Posts Tagged ‘moments’

Where does the moment go (once it has passed)

August 4 2012

There was something there. You know and are certain there was but now, not.
There was something there, or, rather, Then.
There was something and now it’s gone.

Where does the moment go when it is over (once it has passed)?
[[[Let’s ask every single thing and see what happens:]]]

 

To shelter.

In a twist ending, our relationship with the moment was never healthy. In fact, we were abusers. You can’t live just for the moment– you need boundaries, venn diagrams.

 

They wake up.

Moments are only moments when sleeping and fleet upon waking. Or, a window even smaller/more arbitrary, the ‘moment’ is only so in the flutter of an eye.

Flutter Eye

All Of Your Dreams = this now

(Moments REM just like us, except for them it’s LGX, because their words are different.
Letters are the same (they stole the alphabet from us, not vice versa), but their palate shapes them real strange.
If we were to transliterate Momentous ‘REM,’ which is ‘LGX,’ into how it would sound in our alphabet it would actually be “BH.”
(The X isn’t quite silent, it’s just ultrasonic).).

and all of your nightmares…

When moments sleep our lives get immeasurably |better|. As you would think, the absolute value signals that not all moments are per se good, and that better here is meant in the sense of ‘richer,’ ful-er of event.

The potential downsides a…side, our government (the White government, not the American government (the secret crew running everything is actually a white powers operation– not the separatist hick kind but substantively not much better) tried to ensure that the Moments never fall asleep– the assumption being that any occurrence that could possibly result in the end of their bigoted reign would be considered a moment by somebody. Their efforts, however, were an unqualified failure (see below).

We’re not yet able to keep human beings awake 24/7, and we know so much less about moments! Racist dummies!

A picture says two words

Moments and the Fall of the White Government
Ultimately, it’s a moot point– I’ve been to the future and know that the fall of our capital-White overlords is, by some margin, the least momentous major event in double secret history (aka herstory).1
It is ‘precipitated’ (to the extent a non-event can be) by everyone just sort of forgetting that they’re supposed to be racist. With the first few non-whites inducted (a Chinese president, a ‘black blood’ country megastar who can superpass) they forgot Asians weren’t white and never thought to blood test respectively. But by the time they noticed, Sun Kai-tan and Jeff Pollard had already received their packets and, well, it was too much of a hassle to have them assassassinated (double-killed – so that their ghost emerges completely hauntless, regret and memory free).
After that, the secret government gets too wrapped-up in the business of running the world– which, with the rise of artificially intelligentish nanomachines2, pan-adaptable omnichromosomic metaclones and superghosts, does not allow time for the dumb rituals and tedious racetheory self-mythologizing that thrived back when controlling humanity consisted only of securing minerals and producing ever-stakesraising distractions.

Stakes Raising Distractions!

Don’t think you’re exempt just because whatever reason things that are art are considered somehow inherently virtuous, Gus!

The whole racist heritage of the former White government (now, just, the government) actually gets wiped in 2036– when, in a mad scramble for low-tech spinning hard drives in which to trap a particularly nasty rampant cybersomething3, the archive including all documentation prior to 1998 is rendered permanently unreadable.
[end section]

What was I talking about?
Oh right, moments.

When Moments sleep they dream our lives more interesting than they otherwise are.

Moments never end, we just begin again outside of them.

Time isn’t the thing, it’s our bodies.
Like a crack-fiending snake with complete but unconscious control over when it sheds its skin,4 our lives keep ending just to start over again at the same point in time and space. When they (our bodies) rebirth they do so with as close to the same memories, thoughts, physical features, clothes, bones, genes, diseases, beliefs, self-defeats, diversions, recursions, sweet nothings, bitter somethings, spicy autonomics and hot thoughts as possible.
They are remarkably good at it but not perfect and that’s where blisters come from– repeated near misses back and forth. And also that’s what is love.

These snake mistakes

Pictured: your first girlfriend

*L*O*V*E*: How Is This That?
Well, you see, each time it doesn’t happen it only happens moreso later.
Note: later may mean never.

