Umbra II

[QUOTE] On the other hand, I can't figure out what's going on with the NERV logo. The thing behind the leaf looks like an upside down apple with a big black slash run through it, but it's hard to tell. Anyone want to take a guess?[/QUOTE] [FONT="Franklin Gothic Medium"]I get Newtype, and their commentary, though not the be-all-and-end-all, was pretty close, I'd say. SEELE. as you see, is a bit more orthodox (the apple is whole, the serpent is a warning or some-such). NERV apple is upside-down, though, an possibly bitten into, or opened. NERV is the one delving into the dangerous depths of Eva and the Angels (bitten), and (here is the shakiest conjecture), the orientation of the apple may represent NERV's, uh, [I]unorthodox[/I], methods. I do not particularly care for Utada's rendition of "Fly me to the Moon" but I don't hate it quite as much as some of you do. (Speaking of, what versions did they use in the original Evangelion? (Not the edited version of the old, the old one) There is one version that I particularly like, and I haven't beeen able to find it yet. It isn't: Claire, Utada, or Megumi Hayashibara. It's not remixed with any kind of beat, and the singer (whose voice is the reason I like it), has a soft-ish voice (not like Megumi's), and who has a slight Japanese accent (sometimes it sounds more like "Fry me to the Moon" but I like it even more because of that. And finally the logos. Both sets have their pros. Old SEELE: Very scary, very mysterious (I like the rainbow colour). New SEELE: Intelectual, possibly more suited to SEELE itsef, Schiller's quote. Old NERV: Catchy, good avatar, says a lot with a little. New: Intriguing symbolism, more insight and (if they leave it red and black instead of the white and black I saw), not [I]that[/I] different from the old. It even still has the fig leaf. The Live action. My first reaction: ....why? Second: That'd be quite a novelty. Third: There's no way a real actor could ever be as cute as Rei. (I can't help it. Of all the anime girls in the world, Rei is the only one that I have even the slightest crush for. But you'll never catch me admiting that;). [/FONT]

[FONT="Franklin Gothic Medium"]Alright, I've had some time to mull this over. Looking at my previous post, I can tell it was woefully inadequet, but, if anyone bothered to read through the terminological mumbo-jumbo, I at least accomplished two things: A definition of a sentence similar, though more technical, to Fasterisk's, and providing a foundation for myself (i.e., now you know why it sounds like my answer is a program).[/FONT] [QUOTE]If both "Smith smokes cigarettes" and "Snoop smoked the punk" are allowed their obvious meanings, then "smoke" has to be able to mean different things. But then, in each individual case, how do I tell when it means one thing and when it means something else? If I listen to a sentence like "Smith smokes cigarettes," do I have to quickly rifle through the catalog of all the possible meanings for each word and then select the combination that's most likely in order to understand the sentence? But I don't usually have that kind of experience. Usually the meaning of a sentence is something obvious to me. So is it an unconscious process? But then, why is it - in the few cases where I DO have a confusion - that this confusion rises to the surface? (if I was choosing everything unconsciously, why wouldn't that faculty just pick one word or the other?) And unconscious or not, what would even be the basis for choosing between one take or another? ("one makes more sense than the others" - what does that mean?)[/QUOTE] [FONT="Franklin Gothic Medium"]You are right on the money here. Each word must have it's own meaning. By the way, as a humorous example to you multiple meaning problem, when I first read the line "Snoop smoked the punk." What immediatly came to mind was Snoopy, the dog from the Peanuts comics, smoking (like a ciggarette) a long stick of wood commonly used to light fireworks (a punk). It just goes to show. Anyway, each word has a catalouge of different meanings or concepts that we store in our brains once we learn it for latter use. Since we don't usually think of all the possibilities a word can mean, I would venture to guess that either yes, we do rifle through meanings unconscously, or that by the time we've finished reading it, the possibilities have become narrow enough that it isn't hard to figure out. So why, then, does it sometimes come to the front when it doesn't make sense? Back to the catalouge idea, when we see a sentence and come up with no information on it (we don't have any experience helping us out), it's a bit of a shocker. We're used to making sense of words, and with nothing to draw on, it sees a problem. (That is, of course, if you are actually paying attention to the sentence) the faculty has nothing to use. But that's not always the case. Sometimes the faculty chooses wrong. (Why would a cartoon beagle smoke a stick of wood, anyway?) To put it in program language, your proccespr threw an exception. (What the computer does when the 'grammer' of the code is right, but it doesn't know what to do with it. Say, telling it to divide 1 by 0) And the basis? Expieriece. Exposure. Background Data. Catalouge. Whatever. What makes 'sense' to us is what we know. That is why people from different cultures sometimes fear others. It really doesn't need to make 'sense' in what we usually mean by the term. I read Peanuts and shoot fire crackers more than keep up to date with modern rappers. [/FONT] [QUOTE]We can even synthesize these elements into a single subject, "Oswald's assassination of Kennedy," which also expresses a concept. The problem is that just saying "Oswald's assassination of Kennedy" isn't itself a sentence; all it is is a concept, one which doesn't say whether it's actually a fact. It only becomes a sentence when one says that the assassination happened (or didn't happen). So, in analyzing it down to its contents, we've somehow eliminated whatever it was that made it a sentence in the first place! This means that even if it's possible to determine with complete precision what the conceptual meanings of individual words in a sentence are, there still has to be something unanalyzable in the sentence as a whole which asserts the sentence, which says that it's a fact and not just a possibility floating around in logical space. This is a big problem. [/QUOTE] [FONT="Franklin Gothic Medium"]Oh, no. Not a problem at all. "Oswald's assasination of Kennedy" is indeed not a sentence, but a concept, as you rightly put it. It is not neccesairily unanalyzable, though. Take a look at "assasination". (Is that what's called a gerund?) You and I will both probably agree on a definition: the act of assasination. The very noun implies a kind of verb. Assasinated. This streches to normal nouns to. "Oswald" can have many meanings, but the most basic one might be "is". Not that the noun by itself means anything. I am having trouble searching for words, so what I mean by imply is that the verb fits in nicely with the noun, or the action is just waiting to be named. This can be illustrated (I hope) in two scenarios: some one calls your name (somebody writes: Kennedy's assasination by Oswald). Your response? "What?" "Yes?" "Can I help you?" (Usually, anyway. I'm not talking about people you'd be more inclined scream "SHUT UP" at). Your doing the same thing as the sentence is. "Where's my verb?" Ultimatly, the only verb there is, is...'is'. "The assasination of Kennedy was." doesn't make much sense if you are expecting a description, but does if you read it like "The assasination of Kennedy did exist." There it is. For anyone not interested in programing, you may skip this paragraph. In java, simply writing "int x = 2;" does't do anything. It is a noun to java. Most programmers might read it "the identifier 'x' will be assigned the value 2), but the computer reads it more like "The assignment of 2 to identifier 'x' " You need a verb there. Fortunately, java has a single verb, to. Instead of 'is', though, it looks like "public static void main(String args[]) " but that's not important. ;) So, there you have it. My to posts should form a nearly complete answers. If I have made any errors in my reasoning, or I overlooked a vital point of your statement, please feel free to point (it/them) out. Otherwise, the :babble::lecture: is over. [/FONT]

