Viewers are kindly forewarned that this video contains flashing lights.
I had a religious experience yesterday.
Itâs a common metaphor. A playful exaggeration of what happens when something goes beyond a mere
dopamine hit and passes into
complete shamanic bliss.
If most of the people in the crowd there with me had said that, they wouldnât have meant it
literally. Theyâre atheists. Christians. Muslims. âSpiritual, but not religiousâ. Either they see no
point in all this God-bothering, or their spiritual needs are well accounted for.
As for your correspondent? Well, loud, boisterious ecstasy is
exactly the type of old-time religion iâm after. Hundreds of sweating, screaming, beautiful humans,
swimming in the sea of each other, without a care in the world, freed, just for a moment, from the
stresses of their mundane daily life1 â and all led by a charismatic
preacher front man. What else could you call such a thing?
When youâre a shy bairn who follows a dead religion, you take what you can get.
Also⌠about halfway through the show, the band put up a big caption on the side screens
saying âguest starring Harry Stylesâ2 (greeted with rapturous applause).
They then proceeded to bring out Lewis âiwaÂgeddiÂcannaÂustiÂbeiÂsumÂwunÂyuÂluuuuuuhâ Capaldi
instead (greeted with considerably less rapturous applause), and have him sing the absolute holy
grail of 1975 concerts: âAntichristâ, a song from
their very first EP which the band have steadfastly refused to ever play
live. Masterful trolling.
Welcome, one and all, to the 2798th annual Horny Awards! Every year since humans figured
out how to count them, the Satyrsâ Forest has presented hand-made, custom trophies to the best works
of the year that was. Itâs an astoundingly long-lasting tradition, and definitely not something i
made up just now.
2022 was one of the years ever. Things, iâm told, occurred. People were born; people were taxed;
people died. King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard released several albums. It will go down in the
history books as âthe year between 2021 and 2023â. On with our show.
Film
The Laurel Wreath Award for Annual Achievement in Film
Our first category marks all the wonderful movies that were made in this past year â which is quite
a lot, so my apologies to all those films who i either didnât mention or didnât have time to see!
There can only be one winner, but iâll start off with a lightning round of honourable mentions. Baz
Luhrmannâs
Elvis
was like being locked inside a room with an insane person for two and a half hours, and i loved
every ridiculous, extravagant, kinetic minute of it. Tom Georgeâs
See How They Run
and Rian Johnsonâs
Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery
were brilliant and funny throwback mysteries which really needed more time and appreciation in the
cinema. And i dearly hope David Letichâs
Bullet Train
becomes the new Fast and Furious â 2Bullet2Train!
Bullet Train 3: This Time itâs a Plane! Bullet ISS! The possibilities are endless.
An especially honourable mention goes to Luca Guadagninoâs Bones and All, a tender horror romance which almost made it to the main list before i realised that i hadnât
actually all that much to say on it. Itâs a metaphor for something, i tell ya hwatâŚ
It could have done with less of the hot-dog fingers, but anyone who would leave our first âofficialâ
runner-up off of their year-end list is a heartless bastard. On paper,
Everything Everywhere All at Once
is a recipe for everything everywhere to go totally wrong: a riff on The Matrix with a
tenth of the budget, directors whose last work was a movie where Daniel Radcliffe farts a lot, and a
sense of humour firmly dated to Reddit circa 2012. Yet it pulls it off.
This is a movie where people beat each other up with dildos, where a hallway of people literally
explodes into colour and light, and where the equivalent of the Death Star is an everything bagel.
It is also one of the only movies to have made me bawl like a baby in the cinema.
Everything Everywhere is an anti-cynical, anti-nihilistic manifesto for our time. Yes,
nothing matters! and yes, you might not write the next great American novel or paint a masterpiece!
but the world has so much joy and beauty, so many minuscule details that you pass by every day, so
for goodnessâ sake, even if youâre
just doing laundry and taxes, take your
time to enjoy the little things in life.
I need to go hug my mum.
Blockbusters arenât what they used to be, are they? Ever since Endgame, Marvel have been
running on autopilot, releasing a steady stream of snarky CGI sludge
made more out of obligation than passion. They donât even work as escapism anymore â the fantastical
isnât fantastic when every billion-dollar release is set in a world of superheroes and sci-fi.
