" Every individual . . . neither intends to promote the public interest, nor knows how much he is promoting it. . . . He intends only his own gain, and he is in this, as in many other cases, led by an invisible hand to promote an end which was no part of his intention. Nor is it always the worse for the society that it was no part of it. By pursuing his own interest he frequently promotes that of the society more effectually than when he really intends to promote it. " - Adam Smith, as a scathing laugh track plays in the distance
Is this the name for it? Twerkist? Twerkian? Twerkiac? Twerkette? Twerk Artist?
It is not that far off when the clouds decided to take a dump on Amaury's poor town regardless.
Glory, glory, the golden oldies from the summer continue upon us! It is a pleasure to see you back Arc, the forum is still the same enough (minus the xenforo change) because KH-Vids exists in a timeless black void of ups and downs.
Agreed with the good gentleman. Like a majority of characteristics in a person, introversion and extroversion lie on a continuum rather than a binary difference. We all exhibit qualities of introversion and extroversion from time to time (or perhaps some of us are just completely introverted or completely extroverted, which is fine as well). Even then, it is rather hard to measure to what degree "introversion" and "extroversion" exist at a time and place, because our frame of reference does change with the culture we find ourselves in. For example, the United States is a very, very extroverted society, with this perpetuated perception that one needs to be an extrovert to make connections and go forward in life, which is certainly not true. That being said, the more we educate people on the differences between introversion and outright social anxiety, which are definitely two different things, the better.
The identity around being a "gamer girl" has always thrown me off a bit. You are female and you enjoy playing games and you ... flaunt this identity. Okay. If you wish, then. I suppose I understand the request in representation. I do not mind it but I can understand people thinking of it as obnoxious, possibly on the same level as the "dudebro" stereotype. But not all female gamers are like this, similarly to how not all male gamers are dudebros. While it is entirely possible a select few may utilise the so called sex appeal, I do not believe the majority of female gamers which make up 47% or nearly half of the gaming market all do this and act sorely based on the idea of sex appeal. It can also be argued that the very existence of this is because of the male-dominated industry; female sexual objectification is much more rampant than its male counterpart, and it breeds the environment were this perpetuates. Perpetuates very much so. I hardly believe that the lack of female representation in games is explicitly the fault of female gamers rather than it is the industry -- mainstream gaming industry itself, that is -- which we can agree has been, in the past, a male dominated institution. That being said, the gaming market has also perpetuated stereotypes about race, sexuality, and other social factors besides gender, and we can agree that it is not a clean-cut representation of its expanding demographic at all; a fledgling media market, still young and new. These stereotypes perpetuate in gaming as an extension of society's stereotypes. Gaming did not start any prejudice against women or homosexuals in gaming itself. The prejudice has existed for hundreds of years in the past and the institutionalized discrimination carries on through the media. What reasoning is there behind it? There is no one reason of course, and in fact everything is extremely convoluted lest we get into sociological debates. People do not take the female gamer demographic because of this well-entrenched, institutionalized stereotyping, not because female gamers have sorely been working on their sex appeal instead of their actual gaming skill. There has been many a time where I have seen a female gamer -- rather good at her gaming, at that -- who has been cast aside because of ... what exactly? She is not being overtly sexual. She is being a human being who enjoys playing games. We are all human beings who enjoy playing games, but we reside under a system that at best is changing slowly in terms of its media content. Are individual women to blame? No. Are individual men to blame? No. Are all women or all men through history to blame? Non, non, non. What is to blame? Well, shall it be said we can blame our institutions and our past? We blame it for every other problem on the planet, after all, and it only makes sense -- we look back and we see the past and we realize, "hey, we can make this better than it already is". It means we can grow.