[FONT="Franklin Gothic Medium"]Here's a head turner if I ever saw one. Before I even attempt to come up with a complete responce to your query, let me first form some of my ideas by nibbling at a few pieces of what you brought up. [QUOTE] Quote:Fasteriskhead There's a famous Indian parable about a chariot (it's adapted by just about everyone, most famously the Buddhists). The point is that you can't find the "chariotness" of a chariot by looking at its individual parts or even the sum of those parts, but a chariot missing too many those parts also ceases being a chariot. Quote: [/QUOTE] Probably, you know who Plato is, and probably, you know his theory on 'forms' and 'objects'. Let me just put it down. A class (my word for form, and as a computer science student learning java, it's the natural choice for me) as we humans are able to understand it is nothing but a list of traits, concepts mostly we define. In order for a chariot to be a chariot, it (being an object and therefore an instance of a class we humans defined) must fufill certain criteria. Missing a door or a wheel? It is still a chariot. But if you take away everything except the wheel, no one who knows what a chariot is would call it a chariot. This is connected to your problem if you think of the chariot as your sentence and the smaller parts as words. Next: what's a wheel, anyway? In order not to get to0 precise, [I]wheel[/I] (look, I made a funny!) define it as its function: it spins. Or sits still. Not very helpful. Your word, Smith, is like this wheel. No, he doesn't spin, but he too, has a function. Many more than a wheel, I'd imagine, but that's beside the point. So now we've something that does something. I'll change my wording now: verb (I'm no grammer guru, so don't expect a very clear answer if it comes to transitive/passive/whatevah. I'm trying to define it with pure logic.) We have enough now to form a basic sentence. The wheel spins, the Smith smokes. What does he smoke? At this point, from the sentence we can infer one of two things: either something is left to the reader to assume (cigaretts) or, litterally, smoke is coming from Smith (by which we could then infer Smith was on fire). An object can have a function (verb) that uses another object. Indeed, sometimes this function is what helps define an object. Back to the chariot again, a chariot and a wheel are two seperate classes, yet the part of the chariot's function is to use the the wheel's function, to spin. It wouldn't be much of a chariot if it didn't. So now, we've finally arived to our end. Object (by the way, as I stated, I am no grammer guru, so I mean object in the sense of thing, not in the sense of recieving. With this definition, a subject is a kind of object) Smith (Smith being an identifier commonly used for the class 'people', though not always( I haven't gotten to the part about confusion with words, smoking the punk and smoking the cigarrettes)) I say, Object Smith (person) enacts the cigarrette's function of being smoked. ("being smoked" is a function that requires something doing using it for the object: the wheel turns, but somebody must make it turn) Alright, you can relax, the worst of the :lecture: is over. Now for one quick thing to add and that'll be it before I can fully get around your post. [I]Context[/I]. Don't ever under-estimate it. It's essentially what make words work. Steven King said in his book "On Writing" that he disagreed with the common assumption that the sentence was the foundation of any work. He claimed it was the paragraph, because, while any sentence in itself can make sense, in order to get the true gist of it, and capture the essense of the piece, only a paragraph will do. Sorry I didn't answer the question (it is alot to mull through). What I do hope I accomplished was set some things down in more technical terms. Maybe that will help put things together. Or maybe you'll just think "Stupid computer science student, trying to define sentences like they were programms." [/FONT]