So, we’re the ones that go (the fuck) away: summary. The moment stays back in that lost life. The memories tend to remain, and your new body will ‘try’ its anthropomorphic best to pr-o-lo-ng the moment– resulting in a kind of emotional pareidolia– but at best it’s a replica and your bodies eventually catch on and self-immunize. C’est la vie, or, this is where love comes from also.

 

In a scrapbook.

I’d say in God’s scrapbook but I’m an atheist so I can’t let myself do that even though I know better. That’s just how we atheists are– defiant for defiancesake, claiming always to disbelieve that which we know is true. Anyways, it’s God’s scrapbook.5
God wants moments but doesn’t entirely know why. I can’t go into it much without breaking my (extremely punitive) contract, but suffice it to say there’s a lot of moments in this scrapbook and most of them, to my human eye, don’t seem so remarkable.

Anti-Mail Fraud Hex -- the double secret lost Fall album

But God’s face instead / At work today we received a check that had been delivered in an envelope with “In God We Trust” handwritten on its front and back. I blurt-laughed when I saw it, but then got down to the serious business of deciding whether it was evangelism for the First Church of E Pluribus Unum or some kind of anti-mail-fraud hex.

The scrapbook is large. Vast, actually. I certainly would never be able to open it even in 27 lifetimes of trying– but He had no problem (again– male subjectivity due to patriarchal lineage).
You might think a precious, divine object like The Scrapbook would be hidden away, or be made of some impossible stuff that we could never hope to comprehend with our mortal face– each moment somehow encoded in a divine cryptograph or sacred penmanship or magic God’seye. But, in fact, as our God may or may not be a loving God, He let’s us gaze upon it as often as we do the stars by which I mean it’s the night sky.

OH!/, I can’t believe we were ever that young!

Most moments aren’t even obscured. Or are only hidden by time and space.
Ours are in still in the process of being matted down.
God has a lot of pages to baste so I think we can give God a break.

 

They are made into momentade.

OH! that bittersweet, sometimes sour, generally not salty, umami is a marginally successful national marketing scheme to try and pry Japan from a decade of stagflation, moment juice! Once rung four-fisted from the moment it is diluted, sweetened and sold back to us in the form of momentade (aka memories).

I’m on to you, Ikeda! And then imagine I’m giving the stinkeye, face. (Intermittent sips of my own dumb life (and the resultant puckers))

 

ROAD TRIP!

Imagine how memorable a road trip roadtripped by only moments would be? It would be like six Sideways (~16.7 Crossroads) stacked on top of each other!

By which I mean if you watched Sideways for 12 hours and 42 minutes, or Crossroads for about 26 hours and 10 minutes, you’d have had the same depth of experience and richness of interaction (bonding) as 36 hours6 spent with and by a carload of moments.

This is officially the most depressing |fact|.

Though I suppose it makes sense, them not being sentient and all– and I bet if they were they’d be like handlebars in a mid-90s video arcade– Super ON.

No, shit, wait, that was Super Hang-On. Still, good effort though– right? slash I must change my life.

On tram rides mostly.

Bussed (well, trammed) from one life to another, moments spend most of their lives in transit.
a) moments have lifetimes just like you or I. They generally last between seventy and six hundred years (there’s great variance per popularity– moments are nourished by |want|– the more sought they are the more robust; the more avoided the same). It’s generally accepted that avoidance is more nourishing than desire, and so the good times need to work twice7 as hard to live just as long.
b) as you may have by now guessed, there are a finite amount of moments and (for a living) they cycle between us.
b1) it’s a straight living– the act directly fuels, and is all that is required for, survival– so it’s more ethical than human work.
b2) we feel each is unique but there are only about 107 moments at any given time.8
b2a) This is because passion is a virus that mixes with our experiences to reshape/redefine each moment.
b2b) Our major experiences are actually exactly the same and we would bond over that fact thus ending all interpersonal conflict if only we could perceive our lives without passion.
b2c) We are one antifungal away from complete and eternal world peace.
b2c1) passion is actually more like spore.
b3) the tram is tube-shaped and made of a material not dissimilar to hard plastic (though it’s really just light). The overall ambience of the tube space would be the milk-green of a passing commuter train at night, or of an early Wong Kar-Wai film, but when the tube is crowded it is impossible to tell. Each seat lights up a different brightness and shade when sat upon.
b3 also) the moments have a particular hue so they know where they’re supposed to sit; whether they chatter, get bored, switch, save seats, take naps, fall in love, prefer to stand, long at and after scenery, or at the lives living in other trams (moments aren’t the only aspect that takes public transportation (aspects do, for one, and the unborn (if the righteous only know what a raucous enorgied partyferry the unborn rode to Term…))) we do not yet know.
c) there are only two trams, out and in, and the object of their preposition is uncertain. one |day| the trams will crash together and then: absolutely, the moment. But until that happens they have to punch every single clock just like the rest of us.

