuddle time
- that's between the cat and me -
but I would love to watch the cat sleeping
on it sleeping.
I want to walk beneath orange streetlights
like a model on a catwalk to the beat in my ears
in the cold night air,
wishing I could reflect the light like cat eyes -
then I would leer at myself in the darkness,
smirk and giggle darkly
that I am that
which lifts its feet when you vacuum,
which does your laundry
and watches you sleep with a cat on your chest.
I want to lift my feet when it vacuums,
and do its laundry,
and not mind when it walks in on me dancing stupidly in my headphones.
I wouldn't mind walking with it,
but I don't want to bike with it,
or drive with it,
unless I can ride in the back.
I don't want to share my cat cuddle time
- that's between the cat and me -
but I would love to watch the cat sleeping
on it sleeping.
I want to walk beneath orange streetlights
like a model on a catwalk to the beat in my ears
in the cold night air,
wishing I could reflect the light like cat eyes -
then I would leer at myself in the darkness,
smirk and giggle darkly
that I am that
which lifts its feet when you vacuum,
which does your laundry
and watches you sleep with a cat on your chest.
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