[FONT="Franklin Gothic Medium"] [STRIKE]Ow, GreenDemon. Your bright demon green font is making my eyes bleed. I don't think I'll be able to see straight for a while.:animestun [/STRIKE] There, that's better. All kiding aside, when I first saw anime, I didn't know what it was. All I know was that Toonami showed some things I hadn't ever seen before, and it didn't take me long to fall in love with such jems as Ruruoni Kenshin, Outlaw Star, Tenchi Muyo, and possibly some others I can't recall. Of course, I liked DBZ when they showed it. Fast forward through a few years of continued anime-obliviousness, and a friend of mine introduced me to Inuyasha, telling me it was an anime. When I saw the first episode, though, I thought I had caught it in the middle of the story, and I didn't want to watch something without seeing the first episode first, but I knew I'd be back for more:animenose. Since then, I've broadend my horizons anime-wise and have had a lot of reversals in my taste of shows. (a.k.a, I grew dis-enchanted with DBZ, and channel that same devotion I once had for it to Evangelion)[/FONT]

Thank you, really. Don't worry about sounding to harsh when it comes to grammer and style issues (my greatest weakness). It sounds like you put a lot of thought into your response, and I really appreciate it. If you couldn't tell (you probably could), this is very close to my first finished draft. I wrote it first on paper (my mind goes blank creatively in front of the moniter), with minimal revisions as I put it in word. Editing is also a problem for me, so I thought, instead of revising it on my own, I'd let my favourite anime community take a crack at it. My bet seems to have payed off. :animesmil [QUOTE]Their smoky, shifting forms moved in a slow, [STRIKE]almost[/STRIKE] dragging pace, [STRIKE]which was[/STRIKE]reminiscent of a sleepwalker. [/QUOTE] I'll need to consider more development of the sleep walker comparison. [QUOTE]...toward a darkening in the sky of such completeness that it must surely be offering the sweet solace of an oblivion equally [COLOR=RED]as[/COLOR] thorough. [/QUOTE] I'm not sure. 'as' seems to get in the way, doesn't it? Spectre drags alot elsewhere, so I only see it as slowing it down. If I get another suggestion about that, then I'll include it. [QUOTE]"Yet the road, a bloody sash through [STRIKE]what was[/STRIKE] an otherwise monotonous terrain, stretched on endlessly in the twilight...."[/QUOTE] Adding in the the comma was a good move. [QUOTE]Such was the [COLOR=RED] futile[/COLOR] state [STRIKE]of affairs[/STRIKE] of this desolate and road and its despairing inhabitants, when one of the shadows, [/QUOTE] Again, good call. I don't want to add dismal, though because it already has enough description. I think this makes it flow better. [QUOTE]Even so,[STRIKE] still[/STRIKE] the specter hesitated,.... [/QUOTE] [QUOTE]All these thoughts came slowly to the creature, and countless forms of flickery textures had passed it there when it finally came to understand what it had been, and what it had lost, and the title and position of Self in a multitude – no matter how it struggled internally, it could not [STRIKE]even[/STRIKE] remember the name by which it had been called – dawned on its faded and stagnant mind. [/QUOTE] [QUOTE]...and for a time it was capable only of repeating to itself "I am", the great truth which was its only tie to reality, and the only talisman that warded [COLOR=RED]against[/COLOR] the otherwise overwhelming pull from the black in the sky ahead. [/QUOTE] Should I scratch out "otherwise"? [QUOTE]...and the desire to find itself again the material thing it had once been.[/QUOTE] That one's harder for me. I read many older works (Poe, as you mentioned), and a phrase like this is not uncommon. To clarify, it's another way of saying " to become again " I like your suggestions, though. I'll need to think. [QUOTE]The tensions between the two conflicting needs heightened, and just as its anxiety reached critical peaks[COLOR=RED],[/COLOR] shaking the form's mind with incredible agitation, it became aware of a strange phenomenon. [/QUOTE] Did you mean a comma, or the period there in your post? With a period, it doesn't make much sense. [QUOTE]These thoughts and these recollections served to slowly change the creature’s disposition towards the phenomenon from [COLOR=RED]repulsion to total captivaison[/COLOR] by its strange inflections and the [U]strange[/U] stirrings and longings they inspired in the spirit’s confused mind. It sought now the [U]strange[/U] feelings, the source of its memories of its past life, at first with uncertain feelings towards the nature of the sound, but growing steadily more confident that these sensations were the answer to its unspoken pleas to restoration [/QUOTE] I'll need more time to fix the repetition and adjust the sentence flow of that one altered one. [QUOTE]...but the shape of smoke and shadow did not stop its flight until sometime after the echoes of the [COLOR=RED] ananthemous[/COLOR] noise had faded from its dim thoughts,.... [/QUOTE] My mistake. I think I meant an adjetive. Or I could leave it as ananthema (unless I'm repeating somewhere...) [QUOTE]...until at last it halted [STRIKE]again[/STRIKE], unsure of what it was it had been running from. Over the time of what could have been have been hours or aeons, the shade slowly recalled its history of existence, its more recent flight, and its current predicament. [/QUOTE] [QUOTE]It did not seem to come from all around – indeed, the creature had the impression it was from a very specific source.