 

Into the sea.

 

On a killing spree.

Cholesterol and heart plaque has only 36% to do with what a gross piece of shit you are. If, in the wake of the passing moment, you enter its corona cast, a film clings to your heart and arteries. It’s about a small boy trying to fly a kite, but the weather is incorrect for it. Hijinks don’t ensue; the boy’s dad never meets the boy’s future stepmom or step-sister; they step-never step-share their first step-kiss, first step-pet, first-step penetration (a step-finger). For moralls sake, perhaps its best this film is entirely uneventful: an image of a kite rippling angry against the ground, going nowhere. The buttons on her blouse are small and round and meant to fit beneath your fingers and you’ll never forget those sleeves (puff).

Your memory is a line-up you spend forever fingering

If, in the wake of the passing moment, you enter the corona cast– film. All over your heart and arteries. Once enough builds up9 the resin sticks together, slowly forging new syncretic moments of varying coherence.

Moments, particularly th[o/e]se of questionable stability, can’t stand being forced to socialize. When so densely packed they explode your chest in the form of a heart attack.
Though in recovery you forget, when it happens you simultaneously experience dozens to hundreds of moments (and that is what kills you). It is a sin to be everything.

Unforgivable

The record (for humans) is 1,241.6 moments, achieved May 6, 1978. The sufferer survived and, unbeknownst, sewed each of her thousand-plus would be assassins into a quilt, where they are now trapped for all eternity, barring explicit exvocation.12

Moment #767 – the toucan escaped face-ridicule by inventing flight; without a shared target to bond them, the lion turned its full focus against the panda and the subsequent shaming annihilated all pandas’ sex drives forever

Her name is Betty Parveneau and she would be 86 today (July 4th, 2012) if she didn’t die of pneumonia back in 1997 due to no one loving her enough to notice.13

 

On vacation.

Like Go-Go’s on waterskis chastising George W. Bush for being a deadbeat president and saliva-eyebrow-stylist-hirer both, it’s all they ever wanted.

Dear Go-Go’s: Apostrophe– how’s come?

Popular vacation destinations for moments are: New Hampshire’s White Mountains; New Hampshire’s many lovely lakes (Winnipesaukee, Umbagog, Sunapee, Canobie space Park); Historic Manchester (New England, not Olde(e) England); tax-free liquor stores between states with restrictive blue laws, like Massachusetts, and Maine; Rye Beach (in New Hampshire); Clark’s Trading Post; seemingly endless/optically tedious stretches of white birches along route 112; or a house visit with the ghost of Franconia Notch’s famed/late Man In The Mountain.

R.I.P./Semper fi, New Hampshire’s Economy

MOMENTS LOVE PAREINORMALDOLIA

 

There are no moments.

Each perceived ‘especially experienced’ patch of time is 100% an invention of your human/dolphin/some spiders’ mind. Narrative is a sickness that quickly spreads to every cell of your body. Once in it reroutes the wiring, misdirects neurons, and something else science-sounding, repurposing the whole mess to track a specific path towards maximizing tragicomic effect. If narrative sickness were a Star Wars character its name would be Max Bathos.14

In practice this means (virus aside, as infection is lifelong insofar as no one wants/tries to cure it) In practice this means that we each ‘define’ (ascribing us agency in this is pretty tenuous– we have some control (more depending on how unshackled we are by shame/self-awareness/societal pressures/human decency, but it generally tops out at 13%– a statistical light shove/strong nudge) In practice this means that we each ‘define’ when a moment is a moment.

