https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/absolutism-is-a-state-of-mind-mario-the-french-revolution.1141879

"In which enlightenment ideals go horribly right in the Mushroom Kingdom. A story of revolution, noble ideals, and absolutism lightened by humor. Also my first serious attempt to write a love story, but that's neither here nor there."

!bookworms fanfiction kino

!chuds

Downloaded over a hundred gigabytes worth of freeleech content so I have some seed material to build up my ratio. A lot of diverse stuff, from pseud midwittery like Joseph Campbell's works to complete slop like Terry Goodkind's fantasy books.

Now I just need to find some story-less video game I can grind for thousands of hours for incremental 0.001% DPS upgrades like Diablo 3 to play while listening to them in the background because who the heck can just listen to audiobooks without doing anything else at the same time

It's illustrated by the author, and it's about his foot fetish, his waifu Trilby, and her feet

this dumb book is where the name for the hat comes from, how dissapointing

TRILBY CAN"T SING LOLOLOL, she's tone deaf

There's this guy named Svengali and the fact that he is jewish gets mentioned constantly unless the author or another character calls him Hebrew instead

And here let me say that these vicious imaginations of Svengali's, which look so tame in English print, sounded much more ghastly in French, pronounced with a Hebrew-German accent, and uttered in his hoarse, rasping, nasal, throaty rook's caw, his big yellow teeth baring themselves in a mongrel canine snarl, his heavy upper eyelids drooping over his insolent black eyes.

Besides which, as he played the lovely melody he would go through a ghoulish pantomime, as though he were taking stock of the different bones in her skeleton with greedy but discriminating approval. And when he came down to the feet, he was almost droll in the intensity of his terrible realism. But Trilby did not appreciate this exquisite fooling, and felt cold all over.

He seemed to her a dread, powerful demon, who, but for Taffy (who alone could hold him in check), oppressed and weighed on her like an incubus—and she dreamed of him oftener than she dreamed of Taffy, the Laird, or even Little Billee!

This is at the beginning of the book still, but he comes back and the end of the book to hyptonize Tribly and turn her into a mind controlled singing star who is the best female vocalist who ever lived

and it all feels really pointless because she did this melodramatic singy thing right as she dies and is barely conscious, but she doesn't really remember her other life

it's all weird and dumb and I feel worse off for speed reading it

Pauvre Trilby—la belle et bonne et chère!

Je suis son pied. Devine qui voudra

---and I thought I had found all instances of the wood "foot" or "feet" in this novel

Casts of her alabaster feet could be had at Brucciani's, in the Rue de la Souricière St. Denis. (He made a fortune.)

Monsieur Ingres had painted her left foot on the wall of a studio in the Place St. Anatole des Arts; and an eccentric Scotch milord (le Comte de Penpeepee) had bought the house containing the flat containing the > studio containing the wall on which it was painted, had had the house pulled down, and the wall framed and glazed and sent to his castle of Édimbourg.

Opted for the paperback myself which I don't do but it seemed more fitting for the material and I don't regret it. These are extremely high quality paperbacks with very nice heavy duty glossy pages, well-bound and with beautiful illustrations. Haven't checked the others yet but the first one has a really illuminating 20-page preface by Watterson explaining his life and how he ended up doing C&H and early, unpublished works and also pictures of his cat.

!bookworms you are LITERALLY LOSING MONEY by not picking this up

To discuss your weekly readings of books, textbooks and papers.

!bookworms !classics

I finished Entangled Life , great book to give an introduction to the lay man about fungus. I particularly enjoyed the chapters about mycorrhizal networks and amateur mycologists (many of them were these huge fungus neurodivergents whose enthusiasm was quite contagious).

!bookworms, a ping group for classics but it includes other types of art as well (paintings, music, philosophy, etc.)

!classics

Here are the nominees for the next bookclub, I'll pick the top 5 for the next round

!bookworms

The Hugos are a prestigious literary award for science fiction novels authored by black women. The most recent awards were hosted in Chyna. As the underlying data for this year's winners came out, people noticed a pattern of strange last-minute disqualifications, numbers that don't add up, and Chinese treachery.

Accusations of BAD FAITH fly, but nobody's allowed to be racist so they're kind of tiptoeing around actually saying anything. After sifting through mealy-mouthed threads and comments for half an hour, I think the claim is the Chinx spiked politically undesirable books? Of course American left-progressives would never do that.