[/QUOTE] [QUOTE]Quote:Until now it had always shambled to the firmamental vacuum whose silent imperative – Cease! – had been enough to override all lesser thoughts. Same thing. Also, what about italics and quotes there? Would they work, or just bother you?Quote:[/QUOTE] Hmm, no, it's good as is. The command isn't actually being said, but felt. [QUOTE]...and defying what must have been a millennia spent on the one-way road[COLOR=RED],whose travellers saw only the ink-stained section of the sky and heard only[/COLOR] the psiren-call of a promised nothingness,.... [/QUOTE] I must have left the 'been' out. And, I thought giving the seeing and hearing to the shades would be less confusing. [QUOTE]Also, did you mean to write "psiren" that way? If so, what are you referring to? (Honestly. I'm curious.)[/QUOTE] In Greek mythology, a psiren (the word we get our word siren) was a creature that appeared as a beautiful woman who sung unearthly and enchanting music to passer-bys in the hopes of seducing and eating them. I am trying to compare the call of the Void to that song. [QUOTE]And then, finally, it grasped the message it was meant to hear: “LIVE!” and with that outcry, it seemed the veil that had covered the creature’s thoughts was finally lifted. [/QUOTE] [QUOTE]"...it grasped the message it was meant to hear— "LIVE!" —and with that outcry,...."[/QUOTE] I gave a lot of thought to that, but unfortunately I don't feel it's right. I want the reader to stop there and read the line. What you're doing is smoothing it into one read. What you noticed as clanky I felt was a dramatic break in the movement of the piece. Does it seem more natural in that light? [QUOTE]To its astonishment, it realized the replying cry had been own, and the shriek to live, to become, was no less or more than its own desperate desire. With sudden clarity, the shadow-thing truly saw where it was. Startled, it viewed the miserable creatures who barely seemed to be. With a vaguely desperate curiosity, it sought to ask these creatures of themselves, perhaps to gain some insight into its own wretched situation, but to no avail. [/QUOTE] Again, I see what you mean, but I'll need to consider what I want done with it for a while. I suppose I did it like that because I was getting pretty excited at that point.:D [QUOTE]The pain was nearly unendurably excruciating, a thousand fold worse than the first glance, and yet this time it was not repulsed, but [STRIKE]in fact[/STRIKE] [COLOR=RED] the contrary[/COLOR], it still wanted to proceed. [/QUOTE] I know it wasn't exactly what you suggested, but at this point the story is moving quickly, and I want to keep pace. My other line was akward, yours a bit slow. I like the word 'contrary' here, though. What do you think? [QUOTE]Seeing this caused the creature to redouble its efforts, though it knew not why, so that it traveled faster than it ever had thought it might have (and knew somehow),.... [/QUOTE] [QUOTE]With that, Timothy Carlson burst through to the other side of the light. [/QUOTE] Yeah, it was. Again, thanks for taking the time to look at this and provide thoughtfull feedback. It does sond a little Poe-ish, doesn't it? Actually, I was reading a lot of H.P. Lovecraft (if you love Poe, you'll love this guy. He's the 20th century Poe) and it's his style I used. Like stuff concerning the mind, do you? Then you'll like where I got the inspiration for this. See that wierd guy I have for my avatar? That is none other than Søren Aabye Kierkegaard, the lesser known founder of existentialism. In his "The Sickness Unto Death" he talks alot about Self and the different forms of despair (not in the sense we use despair) One of the many ways he cope with our existance and the world is to run away from ourselves (an easier way to put it without going into the head-scratcher that is Kierkegaard is to say it's like Sartre's 'bad faith', seeing ourselves as a role (I am an otaku) instead of a fee-being (I chose to be an otaku)) During a prompt (a rather silly one, "Write about a time when an someone made an important choice") I had these things on my mind, and I thought, "Why don't I give them the biggest choice they can swallow? The choice to be oneself. And in my mind I saw it happening literally, and I just wrote (that doesn't usually happen to me). I am now planning a series of interconnected short-stories with the same style of setting. Since I like to consider my self Christian (but I feel not always a very good one), I easily associated this place with Hell. So now I have a totally different version of hell: instead of another punishing us, it is we who punish ourselves unwittingly in Hell. O.K., you must be tired of hearing me babble :babble: by now, so I'll be quiet now. Thanks you once again for your time and effort.:animesmil