{ m u s i c }[ their eyes were watching god ] Fatime had been hearing and watching everything so far, saying not a peep beneath the pillows and blankets. She sat cross-legged in her little fortress, with her worn glasses lounging by a few sheets of white paper and markers. The book of origami was open to the page of a rose, but when the visitors arrived she had almost completely forgotten. Now she was well invested in the strange uncertainty between the terribly frightening and insidious duo of Torvald and Maria. She channeled years of experience in standing as still as a statue, and keeping herself without existence within the room. To her surprise, the sparks did not fly this time. She had readied herself in her little bunker, but only her ears pricked at the few words those two sheepishly tried to exchange. Were things perhaps improving? The more she heard them speak, however, the more she felt pits at the base of her stomach weigh her down further and further into her bed. It was New Years', and these two -- perhaps the most volatile of them all -- felt so drained that the room's own little energy was being sucked out by their presence! Fatime felt lethargic, not wanting to move much at all, but she couldn't help but passively listen to everything ... There was more silence as Maria had relayed her own personal fights. Ah ... these two were more similar than they would be willing to admit, was it not? Fatime wanted to giggle, but she quickly suppressed it upon clamoring at recent dismal memories. She began to carefully fold a paper airplane. The low growls of Professor Julius groggily drifted through the room. He was awake as well! Fatime felt her heart shift, but she diligently continued her work. Ah ... she was, very much a lost cause in this state ... but what was stopping these strong ones from stepping forward? Throughout her time, Fatime had gazed upon these adults from afar. The edge of the stage, paces away in the hallways, from the backs of classrooms. A careful yet sentimental gaze; as if seeing unicorns or mermaids or any other mythical beast for the first time. They were the titans and giants in Fatime's life, and they were inaccessible gods that spoke godlike things and had godlike conflicts. She was little but nothing to them, and she was little but nothing to many of these adults in her life -- what good would her own words do from someone who was a lost cause? Ah ... it was why gods needed the help of mortals when beliefs wavered and their existence was in jeopardy. After all, Fatime mused, what was a god to a non-believer? She neatly and carefully wrote something down on the paper airplane in black marker, and carefully peered from below her blanket. All three were busy looking at each other, paying no attention to Fatime's insignificant little bed. She quickly stuck out her hand and tossed the airplane in Maria's direction, before jetting back into the blanket, careful not to shake any of her pillows down. It would seem as if nobody had seen her, and the airplane had come out of nowhere ... hopefully. Fatime shifted herself back and sat quietly, listening to the conversation. The plane flew threw the air and landed by Maria. Spoiler: Message Please keep fighting, Miss Hartwick!! If you do not fight then how can things change? We fight to accept our situations and emotions We fight to change our livelihoods We believe in you, Miss Hartwick!!
This is the scenario of many a tumblr shipping argument.
You can post it there if you wish!
{ 1 4 : 2 5 } Ashwin lost his post two goddamn times because Chrome is absolutely terrible so Torvald shortened his self-narration. << I am sorry to hear. >> He knew from experience among the medical world that it was not fun to pry and he would not get anywhere since their existing bond of trust was nearly non-existent. << From ... experience, truly, drinks and the efforts of comrades can only go so far. Rainbow's heart is in the right place .... but he, like you, is only human. >> He sat himself down on the floor between the chair and table to get on a closer level with the woman, but did not once meet her gaze. << It is a feeling where you wake up one morning and the tight claws of reality clamor for your throat, regardless of how much merriment one may have had in a night. >> His voice seemed distant and he trailed off. << That being said, the power of a comrade's help can be powerful in the right hands ... it is not my place to say-- >> He cleared his throat. <<-- But you do seem to be a bit better. And I am thankful for this, for you looked very distressed and confused in our last ... altercation. Beyond the scope of any dramatic performance. >> He was silent for a bit, and the woman asked him her own question. Torvald was about to shiver but he caught himself. << I ... lost something integral and important to me. I tried fighting to get it back, but fighting is meaningless when you are to lose from the start. When you know your very own goal is meaningless, deep in your heart. But it is nothing ... >> His voice was careful, guarded, and quiet, suspicious and low, keeping a wall between them. The air was thick, and these two were dancing on shards of glass.