So the total of any column can't exceed the number of ballots cast, yes? But yet column 9 adds up to 1652, 15 more than the 1637 ballots.

RIGGED ELECTION!

Those stats are also weird in that Babel's points remain consistent throughout. It's hard to believe literally zero votes transferred to Babel as novels dropped out.

This is extremely dangerous to our democracy.

The scoring system has already become extremely convoluted as a way to freeze out rightoid coordination, so now it's even harder to tell what was really "supposed" to happen. So let's just point and laugh.

the Hugos are an institution set up in good faith. Any institution, grown large enough, must have provisions against bad-faith actors. To not do so is immensely stupid.

BAD FAITH!!!

operating in countries with strict censorship is a dangerous game, not just to the award, but to organizers. Pushes for diversity in operations must take political reality into account. For example, I would never suggest an award of this nature be held in Sri Lanka, given that we've tortured and jailed people for writing poetry on Facebook. I don't know the Chengdu organizers, but again: this naïveté is not useful. You may never know if they were operating on personal prejudices or because someone from the govt was peeking over their shoulder.

Sounds like we could learn a lot from Sri Lanka

McCarty, a Chengdu Worldcon vice-chair and co-head of the Hugo Awards Selection Executive Division, previously gave File 770 this reason for ruling R. F. Kuang's Babel, fan writer Paul Weimer, Neil Gaiman's Sandman tv series, and second-year Astounding Award nominee Xiran Jay Zhao as “not eligible”:

After reviewing the Constitution and the rules we must follow, the administration team determined those works/persons were not eligible.

Token white male hack John Scalzi chimes in:

Even the speculation of state censorship should give pause to site selection voters regarding future Worldcons. For example, there is a 2028 Worldcon proposal for Kampala, Uganda, and while the proposed Worldcon itself offers a laudable and comprehensive Code of Conduct page, Uganda is a country with some of the most severe laws in the world regarding LGBTQ+ people, including laws involving censorship.

Holy fricking shit please do it in Uganda, that's gotta be the only way some strag shit doesn't win

Babel is set in a world where the British state uses magic to extract wealth from developing countries, with particularly focus on the first Opium War. It's the initial action in what China describes as the century of humiliation. It has be suggested that the Chinese government isn't terribly keen on works which show China as weak

"Ni hao, fellow Southeast Asians of Color! I just wrote this cool sci-fi book about how the West humiliated our poor backwards country and turned us into pathetic victims--my favorite kind of people!"

"No."

I can't believe I only won two of the largest awards for my book that nobody read!

Also notable by its absence from the longlist is The World We Make by N.K. Jemisin. Now N.K. Jemisin is not just a great writer, she's also extremely popular with Hugo voters and I find it unlikely that The World We Make got fewer nominations than the more obscure A Half-Built Garden.

Critical support to President Xi for removing NK Jemisin from the Hugo longlist.

!bookworms !writecel all I'm saying is I would have won

Ann Leckie, author of the most boring gender goblin sci-fi trilogy ever written, has a question:

OK so this is all a huge mess & no mistake. But I gotta wonder. Maybe you've got some committee members who say that if you explain what happened they will be dragged off to jail & never seen again. You come up with a statement to avoid this. OK so far.

What I don't get is, why be such an butthole to folks with predictable and understandable questions? Like, you can totally stick to the script without being a condescending butt about it. Why does condescending assery seem like the way to go?

I get that the secret police were texting you creepshots of your wife's hotel window, but why didn't you consider my feelings?

As a reminder of the rdrama Rules, anti-CCP sentiment will NOT be tolerated. I hope these mayos, darkies, and Westernized Twinkie baizuo learned their lesson.

see title

!bookworms, I'm making a new nomination thread, this time only one nomination per user. Then a voting thread tomorrow.

We should have seen it coming. It was only a matter of time. We weren't discovering a deeper understanding of animal intelligence, the animals were just getting smarter every generation.

On the Spring of 21st April 2024, an unnatural event had occurred across Ottawa. The Geese had stopped attacking people.