[QUOTE]Originally by Neuvoxraiha: There is nothing remotely Neo Nazi about Rammstein. Their most famous songs and their music videos could be anything but. [/QUOTE] [QUOTE]Rammstein aren't neo-nazi at all, just because it's aggressive German music you can barely understand it doesn't immediately peg them as skinheads.[/QUOTE] :animeswea Sorry about that. I always hear the phrase "Neo-Nazi" and "Skin-Head" associated with them, so I just assumed that they were. (But we all know what assuming does.:animesmil) [QUOTE]Originaly posted by Neuvoxraiha: I'd suggest one actually learn German before attempting to understand lyrics that go over the heads of everyone who listens.[/QUOTE] Not only am I learning the language, but I've looked up the words from a reliable source. Like I said before, I used the term "Neo-Nazi" because I've always heard them reffered to as such, not because of any misunderstanding of the lyrics. (My personal favourite lyric-wise is Dali Lama, Rammstein's take on Goethe's poem Alterkoenig) [QUOTE]Originally posted by DeadSeraphim: I don't know which songs you're listening to, but unless your definition of 'horrible lyrics' is any song that swears, there's not a lot of horrible in manson's stuff. Most of his early work is social satire that, while crude, doesn't approach real horrible, and even then most of the imagery is metaphor.[/QUOTE] I'm not reffering to his use of vulgar words. I could tolerate that. What I mean is, "All my stiches itch, my perscription's low, I wish you were queen, just for today, in a world so white, what else can I say?" "They slit our throats like we were flowers, and our milk has been devoured" "Your sell-by date expired, so you had to be sold" etc. Perhaps you and I have a difference of opinion on what good lyrics are. That's fine. I just find his lyrics very un-inspired, is all.

I have two anti - drugs. The first: My mind. Whether there's anything up there or not, I'd like to keep what I do have. I can't help myself. I love math, english, logic, social science, chemistry, philosophy, anything that I can occupy my mind with. I don't have that many friends (mostly other [STRIKE]nerds[/STRIKE] intellectuals.) The other one is music. I love playing the viola, and have for many years. There's no way I'll ruin it now by taking drugs. [QUOTE]Originally by Fasteriskhead: Cops are my anti-drug.[/QUOTE] Make that 3 good anti-drugs

Oh man, don't get me started about Monty Python! :laugh: I actually went out and bought the whole collection of skits. I love "How Not To Be Seen", "How to Distinguish Different Trees From Quite A Long Way Off" (#1, the Larch) (#1, the Larch) (and now for #2, the larch) "And Now For Something Completely Different: a Man with three buttocks" "Multiple Milkmen Seduced" "the Architect Sketch"... Those are only the highlights from the first three volumns. I don't mention the others aleady stated because it just goes without saying. Now if you'll permit me to indulge... I LUV :luv: MONTY PYTHON!!! MONTY PYTHON IS TEH AWESOMEST!!! Thanks! :D

[FONT="Franklin Gothic Medium"]I don't really listen to many of the modern artists. My preferences are classical and and anime soundtracks. And I love older rock 'n roll. But the ones out now that I like are: Rammstein: I don't know how much people here know about them, but they're a German band (and [STRIKE]a little[/STRIKE] neo-Nazi, but that's beside the point). They usually are pretty original, and it's fun trying to figure out what they are saying. (I am learning German) Their words and puns are very intelligent, just, um not very nice. Of course, after I've looked up the lyrics, I usually wish I could forget them. Marylin Manson: O.K, now you are probably really looking at me fuuny. Let me explain. I don't really care what his position is on things, his lyrics are [I]horrible[/I], so it's hard for me to take offence at anything he says. But his angry music is a really good way to deal with stress. Or put up with jogging. Yuki Kajiura: I don't know if she counts, because I don't think she's part of any group, and she only sings back-up. But she is my absolute favourite anime composer (sorry, Yoko Kanno), and perhaps my favourite modern day composer. If you don't kno who she is, she wrote music for Noir, Madlax, many of the .hacks, and and the new Clamp anime (something like Tsubasa Resevoir)

Thanks. I supposes simply copying and pasting from word was't the brightest move I could make. Do the new spacings help? Or were you refering maybe to my style of writing? (it sounded like it was just a format issue) Thanks for the feed-back, anyway. If you still find it hard to read, tell me.

[QUOTE]I think this has been mentioned before by someone else, but I find it sad that the only threads in the Anthology that get feedback are generally the site fanfics by strong writers, while the stuff by aspiring authors goes generally ignored. They're the ones that need the criticism the most, and like as not they just fly right under the radar, for whatever reason.[/QUOTE] [FONT="Franklin Gothic Medium"]I noticed that too, actually(*ahem* one of those aspiring writers *ahem*). Not that I think very highly of my writing, usually (but then again, I wouldn't bother to post it here if I didn't think it would benifit from some critisism) The last time I was here I posted part of a story (not very good, even for me), and I believe I got all of one or two replies. That in part was what put me off the site for a while. So if I have anything to add, I think it's this: Let's try to be more open to newer writers. Please? :D [/FONT]

[FONT="Franklin Gothic Medium"] [QUOTE]Come on, wake up to yourself. I've had the good humor and respect to put up with this tripe for long enough. You don't like OB because it doesn't welcome your self-obsessed rants - we get that. Since you apparently can't drag yourself away from the site (despite hating it), I'll do the job for you.[/QUOTE] I got the same thought when I read that line as when I looked up the argument with kuja. "YAY, JAMES!" Now, that aside, the topic. I don't know how much room I have to speak on the matter, since I don't post hear often (has it really been two years?), but what I have seen, it has become a [STRIKE]clique[/STRIKE] family. And yes, the familiarity of the older members might put off new posters, but it seems to me that most people here are pretty decent, and I have a hard time imagining the members here actually being hostile to newcomers. (Maybe I haven't seen the right thread) Like I've mentioned, I haven't seriously looked at this site in two years, so maybe that gives me some shred of objectivity (or maybe not), but it seems to me that OB has become more of what it was then: A friendly message board with close (and mostly non-exlcusive) (I think...) groups of friends where one can expect intelligent posts about various topics from inteligent people. It's almost as if, even though anime first brought us together, we had more in common than just that, and formed a community because of it. I hope I at least sound like I know half of what I'm talking about (probably more like a third, with the others being 1/3 speculation and 1/3 conjecture) [/FONT]