{ 1 4 : 2 5 } Torvald let out a small groan and narrowed his eyes at the familiar voice, but did not take his eyes off the magazine.<< That receptionist can handle it. I know her well enough to know she is extremely transient and inconsistent with her emotions. >> His reply was terse and gruff, with no sign of friendliness, but no sign of sour attitude either. Almost robotic.He looked up from his magazine, briefly glancing at the woman. She carried herself slowly and loosely, as if she was as drained as he was. He looked back to his magazine without saying another word to her, or changing his expression, and heard her plop herself down by the other end of the room. What? Was she going to wait for the man to wake up too? Fool. This wasn't going to do either of them good, to stay in a room filled with injured people like this.Torvald let out a sigh.The room was quiet, thick with awkward, silent tension. He tapped his left boot for a bit as he read through an article on health technology.<< I guess we were thinking the same things. >>He peeked upward from his magazine. The woman was busy daydreaming on the floor like she always seemed to be.Torvald closed his eyes and stood.<< You look worse off. Take a seat. >> He walked over to her, towering over her on the floor and narrowing his eyes suspiciously. His words were extremely careful, but they carried their emotionless, cautious tone. For a long time, the scanned the woman sitting on the floor, before turning back to Julius. << I would offer you some of the chocolates, but they are a gift to the man we are both here to see ... >> He trailed off and let his voice fall at the end. << I am not good with gifts. So the only thing I may offer is my volatile company. The minute the man wakes, you can have your time with him and I will leave. >>He walked back to the bedstand, his voice low.<< Did you-- >> His voice cracked a bit and he shot his head up, realizing this. He coughed deeply, and cleared his throat with a gruff uptake. << Did you, that is to say, have a pleasant New Years Eve ... >> His tone was unstable, as if he seemed uninterested but not completely, and as if his words were laced with a sarcasm that was not actually present. Ugh! He felt his hands sore again, and rubbed them gently as he loomed over the other magazines, without turning to the woman sitting on the ground.
{ 1 4 : 2 0 } Torvald rubbed the bandages around his hands. Of course, of course, he should have expected her to not be at the old school. Not there, not ever ... aaaah, he winced a bit, trying to turn away back to the bus window as he watched the buildings pass by in an overcast blur. The young boy was not here today. This bus was simply empty, and Torvald was alone to keep himself company. He rubbed his hands again, clenching his teeth. Shards of pain stabbed at his wrists and palm, but it wasn't anything he couldn't take. After ... everything that happened in his quest to find that old professor, Torvald very much realized that he needed to get away. Just for a bit. From everyone, everything, that didn't have much to do with what was important to him and what was neglected. The bus ran down one of Candlewood's many high slopes, and he felt his back raise up under the gravity. The station signal at the very end of the bus read "Candlewood General Hospital", and it began to crawl to a slow. Torvald turned down to look at his boots -- a bit worn, with brown splotches here and there. His coat was a bit ripped, and his hair was a tangled mess. He shook his head. << Candlewood General Hospital, >> the announcement rang out. The bus doors opened, and Torvald stepped out onto the cold January street. The doors closed behind him and the bus sped off, and he found himself staring at the concrete bunker that was the all-too-familiar hospital. He felt a chill run down his spine, seeing the grey concrete decor, pale glass windows, and unappealing blandness of the entire structure. Ah ... He stepped in. - - - - - << Julius Menon, Room 314. >> The receptionist smiled, but her eyes scanned Torvald carefully. Torvald grunted a reply and began to lumber off, limping a bit. << I'm sorry-->> He stopped and turned. << Do I-- I mean-- >> She briefly looked down at her desk and back at him. << I might have seen you before ... Mr. Tannhauser? It was years ... is that you? >> << I've had injuries before. >> He spat out. The receptionist briefly grew pale at his voice, then lowered her eyebrows. << You were here to shadow a few surgeons two years ago. What happened to you ... >> << You have a sharp memory. >> Torvald turned back and opened the door to the elevator room, quickly shutting it behind him in order to silence whatever tripe that receptionist had left to say. It took a few minutes to get to the third floor, but Torvald kept his time running by looking at his face in the elevator's reflective walls. He rubbed a finger below his tired, hollow eyes, and stroked his hair aside just to look a bit more presentable ... it really wasn't any use, was it? A few strands of hair kept their guard against bourgeois infamy by standing to and fro like a disorganized regiment. He sighed, and the elevator dinged open. The hallway was quiet, and he carefully entered room 314. Inside, the