Though narrative does most of the work for us, as in all things, we seamlessly believe the will is our own. And if it’s equally applicable– if everything we say or do is framed by/perceived through/shaped by/slash slashed with our storytelling symbiote– then it sort of already is what we actually are.

BORING

There are no moments. When we think we’re in one we’re not. Narrative has just dictated god I’m even boring myself– it’s nice out! Go enjoy your life! And then Big Narrative delivers a truck full of money to me in dollar sign bags.

But money instead of trash

 

Goes and keeps going.

In a line, or a wave. Travels through you and through anybody previously or subsequently in its path. You don’t notice that it happens as often as it does because there are some required ingredients for it to catalyze a True Moment.15

The Moment passes through you and delivers its patented blend of Eliadean ‘Sacred’ and basic profane profundity and moves on towards no end in particular.16

 

to Stud.

The once-over moment impregnates the time around it with possibility.17

Possibility is the key ingredient in a moment– well one of. When possibility meets and penetrates-or-receives actuality, a moment is born. (Strange cycle).

Six years later, this is your wedding day/first haircut/deathbed/bris

 

A museum.

In the museum you can view the greatest moments of all times. The musuem is in a galaxy 2,000,000,000 light years away and ‘viewing’ the moments requires seven senses we haven’t developed yet and two we never will. So, buttons.

If only I could get the senses

The whole collection (99.5% of all moments) is available with purchase of an archives pass, but –again, buttons– the archives are kept at -1,000 degrees Earth centigrade. Sad. / It also has LOVELY robotanical gardens.

(Robo in this language means something we won’t understand until ten seconds before the annihilation of our species).

 

The rest of the syllables, however, mean exactly the same as we’d Earth expect.

 

We’re still in it.

Still in all of them.
Dragging them behind us like a kid in a thicket of burrs with a velcro cape.
Weighing on us emotionally and curtailing our ability to perceive those oncoming, anything outside of them.
Our brain (for the almost part) is descended from those who developed a limit/kill switch/filter, so we don’t always notice them. In dreams they peek out.
In toxicated or compromised-by-stress situations, they can fugue.
And don’t forget the mentally ill and elderly!

Quitter

DID YOU KNOW: being old is a form of mental illness? It’s called eldelism and it catches all of us eventually. Well, all of us except me, I desperately jest.

 

It goes straight to your thighs.

Your thighs in particular. Can you blame it?
Slash oh no wait– that’s where a kiss goes once it’s left your lips
link
(Can you though?)

I miss you

 

The moment passes and… comes back again? Cycles like a comet but with an irregular period (that sentence can’t not mean that).

It cycles like a comet.
It may take 76 years but you’ll see/feel/be in it again.
A different cast of characters or occasionally the same.

We pass each other on the street and, then, throughout town seven times.
Let’s run into each other over and over and never say anything.

How our stares, looks progress:
at one point charm
at one point forced/failed charm
at one point sheepish unease
at one point genuine terror
at one point a chuckle
at one point a shrug
at one point no notice or acknowledgment and we go our separate ways forever.

The moment passes like a stone– fast, steady and in a pond.20

Every passed moment is at the bottom of a pond somewhere– Chapman Pond, specifically– and they collect there to no specific consequence.

Why doesn’t it overflow/brim with experience? Well, in the flood of 2010 it did. It’s just that, inert, the passed moment may as well be the stone it sinks like– which, to the lay observer, it is.
But this simple stone used to be when your parents met. Or when your parents died. Or when your parents first tried out how they’d some day make you. Except you can’t get someone pregnant there… what are you doing, mom v. dad? That’ll never work out! Nothing good will come of it, only remorse, hatred, scandal, and possible faecel impaction!
And then you wake up in the bleak winter morning of your 21st butt birthday (twist ending: in dreams begin butt-babies).21

If you hold them (the stones) they’ll just feel smooth and wetcold; if you skip them they’ll just skip or not skip, depending on whether you are worth a damn at stoneskipping.
If you eat them you will be better able to digest your food, but this is only applicable if you are also a bird. Or a Triceratops.

Dino… droppings? Droppings?