There was a global ideological war going on in Eastern Europe, and western nations were trying to reinvigorate their prosperity gospel to unite the people. Beyond the borders of North America and Europe, everybody was too far away to take notice. When the Geese stopped attacking there was but a joke mentioning it in the local Ottawan weather news. "The temperature is a mild 13 degrees and we are getting reports that the geese have also decided to relax today. Which means the weather is going to remain good through the week."

It was too small an event to matter in the eyes of the world. We were very foolish in those days.

The next notable date is that of 29th June 2024. The Geese had started to disappear from public view, and conservationist circles were beginning to take note. The same behavior of the white beasts becoming becalmed was spreading to the other states and beyond with Ottawa as the epicenter. The news channels had now picked up on it as the interesting filler story of the day. " Tom, as we can see here this pond behind me used to be filled with Geese everywhere, and usually you can find about 25-30 Geese hanging around this area, but since the past two weeks not a single one has been sighted." "Thank you Jim. Is that an occurrence only happening in that area." "No Tom, there have been increasing reports from across the area. Geese appear to be disappearing from all over. I am aware of reports from Sacred Maple, Maple-Town, Mapleberry Street, and MacFufferMaple, and that's just the neighborhood."

28th August 2024. This date is notable because it is when the story blew up across the internet. The missing Geese. No bodies found. No signs of where they went. The UFO and aliens forums and channels were filled with noise, everyone with their own theories as to what was going on. On Peatter the Dollarmark $Geeseabduction was trending. Millions of people across the world were talking about where the Geese must have gone, how maybe some new parasite or natural predator must have killed them, or how there might be some environment changes that activated some dormant behavior in their genes. Nobody knew. Everybody had an answer. Within two weeks again the excitement pattered out as the world went on turning and people had jobs to do and lives to live.

It was on 12th September 2024 that the first death occurred. A middle aged woman was found bitten to death by what appeared to be a freak event of a flock of birds turning on her and viciously attacking her. They did not show the images of the body on the news channel as they were deemed too grisly for the audience. In those days most people joked about it. To be killed by a bunch of birds. We know better now. It is required reading for you to look upon those images, to see the missing eyes, the burst gums around the twisted teeth, and the thousands of little pecks across the body with little bits of organs spilling out around the body laying over the bed of feathers on the ground. The story was strange enough to be in the news cycle for a few days, but then it picked up again and once more the people were excited. Around the woman had been found ducks. Dead ducks who had fought the woman and been killed. Living injured ducks who couldn't get away far enough, and the missing ducks that were clearly there based on the number of pecks. However, the forensics report had been leaked to the news by a confidential source, and it had turned out that all the bite marks were of Geese teeth. On 19th September 2024 the Geese conspiracies picked up and fully became part of the thoughts of the general populace for every single day to follow. That is when we were finally beginning to become aware. Even so, in those early days most people believed that it was a psychotic serial killer who must have done the murder.

23rd September 2024. Four more bodies emerge murdered in the same way as the first one. News channels inform people to watch out for the birds and to carry a physical object to fight them off with if they are traveling outside.

25th September 2024. Another six more bodies pecked to death. Spread across the border of Ottawa. Each murder ducks are found at the murder scene.

27th September 2024. five more dead. Spread out further from Ottawa. People on online forums connect the dots and notice that the places where the murders are taking place are the same as the map of where the Geese started disappearing. Warnings are issued to previously Geese populated areas to stay indoors and only travel with a companion as there may be a group of killers on the loose. Canada declares an emergency and sets itself up as high terror risk. Security and armed patrols march across the streets.

28th September 2024. Information declassified 1st March 2042. A Canadian military platoon is found dead in the park by the bird feeding benches. There are hundreds of dead ducks around them, peppered with bullets. One dead Goose can be found among them. Completely normal and like any other Goose that one may see in appearance. The clean up squad sent into the area reports feeling unsafe and watched the entire time they were moving the bodies out. The same sense of being in danger is mentioned by the medical workers and investigators. The location is today another no go zone for humans.

29th September 2024. Another dead military squad in the same area along with dead civilians and security. These bodies aren't killed like the others but completely shredded to the bone. Only 12 dead ducks found at the location. The amount of feathers dispersed on the ground indicate thousands of ducks having been recently in the area. Still nobody managed to pick up any signs of ducks flying in the air.