Professor was fast asleep, with the bed on the other side of the room -- Comrade Cygnette, whom he had never formally spoken to -- nowhere to be found. Or perhaps she was beneath that bundle of pillows protruding from within the tightly-tucked blanket. Torvald walked to the empty chair by Julius' bed and plopped himself down with a yawn. << I am not good with gifts ... >> He awkwardly took out a bag of chocolates and placed it on the bedside table. << In fact, I am terrible with them, so let my current gift to you be my quiet voice for the time being. I am not quite sure if you are here, Julius, but I shall wait to wake you up. >> He scratched his head. << That is what comrades do for each other. I only hope you are better. >> He mumbled to himself as he picked up a magazine and began to flip through the contents. But he felt deflated, like a ruined balloon. But he bore no trace of the radiance that made him live his every day life. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not focus. His mind was shaken, and his vision marred with blurriness ... He picked up a slip of torn newspaper from his pocket and held it to the magazine. "Professor Emilia Hennessey Deceased" { P A S S I O N - O - M A T I C } { ? }
{ m u s i c }[ their eyes were watching god ] She was like a restless little bug, tossing and turning throughout much of the day. Not once in the bright afternoon light did she dare come out of her little cocoon of hospital linens and ripped black cranes, no. She did not feel content, nor did she feel sad, or angry, or dismal, or mortified, none of these. For Fatime felt nothing at all; a lifeless, soulless husk; a wasted cicada shell left to rot in the merciless winter light. And so she kept herself here. Safe, warm, never once wishing to reach out beyond her shell. The incentive was a lost cause. That is, until the very evening. By this point, the room was dark, with only a few feathers of moonlight shimmering through the wide blue window. Fatime kicked the blankets off of her body and looked around in the shadows. The tell-tale humming of quiet strung her ears around, and it was then that she realized how late it was, and how empty the hospital must have been. And ah yes, how she had missed New Years' Eve ... She looked to the sleeping lion of Professor Julius at the other bed. Her toes tingled at the feeling of the warmth she remembered, and this memory flushed her back into sense. Her eyes widened, and she looked down at her bony, pale fingers. They let off a slight tremble at her gaze, as if she was even fearful of her very own judgments. How long had the Professor been sleeping there? Ah ... She slowly lifted herself up, sitting on the bed, and picked up one of the black cranes she had left on her bedside table. With the fits of a gracious struggle, she tumbled the rest of the sheets away from her and stepped down onto the freezing floor. Fatime winced, and the tiles felt like icy barbs, but she pushed forward a foot and continued on, carrying the crane with her. When she reached Julius, she gently placed the crane on his chest, rising and falling slowly like the tides.It was a small gesture, and it did not serve to expel the glut of emotions that Fatime understood as a slurry of apathy at the world that killed her brother. But upon touching the crane to the Professor's body, she felt something unravel in her heart. Nothing enormous, or concrete, but perhaps simply the untying of a knot. << "Happy New Year," she whispered to him. >> Fatime quietly mumbled. She pressed a tiny hand to the Professor's forehead and felt the warmth of his body run through her fingers. Quickly now, Fatime briefly lowered her head and looked away. She walked away to the chair by Julius' bed, jumping onto it, curling up into a ball, and trying her best to go back to sleep. He had done so much for her. It was only natural she return the favour as the man's own guardian, of course ... Fatime eventually fell back asleep.
Happy birthday mysterious silhouette!
Please sir. Those images are tame compared to the other four threads.
Spoiler
It will make you young. You should purchase it.
The bus came and went, but Torvald was too frustrated to notice at the moment. The winds were getting cold, so he shifted himself further into his scarf and waited to get the right bus. Things went quiet as his mind became wracked with thoughts. He continually did things like this when he never meant it. When had talking with people become so hard, Torvald? You were never like this. It used to be so easy, especially with-- Professor Hennessey. What happened to her? Torvald thought these as he slowly nodded away and fell asleep at the bus stop. Fatime slowly nodded towards Julius, allowing herself to release a few tears in his presence. It was so comforting, to have someone like this ... where were the others? Ah ... When evening struck, Fatime curled slowly back into her bed, her mind now a bit more active and racing, resumed from the warmth and support that the wise lion-like Professor had given her. She looked back at the origami book. Would she be able to walk more again? Hm ... She did not know what lay ahead, but she had to try her best and continue forward ... Fatime nodded to herself and fell asleep, alone.