[FONT="Franklin Gothic Medium"]Spectre I don't know the protocol for introducing a work, so I'll simply jump to it. Shadow-forms trudged away on a lone road of scarlet sand which cut across a barren, twilit landscape. Each figure was to some degree in the shape of a man, but all lacked something significant, something solid, something to give their twisted wraith-like bodies definition. Their smoky, shifting forms moved in a slow, almost dragging pace, which was reminiscent of a sleepwalker. They went only in one direction of the road, toward a darkening in the sky of such completeness that it must surely be offering the sweet solace of an oblivion equally thorough. Yet the road that was a bloody slash on through an otherwise monotonous terrain stretched on endlessly in the twilight, and every step taken by the shadow-figures seemed to cut away at their minds in bits and pieces, leaving them only with a vague dissatisfaction of having lost something crucial and irretrievable, and the unthinking and unthinkable desire to cross into the part of the land where not even the dim rays of the half-light could pierce the blackness. Such was the state of affairs if this desolate and futile road and its despairing inhabitants when one of the shadows, grotesque like the rest in its incorporeality, hesitated on the path. The others passed it by, not knowing and not caring, understanding only the single minded urge to move forward towards certain, absolute Nothing, and doggedly pursuing that goal. Even so, still the specter hesitated, as half-formed thoughts and wants awakened in its mind. It had once been a man, one who had loved and had been loved, who had known a human’s pleasures as well as a human’s sufferings, who had lived and died, and for whom the entirety of his existence had been on the plane and the planet Earth. All these thoughts came slowly to the creature, and countless forms of flickery textures had passed it there when it finally came to understand what it had been, and what it had lost, the title and position of Self in a multitude (no matter how it struggled internally, it could not even remember the name by which it had been called.), had dawned on its faded and stagnant mind. This knowledge of self-ness, of being, stunned it into further vacillation, and for a time it was capable only of repeating to itself I-am, the great truth which was its only tie to reality and only talisman that warded the otherwise overwhelming pull from the black in the sky ahead. As the murky shapes that made up its only company went past it, ignorant to the plight of the creature that had come to realize itself, it struggled with the desire to lose itself in the vast chasm in the sky, and the desire to find itself again the material thing it had once been. Its legs, if a shadow cast without real light could be said to have legs, shuffled back and forth with uncertainty. The tensions between the two conflicting needs heightened, and just as its anxiety reached critical peaks which shook the forms mind with incredible agitation, it became aware of a strange phenomenon. It was at once soothingly warm and horribly frigid, a sweet tone like the peal of a bell and a cacophonous screech of a terrible, mechanical quality, and carried with it the sensation of soaring tremendous heights and falling through unfathomable depths. These and other sensations violently impressed themselves into the creature’s fragile mind, until, with a mute shriek of anguish, it ran blindly to the darkness, towards escape. The sounds and feelings immediately ceased, but the shape of smoke and shadow did not stop its flight until sometime after the echoes of the anathemas noise had faded from its dim thoughts, every step dampening its memory of the abhorrent impressions which still lingered in its mind, until at last it halted, unsure of what it was it had been running from. Over the time of what could have been have been hours or aeons the shade slowly recalled its history of existence, its more recent flight, and its current predicament. With what will was left to it, the shadow of a soul, determined to become human again and having only a vague idea of how to do so, listened for the tumultuous feelings of what it thought was its only salvation. Once more, the paradoxical sensations over took it, and once more the violence of the impressions provoked in it an equally violent urge to flee, but the specter held desperately to its hope. Standing there without movement, it was the one exception to the tug which affected the mass of shadows like the moon on the ocean effects a tide. Those passing their fellow shadow-man did not seem to hear the roaring tone that was both strident and comforting, or feel the contradictory feelings of joy and pain. After a time, the sensations sparked within the shade what might have been its memories. At first it could only recall were only unspecific perceptions and ill-conceived images, but as it stood, the half-thoughts wound themselves together, connecting, arranging, forming pictures and sounds, smells and touches, all of which were a part of it and reinforced its now unrelenting imperative to its previous material life. These thoughts and these recollections served to slowly change the creature’s disposition towards the phenomenon from repulsed to totally captivated by its strange inflections and the strange stirrings and longings they inspired in the spirit’s confused mind. It sought now the strange feelings, the source of its memories of its past life, at first with uncertain feelings towards the nature of the sound, but growing steadily more confident that these sensations were the answer to its unspoken pleas to restoration. Focusing its attention, it pondered the source of the strange occurrence. It did not seem to come from all around, indeed, the creature had the impression it was from a very specific source. But somehow, it came neither from the pitch black hole ahead, nor the bleak and empty lands to its sides. The shadow’s mind, already damaged from what it perceived as a rapid succession of events after the peace of monotony, was further astonished to discover that the origins of these strange sounds was behind itself. In all its time despairing upon the red path named Void, it had never even considered that there was such a thing as a backward, and how could it? Until now it had always shambled to the firmamental vacuum whose silent imperative Cease! had been enough to override all lesser thoughts. Now it was faced the impossible, the inconceivable implication that all its dark dreamings that had shaped its idea of the dimensions of the wasteland were mistaken. For a moment, it became unsure of itself. These doubts plagued and harassed its determination to find its reality, its Self, and it fruitlessly tried to apply something, anything, from its empty and forlorn stay in the half-lit plain which well suited its half-real occupants. After much strife, it vaguely recalled from the time when it knew what it was to be of Mankind that, if there is a place backwards, there must also be a motion backwards. With this revelation its course of action became clear. Before, it had vainly thought to find a way backwards by moving in the only direction it understood; forwards. Slowly, each movement paining the specter and defying what must have a millennia spent on the one-way road which saw only the ink-stained section of the sky and heard only the psiren-call of a promised nothingness, the shadow turned itself towards the impressions. It was immediately beset by a brilliant, dazzling light, which cut like a razor through the very fiber of its pseudo-being. Quickly, it turned away, avoiding the light that cut through it, revealed its fleshlessness and worthlessness To the thing that was merely a silhouette if a by-gone person, the light was a hate full