30th September 2024. Declassified 20th April 2063. An executive order by the Canadian President is given to the Canadian military to kill all ducks and Geese on sight. In the public sphere the news channels are ordered to keep reporting on a terrorist cell that has activated in Canada and is taking lives everyday. The US is starting to get involved. This attempt to hide the actual cause of the deaths resulted in the Second Iran-Yemen war of 2024.

1st October 2024. Declassified 15th May 2074. Hitler's preserved skull is activated by AL ( Artificial Literal ). From it a simulated Hitler persona ( Pre Moscow invasion ) is created and uploaded to a cloned body. The body is then tortured into giving details of how one would best go about genociding Geese if they were in hiding.

0:00 The dead bird

3:20 The deflating s*x doll

5:20 The orgy

9:20 The rec room

Skippers ear itched. He scratched at it. It felt good. He saw the neighbor Polly coming out the door. Tail wagging, Skipper jumped over the fence to greet her. Polly screamed in delight and that made Skipper excited. He gave Polly's face a good long lick and jumped around asking her to play. Polly giggled more and pet his head. That was even better than scratching an itch by himself. His hips were wagging with his tail now. His joy had jumped over the moon. Then Polly put her hand in her pocket, and brought out a biscuit. Skippers heart almost exploded from excitement. He got so excited that he couldn't help himself, and he snatched the biscuit and ran away, jumping over the fence, to find a place to eat his snack in peace, even as the little girl laughed and squealed behind him.

Skipper woke up from his sleep. He let out a big yawn as he stretched his legs. He got up with a jolt as he saw movement in the distance. Squirrel! Skipper jumped over the fence and ran straight for the little thing. The squirrel must have been a mind reader, for without even looking in his direction, the squirrel ran faster up the tree, long before he could reach it. Skipper felt frustration built up in his heart and he could not help but bark at the branches of the tree as he jumped around it, hoping that the squirrel would be startled into falling off whichever perch it was hiding in. He could hear human voices near him laughing and shouting in excitement. He would have paid them mind if he were not on the hunt. After forever, finally Skipper got tired and went back and jumped over the fence, and behind him a young couple smiled and a squirrel counted nuts in its hole in the tree.

Skipper ran towards the monster. It scared him to do so, but he couldn't help himself. It was in his nature to be a fighter. He ran after the monster with eyes and no face. He almost stopped in his tracks and turned tail, but the monster got scared before him. The monster roared and then ran in the opposite direction first and so skipper jumped over the fence after him, with lights turning on in the house behind him and voices shouting in the night. Skipper managed to bite a leg and got kicked in the chest. He let go of the leg but kept growling and chasing the monster till the edge of his land. When the monster was finally out of sight skipper went back over the fence, and was given lots of pets and a big steak. He thought it must be his birthday, and ate the steak happily.

Skipper got up shaking the cold wind off his back. It had rained a lot the day before. The friendly neighbors had even let him into the house to sit by the fire. They seemed to like him more every year for reasons he could not fully understand, but he was happy to have the love. He jumped over the fence, and heard his name being called. He ran towards the sound and slipped and smacked into a log. He yelped, his hand had gotten stuck in a twisted branch. He yowled a while and running footsteps reached him. He grabbed the arm with his mouth as he whimpered, to hold back the pain. The arm did not pull away, the hands working on uprooting the wood. He was stuck there forever until the wood was finally undone. The man grabbed him and picked him up and carried him over the fence towards his car.

Skipper got up with a limp. His one paw didn't move quite as well as the others, although he couldn't remember exactly why. Maybe it had always been this way. He bent down in front of the fence, took aim, and jumped over. He then trotted over to the door and barked at it twice. A long time later the door opened, and a fresh loaf of bread was handed to him, along with a pat on the head. He took the bread and carried it back as he jumped over the fence. He sat down to eat it. The front door however did not close as usual. More noises came from inside the house, and soon after footsteps came near him, footsteps that sounded more like his own than those of another neighbor. Skipper looked up and he growled. It was a girl dog. He did not want her taking his bread. She politely sat down and waited in front of him. He was done with half his bread when the woman came out of the house with another loaf and handed it to the other dog. "Good". Thought Skipper, I don't have to share. He finished his meal and went back to sleep as the girl dog looked at him curiously and nibbled her food.