Don’t put them in your fishtank or else your fish will figure out time and become immediately shocked into immobility by the knowledge of their unavoidable demise. Poor time-wise red tetras– first an all-flakes diet (against your preferred larvae-base menu) and now you know just how futile each one of your (two) instincts actually is.

Helas, pour poi(ssons)!

 

It transfers to the next person you touch– true fact!

If something bad happens to you don’t touch anyone else ever (until you find someone you can really despic).
If something good happens, tell your biggest crush then kiss them flat on the mouth. Or, if you’re incapable of feeling good things, just keep touching yourself and HOPE.

IT IS CRUCIAL THAT THE KISS IS FLAT

If you get too into it with lips you may trap them (your lips) in that moment forever– which, no matter how good the moment is– is a nightmare scenario not to be willed upon anyone.

(Basically you’re in a living coma– a pleasure coma, but inside it’s like a well-meaning Groundhog’s Day, over which the enrapt has NO CONTROL, no ability to alter, shift, or change).

ALSO A PROBLEM: if you slip sick tongue you will steal all their dreams.
>>>watch out<<< this is how most spies work SLASH literal dreams, not figurative– a .csv file containing raw, unfriendly-formatted data of each sleep they’ve ever slept and, bonus, now they can never dream again unless you kiss it all back in (after a bad moment).

The idempotent moment

And now I love You.

=======================

1. they hid their past in that term so no would ever accidentally find it and take it seriously– too ‘feminist’ for misogynists, too condescending/pathetic for feminists

2. “… just smart enough to cause trouble” – an unhelpful tech officer explaining the situation to a superior while playing to an adbreak that doesn’t exist

3. I’m boring even myself at this point

4. Nailed it. Slash in this scenario being addicted to drugs means you have an increased desire to get real nude.

5. Don’t worry, though! You can all keep praying and fasting and cutting off fuckparts– I am not allowed to reveal which God it is and am only using the capitalized, singular/corporeal in keeping with my impudently rejected Christian heritage (which, of course, I know to be true (but deride anyways (atheist))).

6. 3 days is the legal minimum duration for a trip to be considered a Road Trip (and not just a weekend getaway).

7. actually, 1.631 times as hard

8. range: 104-112

9. moderate exercise and eating a diet high in celery should slow the growth some(therefore the 36%) but nothing can stop it except avoiding everything-and-one. Celery: flavorless, calorie-free, unpleasantly textured– it had to be there for a reason10

10. Celery: flavorless, calorie-free, unpleasantly textured– it had to be there for a raisin and then a picture of ants on a log and then the ants on a log jingle [it’s like “Beef”– the industry realizes that backlash diabetes is totally not eating their lunch]11

11. a) in this scenario you want your lunch to be eaten gross winky face yeah you do; b) backlash diabetes is the anti-Michelle version of Birthing. If you can’t forego or gut the Affordable Care Act, you can always purposely get diabetes to show you’re not a fagit [sic]

12. spoiler alert: no one ever exvocates the moments; no one even tries

13. Widow + Somewhat crummy children – $ to spare = Low quality nursing home

14. note: no matter how many times I look it up, or use it overconfidently, I still don’t (and likely never will) understand what bathos is SLASH http://www.dimfuture.net/starwars/random/generate.php/generate.php

15. just language– veracity has nothing to do with it

16. at least none as far as we can tell. Imaginary Scientists are split as to whether it’s an additional force or some kind of Cosmic Intelligence/Thin Divinity [i.e. not God, but a god or space-spirit equivalent]– a creature. Either way, anyone who studies it is eventually driven mad after falling prey to the temptation to exploit its ability to control and re-create The Moment. They see the transcendence in everything and can’t stop weeping

17. Moments exist in time not space. No mass but plenty of duration. There are various classes of moment as determined by their duration, their disbursement, their displacement, their frequency, and their intensity.18

18. It was previously thought that intensity was ‘twice-counting,’ as it was calculated as disbursement over duration. But it has since been discovered that deepfeltednesss fluctuates even when you control for D&D. It is as yet undetermined to what extent intensity is a property inherent in the Moment, or a symptom of the situation/user, but recent studies lean towards the former.19

19. WHY ALWAYS FAKE SCIENCE?

20. don’t be gross…

21. …because I will out-gross you, EASY

The Good News

November 3 2011

Have You Heard The Good News About Clocks In Your Calculator???