and abhorrent thing. Still, though it had averted its gaze, it held fast to where it stood, for fear of losing the chaotic noise that held in it the secret to corporeality. How, it wondered desperately, could it face that awful, cutting light that was more real than itself? For a second time, it began to lose hope as it thought anew on the unatainability of its goal. Its heart-that is to say, the part within it that sought to come into being-sunk into wretched depths of despondency, and it began to think it had already failed, that it was unable to go any further. These ruminations lead to other, darker thoughts, dreams of self loathing and nihilism. It was with these considerations it once again considered a black-as-pitch place that was a hollow in the heavens (supreme irony to use that word here…). It thought about nothing, emptiness, how easy it would be to go back on its former path of self-destruction. As if in reply to these foreboding thoughts, the pull towards the darkness made itself known. It, too, carried with it a sound, but this was far more pleasant than the ruckus behind the spirit. It called the creature which was once from mankind, promising a void so absolute, it could only be total annihilation, the ultimate death. The shade drank in the sweet scent ravenously, craving more as it consumed more. Something inside of it, something with feeble power, but unyielding purpose, tore it away before it could fully succumb to dark temptation. Perhaps it was that strange noise behind it that called, or perhaps it was the very memory of Self and selfness, but whichever it might be, it was sufficient halt it from its descent (for surely that pit in the sky could be said to have a pull synonymous with gravity.) With all of its weak force, the impulse that wanted this creature to live seemed to scream inside it. It was a shrill, faint scream, one that took all the energy it had and more to produce, and one that, should it be in vain, the already exhausted creature would not be able to produce it again. It went on and on, trying the specter for all its endurance, until at last it faded and died. The shadow, as enchanted as it had been by the black psiren’s call, was once more dumbfounded, and it took it sometime to understand that the scream had in fact originated from within itself. A deep felt, sick feeling, echoed deep inside its half-being, and the creature, confused, examined it. Its mind, hazed, stuck somewhere between light and dark, could not comprehend the hole, the shriek, the sounds, or the light behind it, but as it struggled to grasp what it could, it seemed that its prior outburst had echoed back to it, somewhere inside itself. The silhouette groped, clung, and listened frantically, the urgency of the echo becoming more and more the creature’s own necessity. The echo seemed to get louder and higher pitched every second, and increased its already pressing urgency. An anxious nausea built up inside the heart of the miserable shadow, and it seemed now that the noise had entirely possessed it, held the once-man up and kept it from falling even as it used up the last resources it possessed. At the ultimate tension, just as it was sure its form would truly be rent asunder, another noise one that seemed to originate within the echo that had exceeded its source in volume. As the creature listened, (indeed it could not ignore this anymore than a rock thrown into the air can ignore coming back down) it seemed in fact to be the some sort of message, a message the specter knew it must hear, knew it was what it was looking for all along. It strained to hear, as nausea grew within it until it was sure it was going to be violently sick, but, having no body, it could not vomit. And then, finally it grasped the message it was meant to hear: “LIVE!” and with that outcry it seemed the veil that had covered the creature’s thoughts was finally lifted. To its astonishment, it realized the replying cry had been own, and the shriek to live, to become, was no less or more than its own desperate desire. With sudden clarity, the shadow-thing truly saw where it was. Startled, it viewed the miserable creatures who barely seemed to be. With a vaguely desperate curiosity, it sought to ask these creatures of themselves, perhaps to gain some insight into its own wretched situation, but to no avail. The shadows, ever possessed by the dark vacuum, had no room in their thoughts for their anguished ex-companion, and continued forward on their infinite path of leaving. Seeing now in their lack of response an answer more terrible than anything it might have feared, the mirror image of its own abominable state, it knew more than ever before that it must escape this place, and return to its half remembered reality. It turned again towards the terribly real radiance, and though it again pierced the its shadowed form with light far more substantial than itself, it held the gaze of the glare with a determination felt all the way to its core of its being, stemming as much from its long-forgotten memories as its newfound horror of its surroundings. Although it now faced a light brighter than anything it had conceived possible (the twilight natural to the land was not even comparable), it heard from behind itself (this distinction confused it but for a second) the sweet plea for nothing. This time, though, it was feeble, and had the opposite effect, for the wraith-thing imagined it could sense, almost smell, sickness and decay. Defiant of the call, and now even more assured of its purpose, it took a single, halting step towards the light. The pain nearly unendurably excruciating, a thousand fold worse than the first glance, and yet this time it was not repulsed, but in fact the opposite, it still wanted to proceed. The pain seemed to be melting something away, something black and sludged and scarred, and in doing so it was releasing, uplifting. It was no longer aware of the noise and the light as separate and distinct, but as joined, and the loudness of the noise was the brightness of the light. It took another, surer step, and then another, and another still, and before long it realized it was running. With each foot fall (could it be? Certainly it noticed its passing become louder and louder, and it fancied that theses steps, these sounds coming from it, were reasons to be inexpressibly joyful) the light became more bearable, tolerable, and then, even welcoming. The spectre, coming nearer and nearer to the source of the light/sound, perceived now why its flight had been unhindered. It passed through the inhabitants of this abysmal plain, for their was little more to their bodies except smoke and shadow. It again focused it attention on those creatures of which it had so recently been kindred of, and who bordered on not existing at all, and saw that they were hardly moving at all, but really standing in place, shifting from side to side in an almost comical parody of walking. Seeing this caused the creature to redouble its efforts, though it knew not why, so that it traveled faster than it ever had thought it might have, (and knew somehow) faster than it ever could have on the unwholesome sanguine streak that lead to nothing and nowhere. Moving faster still, it was soon approaching its goal, and it seemed only in moments it would reach the light and sound that were its destination. Looking backwards for the last time, it viewed the twilit place where it had spent what seemed to have been an eternity in the company of the others like itself that had once been human, and had shared its wretched existence with them, and felt towards them a feeling it could not describe, a strange version of pity towards those who had suffered with it. It felt no remorse for leaving the dark path or its dark end. With that, Timothy Carlson burst through to the other side of the light [/FONT]