Skipper got up with a bark. The pup gave a startled yelp and let go of his tail. He put his teeth around the head of the whelp until it yelped again. "Good." Thought skipper, "now that will teach you to not bite the tail that feeds you!" He licked the pup clean and then turned toward the lowering sun to warm his face while it was still there. After a while he got up and ran towards the sheep. Skipper jumped over the fence and barked at it to turn away from the road. "Blehhh!", the sheep responded before it returned to its kin. Beside him the little pup let out its own little barks at the sheep, having managed to fit in from under the fence. "Maybe this won't be so bad after all." Thought skipper, and he turned back and jumped over the fence, and went back to sitting at his perch, keeping an eye on the herd.

Skipper got up with a snort. The noise of the children having awakened him. He looked around him and wondered when the neighbors kids had come to be. His children and the neighbors shouted and barked and laughed and yelled at one another. He kept one eye on them to make sure nobody got too rough. The man of the house sat beside his perch. A bench having been built there. Skipper looked around a moment and noticed Polly older now, sitting by herself with a book in hand. Her face did not look happy and he did not like that. Lazily, Skipper got up and jumped over the fence, and gave Polly's face a lick. Polly first complained angrily so he kept licking it until she finally squealed. It made him feel good. Polly gave him a hug and held him a while. The hug did not end but he had work to do. He pulled himself out after a while and jumped back over the fence, to keep an eye over the children.

Skipper woke up with his eyes closed. He did not wish to get spit in his eyes. The kid was full of love. He put his paw over Jr.s face to let her know she could stop now. He could sense her excitement and smell the food in the wind. The neighbors had stopped giving him food outside a long while back. He went to the fence and gently with his mouth opened the hinge and walked inside. Jr with all her youth jumped over the fence. She ran towards the house and with a momentary burst of speed Skipper leapt forth and pushed her down into the ground. He barked at her and she whimpered in apology. They walked by the muddy ground calmly, with her tail wagging full of life. They reached the door and he barked. The Misses barked back from inside, having never gotten used to living out in nature. The door opened and they entered for their meal.

Skipper woke up with a cough. The winters were getting worse. It annoyed him how the children and the neighbors weren't wearing more sweaters. He limbered past the fence, where there was an opening now for him to walk through with ease. He lay down in front of the tree and watched the squirrel right in front of him, go about its business, unafraid. Jr and the misses watched from the window along with the woman. The woman looked worried and that made him sad. He let out a loud single bark and pretended to get up. This startled the squirrel and scared it back up the tree. He looked back towards the window and saw his family wag their tails. The woman's expression did not seem to change and she walked away from the window. Soon the door opened and she called to him. He stayed where he lay. He did not want to go inside.

Skipper lay where he was. The fire crackled beside him and kept him warm. His bones ached. Jr sat beside him, keeping him company. The misses came into the room and sat down beside him. Jr got up and left to keep an eye at the perch. The fire just wasn't warm enough anymore. He did not feel scared. Just tired. He was given food ten times a day now but he was never hungry. Sometimes the man would come, sometimes the woman, sometimes Polly, sometimes a friend of the neighbors. He would take a bite because it seemed to make them happy. It felt nice to be surrounded by his family. It felt good to have them all together besides him. Now, he felt a warmth spread from his heart to his toes, and his bones stopped hurting. He fell asleep, dreaming, looking forward to tomorrow.

The sun is yellow,

The grass is green,

Your lips are purple,

Your eyes hazel brown.

The birds caw and squeak,

The cats meow, the dogs bark,

The children a cacophony,

And the mice in hidden places, hidden sounds.

The air smells of dust,

Of yesterdays old socks,

It smells of the tiniest hint of morning breakfast; citrus

Of wooden shelves and metal doorknobs.

I see the park outside,

I see the room around me,

I see the daydreams in my head,

and the places within.

I taste the fruit in the morning,

After a local diners specialty,

Then I taste the emptiness on my tongue,

and I taste the desires building up upon empty buds.

I feel the joy of an r-slured child,

I feel the sorrow of half a man,

I feel the anger a dying embers worth,

And peace fought for every moment through the noise.

I touch the keys,

I touch the clothes,

I touch my hair,

and my shoes a pair.

I write in my notebooks,

I draw in them too,

I type up an hours worth,

and then study another hour through.

I grow a little every day.

Bit by bit I leave behind the pain.

I grab on to all the pieces of life I can.

I persist and adapt, as is the only thing left to do.