They are the paper tape kind so you can check to see if every second really counts.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

*scroll, scroll, scroll, scroll*

“I know I felt one.
Where is it, where…”

*scroll, scroll, scroll*

“Aha… there’s one!
Missed 12:58:56
Mark it!

Didn’t count!

Keith! Keith?!

Did you get that? Keith?

12:58:56 —
well the point is there wasn’t one”

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Not earlier, not during that second…

~ You blinked
~ You stared mindlessly
~ You typed ‘ove y’*
~ You oversmelled fresh baked goods baking
~ It was the exact moment you swallowed your swallow (when something goes down the wrong pipe that’s why)
~ It was the exact moment you fell asleep (when you wake up baffled to be waking up that’s why)
~ It was the exact moment you remembered why you still do this (when you plod thru getting nothing from it that’s why)
~ You relived-your-entire-life-in-a-second, all of it, even the parts that you haven’t yet lived, you prelived those
~ You died, but instead you didn’t, and now never will

Good for you!

*“Yes, Lou– I get it. I ~k~n~o~w~ who you are”

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

“Well, Add It Up”

*unintelligible*

“You should have all the counts insystem by now–

uh-huh, ok, well

well Keith, I’m sorry, this afternoon you should have all the counts and then you can run it on your ‘mainframe,’ but trust me– this TI don’t lie.”

*there was also this between those lines, but louder the first time, now*

“Well mine is on TAPE– it’s real physical data — math you can touch — time you can trust with your eyes AND your fingers.”

*pretty loud now*

“Over the last sixty three years, Keith, we have miscounted away 7 hours 26 minutes and 31 seconds. Calculators proved that. And–

And–

AND not just any calculator– Calcu, Keith

Keith–

Calculators With

CALCULATORS WITH CLOCKS IN THEM, KEITH”

*slam*

“That’s how we fucking know

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

31 x 1 = 31
26 x 60 = 1560
2 x 60 x 60 = 7200
31 + 1560 + 7200 = 8791
8791 / 63 = ~139.54 (139.539683)
139.54 / 60 = 2.325666 repeating
(.325666 x 60 = ~19.54)

We lose approximately 2 minutes and 19 and 1/2 seconds per year

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

“Okay. Are you ready for this?
Please tell me you are ready for this.
I’d think by now we’d all be p*r*e*t*t*y ready!”

*applause, laughter (claphter)*

“You’re not ready, but I’ll start anyways– some one always has to:

We have catalogued each of the missing seconds and then: using a combination of their cutting-edge computers, their ultra high speed connections, their sophisticated beahvior modelling, our deep understanding of the human condition & the finest actors and writers we could find who would work scale, we re-created each missing second from the previous year.

Every single one of them. All 147.”
*applause*
“AND the half.”
*thunderous applause*

“It wasn’t easy. With 147 and 1/2 seconds to do, that’s less than 3 days we had to write, cast, design, set-up and shoot each second. And all this on sets where we were constantly fighting all the limitations and exigencies of real life as they unfolded in real time. A stage the size, shape, and relative demography of Earth — and a big thanks to Hau0x’gLkK for putting that together for us. We couldn’t–”

*standing round of applause*

“We Couldn’t Have Possibly Done All This Without Their Generous Help. From terraforming to terracrafting, Hau0x’glKK did it all — I hope I got that right. I’m pretty sure I felt the sun turn 60 apllx, am I right? Yeah. Yeah, It took a while, but.”

*laughter*

“But I think we’re really starting to get a >gnNnj< of this!”

*LAUGHTER*

“Ok, ok. Well I should open up the floor for questions now.
Please signal your question by rrstfp hyper-beacon

Yes, in the guava colored vest–”

*indistinct*

“How do I think we did, well– pretty YyssskK good, if I say so myself”

*an internal rumble that rushes down to the very tip of every single nerve in your body and then pops– like, a crackle but also you are more alert for having experienced it*

“Ha, nothing can match that Hau0x’GlKk laugh, am I right folks?

But seriously though. We did run into some problems. And while I’d like to think we handled them very well, some seconds will likely come off as a tad… imperfect.”