[FONT="Franklin Gothic Medium"] First and foremost, its good to be back (if not for long...). My dreams are usually not lucid; however, more often then not in my dreams I assume other identites (Mostly the same two, both from written compositions that I'm am in the process of completing.) Especially when the dream turns part night-mare, ( a Satanic cult inside a large, circular building, attacking me and others) I gain that character's abilities and and able to manipulate the world around me, to varying extents, but I am never really conscious of the fact I m sleeping. I also dream of social situations, and am sometimes better able to understand my relationship with someone because of it. Lastly, the dreams I really look forward to are the ones I call "border line" dreams. In these dreams, totally unrelated points of reality merge together. I have only remembered one clearly. I was travelling through a long dark hallway of an old house, reading Edgar Allen Poe's "the Fall of House Usher". But it wasn't the same story, and on the to outermost corners were snatches of phrases. From these phrases I assertained that teh reason the family of the house died was because of a woman. Who or what she was, and how it happened, I couldn't tell. I made my way outside to a courtyard (very dark), and I saw three doors. The one I needed was blocked, and the other two went nowhere. At the time, Mozart's Andante to the 40th symphony was playing through my head, and I knew that, since the music was descending , so must I. I found a large boulder, moved it, and went into the revealed hole. Before I could find the woman/Evidence i was looking for, it became a falling dream and I woke up. (Grrr....) :mad: Another book I would recommend is "The Einstein Factor". It deals with dreams and mental states. (Einstein believed the imagination was more important than intellect). But where it really is usefull is here: their theory that we are always dreaming, all the time. Our right brain is constantly day-dreaming, but our left brains shuts down almost every message like that because, quite simply, we couldn't function if we were constantly bombarded with day dreams. Here's how you experience a wake dream. (I haven't achieved freedom like when I am asleep, but see a few interesting places) First, sit down somewhere quiet, and relax. Focus on breathing. When you feel considerably relaxed (not just kind-of, really [B][I]really[/I][/B] relaxed, let you mind wander. If you can't seem to focus on something, picture a painting or some visual and describe it to yourself (It's important you actually say something, or your asking to fall asleep) Even if you feel you aren't picturing it, the book says it's impossible to describe something well and not have an image, so just keep trying. When you see things changing, let them change. (Controlling your dreams is good when you are asleep, but you want spontineity in a wake-dream) Continue describingwhat you see. And don't stop because you think you sound stupid. If you keep working on it, you'll eventually become pretty good at it. (I don't have alot of time to practice, but when I am tired but don't feel like going to be, that's what I do.) I hope it helps some! [/FONT]

Bah, to all of you who live in the north. I am stuck down here in crummy Texas where it NEVER snows (at leats in the city I live in. So polluted...) Secretly, though, I yearn to live in Deutchland (Mein Hert ist Deutch) but I have yet the means to reach it. And so here I am, stuck with abomidably hot summers [I]and[/I] winters, wishing it would snow and wanting to speak in German to random passer-bys.