There is so much I am missing out,

You can see it in my words, I see it in my ways,

But as far as I can tell, it matter not,

to be a little more every day is enough.

I know myself wrong to those with better lives,

and right to those with worse,

I know myself as something strange,

That still wants to make a better world.

I try to find myself,

and know myself,

Not to accept myself ( That too though),

But to outgrow myself.

I have read Neitzsche,

I have read Jung,

I have read the stoics words,

and those of Absurd cool dudes ( Camus ).

Now I count the hours,

and I track the time,

I track the work I put in,

and focus on improvements to flow through me and mine.

Is that enough,

I know not,

All I know,

Is that it is more than what was yesterday.

Is that enough,

Of course not,

We don't fight for enough this far down,

We fight for a chance at enough.

I deny the good dreams,

For the same reason I deny the bad,

So that I can live a life,

The one that's right in front of me.

To make the best of this reality,

and no other one,

To make something of myself,

Where my mind and heart and gut tells me things truly matter.

Is that enough?

It will never be enough.

But it will be more than yesterday,

and it will be enough to do something purposeful with.

So perhaps it isn't enough to get exactly everything,

But it's enough to make something,

and isn't that what life's all about,

A step forward, step by step, forever, into infinity.

It was a rounded seed,

Perfectly shaped, dark brown in color,

Warm to the touch, satisfying to feel,

Full of life and potential.

It was one of the rose cherry,

A new mixture created by the cutting edge,

and old wise farmers,

Working in harmony.

An amalgamation of roses that upon the tongue were as cherries,

and branches bearing fruit with the scent of roses,

An intoxicating mixture to overwhelm the senses.

And fatten pockets of smart rich men.

Our little rose cherry seed however,

Was taken up by the birds, A crow, or perhaps it was a raven,

Too fast to stop coming in,

But not fast enough to escape to safe haven.

The seed did fall barely a kilometer away,

Carried crashing by injured wings,

Until it fell about by a little sewer drain,

Where it should have died.

Alas, it was a broken construction,

surrounded by dirty sludge seeping out,

Ignored by all, but never cleared,

Dirt and grime and toxic things brought by the rains to the top.

Here the rose cherry seed should have died,

Too gentle for that harsh land,

But fate had set other plans,

and the crows blood did feed it.

From its blood did the little seed find,

nourishment enough for those first few days,

to have roots that dug into the mud and half rotted,

and others that barely touched fertile soil, safely stowed away.

It would be an embellishment to say,

That the rose cherry did grow in that soil,

It stayed alive, that was all,

Bent and twisted in little crooked ways.

In that soil did the cherry rose grow,

and in that soil did the cherry rose survive,

It's seeds rotten to the core,

Unable to spread its child.

The fruit that it did bore had smudges of grey,

and the roses did never bloom,

If any one daring or foolish enough would taste the fruit,

They would find a rancid bitter taste, borne by bitter roots.

Now you tell me,

Was there any point,

To the rose cherry seed,

The rose cherry plant,

The rose cherry tree,

That grew to be nothing?

To do nothing?

To give nothing?

and to create nothing?

Was it enough that it had lived a life?

Even if it was nothing that was meant to be?

Only alive for the sake of living?

A need so deeply ingrained,

That none can escape it?

I would like to think so,

Maybe the rose cherry tree would too,

Sometimes there is no rhyme or reason,

And all we can do is persist.

Maybe one day the rose cherry tree would be found,

and saved from fates cruel hand,

or maybe one day it will grow strong enough,

To bear strong fruit that's sweet enough for the land.

Who knows.

I don't.

The rose cherry tree still blossoms every spring,

and maybe that's all the point that's needed.

Or maybe I am just foolish enough,

More foolish than the rest,

To see the rose cherry tree,

With rose tinted glasses.

You decide.

Don't tell me.

I have my own answers,

and that's good enough for me.

!bookworms do you ever do this?

Pretty sure Amazon just resells the books as used, for a cheaper price

You'd think the anti capitalist redditors would look fondly on this

To discuss your weekly readings of books, textbooks and papers.

Even though I bought the 1859 edition of On the Origin of the Species, I started reading “Entangled Life” instead, thanks to a dramacel recommendation, @rDramaHistorian I'm on chapter 3 and the book is great.

!bookworms