*mumble mumble mumble*

“Some examples… ok, well:

There were 60 December seconds. That is one full minute lost in December of last year. And it was, you know, a regular December. A lot of snow, cold– real breath in the air winter stuff.

Well, the lopsidedness is one thing. That’s… killer enough. Since Winter pretty much starts in December, if you want to shoot winter you have to do it in January, February, maybe March. And obviously this one to three month turnaround is a tremendous strain on the writers. But generally we figured we could get it done and not have to shoot Fall-for-Winter. This, did not happen.

Right away we knew we’d have to plan to shoot at the very, very least 30 seconds Fall-for-Winter. Not the worst hurdle– you’d like to have the actual texture, but, well, you make do. But then, but then. But then we got one of the warmest winters on record.

Well. On Earth record. It was the only winter on Joro, so. Technically still the warmest, but also the coldest.

So we were only able to shoot 15 December seconds in the Winter.
And then the Fall… ”

*groans*

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to bring us all down. But: between the miles of rain, and the near-constant 60 mph winds, and the reverse ladybugs, and the gradually increasing daylight, and their insatiable clouds of red-on-black wax-lust well, constantly flying, and swarming, and crawling. Uh,Ahemm. Let’s say we could all use a good ear-candling when we get back ‘home’.”

*heh, ehh, yeah*

So, yes– our December seconds will… well I’m afraid they are fairly compromised.”

*real thorough silence*

“Looking forward to next year– shooting for Season Two is going on schedule and the footage is looking great.”

*cheers, whistles, golf applause*

“And I’m happy to announce we can look forward at least one more year than that, as we have received the go-ahead for a Third Season, and a provisional green light for Seasons Four through Six of What You Missed!!”

*steadily building applause that crests in a joro-rattling rumble; a nervesnap with almost bowling over with kick*

“Yes. Yes. I know. Thank you, Hau0x’GLKk. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

*another nerve snap, but the bad kind, knocking everyone flat down, holding down for six seconds before picking up*

“Apologies, apologies. Hau0x’GLKK. It, I lost track of the sun. ‘Lost it in the lights’. Ha. Old Earth humor. So.

While it seems highly unlikely that this second season will run into problems quite so… catastrophically on-screen as last season’s Decembacle, there are some… issues that we’re still trying to figure out. Our EU did gangbusters. This might not sound like a bad thing, but it is superhard to convince an entire superstate to tank on your behalf. As they are stand-ins, they’ve been extra careful not to mess anything up. Since they recognize that each person in each constituent country is a fellow actor, a person with a job to do, and who is just playing their part, they’ve been extra understanding. Well EU doesn’t stand for Extra Understanding, does it?

*NO*

“They’ve sincerely tried to work things out, lived their lives with a visitor’s politeness– been careful not to overlend or overborrow, charged easily repayable interest– because they know it’s not the real world, and that their neighbors act in good faith as a matter of course, because there is nothing to gain, . And because of that, the Greek, and Italian, and Spanish, and even Portugese debts have been paid either way down or completely off, well-well-well ahead of schedule. Which, of course, means that we are experiencing unacceptable levels  They keep saying, “can’t we just pretend to be in trouble? We’re actors– it’s what you pay us to do!” And they have a point”

*boos mostly, scattered cheers*

“No, I mean, it is true: for many other things we do just fake it. Not as a policy, or course, but in trying to make fixes we do have to fudge some things, I’ll be the first to admit. So we’ve looked into it, and we came to the decision that starting with season three– TWIST– we will no longer be paying you as actors; you will be making your own wage per your role. The prop money you transact with in the course of your performance is real, and will be your source of income. Ditto the food, shelter, clothing– all of it!”

*weird artificial silence followed by tinny and incongruous applause*

“And not just on set, but in real life. Though, with any luck, the gap between the two will be pretty hard to notice. We’re going FULL METHOD!”

*no one is clapping and yet there is applause*

“Thank you. Thank you.”

*the applause disappeared, a jarring return to a true fidelity actual claps. A few of them*

“Well, I’d like to close with some good news from the ‘authentic participation’ front: though he was reluctant to partake in our Joro version– through an allied air campaign of regular bombing, some on-the-ground targeted spywork, and some really great, ruthlessly method performances by our rebels– able to covince our Qadaffi to show Earth’s Qadaffi’s true colors and join the Libyan Civil War. After a few weeks of insistent ‘cues’, our Qadaffi remembered his lines and began desperately tried to repress our people. His people, rather. Well, no, Our people, mostly. But trying to blow up European planes, besides constituting an act of war, is Classic Qadaffi!”

*mumbling, a few weak-hearted cheers*

“Again. Not perfect, not ideal, but the end result is some really great verisimilitude: yesterday our Qadaffi — having tried to flee from our NATO bombs and his rightful fate — was found hiding in a drainpipe. He was dragged out, paraded around town, before being shot and killed. And– here’s the good part– OUR rebel alliance ALSO beat and sodomized him before the shooting! Sure, it took a bit of prodding by our NATO higher ups, and Hau0x’glkK’s help was invaluable, but this is huge, you guys.

We’ve really created something special”

*all encompassing applause*

“Oh, and, obviously the faceeels continue to be an issue. *pulls three off* Let’s hope the people of Earth are as understanding as I remember them being.”

*all encompassing laughter*

“I mean what’s six, I mean thirty-three trillion between friends?”

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We lose approximately 3,349 frames per year. That’s about 279 per month, or about 9 and 1/6th a day. 9+ frames each day slashed from our reel. No image, no exposure, no nothing.

What if we could get these frames back? And not only would we regain our lost shots, but we would have the ability to choose when and how they were spliced. Would you cut and scatter them throughout the year, populating your life with stray contrapuntal shots or (even shorter) Fight Club style easter eggs?

Would you construct them into a single, satisfying scene– take the full two plus minutes as vacation time and really add to what you have a satisfying capper, or an inspiring year-primer, or pace-changing chase scene?

Or, vainly plotting against death, would you save them all up your entire life and shoot for a double feature. 50 to 60 years of scraping would net you a 120 plus runtime payable on death. If you could choose between dying or getting to watch Memento and then dying, even if you don’t think it holds up after two viewings you’d still go Memento first. And this way you have an After Life of you own design.

(Apologies in advance/retreat/halt to Kore-eda for the bulk of this entry being pretty influenced by him)

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How will you waste your 3,349 frames?

2,011 frames more Fall. Grey day, but crisp. No rain, not wet, nice wind. Leaves. Replete with fallsmell. Walk the streets and just enjoy it.
810 frames eating drunken noodle, sipping beer, Jup Jup Jup. Though the extra frames occur in the moment, are tacked on, it’s possible the context from which you experience them is from way later, so you’d be able to really savor it. Ideally. (Ideally = your awareness of the moment is not only from a post-moment context, but trans-yourself: a preternatural calm comes over you each time it happens, all excess sound drops off, and you entirely are). The noodles are delicious.
24 frames a snowflake on the hottest day of summer
24 frames a sunbeam on the dampest and most miserable day of Seattle (the season that happens b/w approx. Aug 21 – May 21)
24 frames a… spring , thing. Uh. Oh– eating a peep. (I like peeps).
111 frames before you have to break up. Just watching that face, but from your silent, perfect mindset. Usually you have to wait for perspective but, again: ideally. You can now have that cake and keep it. The Cake They Call Perspective. (What?)
[Note: it’s good to collect moments if you can; the cake helps, doy – Ed.]
111 frames writing, real sure of myself, on an all hot chocolate and bell pepper diet. Lost in it. Solving every problem.
111 frames of nothing in particular, just something regular. Not particularly nice, not particularly interesting. Probably walking to work. Or walking home from work. Or walking to return a video.
111 frames on the cusp of sleep. That part where you’re almost gone completely. It would be nice to see/feel what it’s actually like. Take a look around. How is it? Spacious, deep. It’s dark but the darkness is surprisingly not that dark? C#R#A#Z#Y#B#U#Z#Z
11 frames extra post-eye-contact-smile-exchange flutters. The nice kind, walking down the street.
1 frame just complete and utter nothing. Cut but don’t splice.

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It is currently 12:34 and 56.789 plus seconds (just preesss the button)