Like Everything Everywhere, our other runner-up is a prime example of a movie that just
shouldnât work. Itâs a sequel to a 40-year-old film so mediocre i turned it off halfway through,
made as a cynical cash-grab recruitment ad for the navy, with a topic and plot designed to appeal
exclusively to Your Dad.1 Yet, through sheer dumb luck, Paramount hit the
jackpot on
Top Gun: Maverick.
Obviously, Tom Cruise is an absolute charisma magnet and the best part of every movie heâs ever been
in. But that seductive Scientologist smile only goes so far
(just look at The Mummy), and thatâs where
our director comes in. Joseph Kosinski doesnât have a particularly long track record; it would be
easy to mistake him for a typical director-for-hire. His dialogue scenes donât stand out from the
pack, and heâs not particularly creative with the camera, but that doesnât matter. What he excels at
is spectacle.
2010âs Tron: Legacy is a profoundly middling film in terms of its plot and characters, but
it gained a cult following thanks to the delicious combination of Daft Punkâs killer score with Mr
Kosinskiâs brilliant visuals and action. He took that computerised world of bits and bytes and gave
it stakes, weight, and a sense of scale, where a Marvel hack would have told the
VFX guy to just press render and go with whatever comes out.
So you take a director whose most known work is a spectacular
CG effects-fest and a lead actor famous for his insistence on doing all
of his own stunts, and what do you get? The best blockbuster film of the decade, thatâs what. The
original Top Gunâs plane scenes drag and drag with no real purpose; in Maverick,
every flight has something at stake, with non-stop action â but the film still knows when to pull
back and take a breather to give its characters heart. My icy, cynical heart knew that i
was being manipulated every step of the way, knew that every pull of the strings was
planned out in advance, knew that this film was made for money and nothing else⌠but iâll
be damned if i didnât start crying at that Val Kilmer cameo.
Go and see Top Gun: Maverick on the biggest screen you can, whether thatâs a 1080p computer
monitor or an Imax cinema. You wonât regret it.
Our two runners-up were films that i would recommend to anyone, anywhere, of any age, and at any
time. They have something for everyone. First place, on the other handâŚ
If you believe the lame-stream media, our winning film was the result of arthouse horror hero Robert
Eggers being given a blank check by Universal to make a big period action movie. This is false. It
was created by scientists in a lab in Durham to appeal to me and me specifically. (You can tell
because i was the only person who actually went out and watched it.)
Based on the Norse legend behind Shakespeareâs Hamlet,
The Northman is an epic following Large Scandinavian Man as the viking
Amleth, son of a deposed king, on his journey to avenge his father with the power of
Odin and testosterone2 on his side.
When i call Amleth a viking, i do not mean that all-too-common sanitised Hollywood depiction of a
20th-century Christian in pagan clothing. No; his society and its ways are portrayed as they were,
warts and all, regardless of what the audience might feel about it. The vikings of this film keep
slaves, burn down houses, consult witches (memorably played by Anya Taylor-Joy, Willem Dafoe, and
BjĂśrk, in decreasing order of screentime), mock Jesus, and pray to Gods as a fact of life. (The film
never particularly demeans them for the latter three, which i found a welcome reprieve from
paganismâs usual relegation to the villains of horror schlock.) The only concession to modern mores
is
the absence of polygamy, because splashing people with period blood and cutting off heads is okay but good heavens a
second wife?????
Mr Eggers and his crew schlepped all the way to Iceland for filming and made good bloody use of it.
Whether its long shots are focused on natureâs rolling fields and bursting volcanoes or humanityâs
flame-lit funerals and grimy oarsmen, the result is consistently one of the most beautiful things of
the year.
Itâs not for everyone. Itâs long, and those just there for the action will find themselves asking
when theyâre going to get to the fireworks factory. Itâs gory. Itâs grim. But itâs definitely for
me.
The Zoetrope Award for Classic Cinema
Hey, did you like the Matrix sequels? Do you want to watch a three-hour-long film where
every character is played by the same six actors? No? Well, too bad, because the best film i watched
in 2022 that wasnât released that year was the Wachowski sistersâ3Cloud Atlas.4
There was a point, about 60% of the way through this three-hour-long movie, where i started to
wonder if it was all worth it. Iâd seen Tom Hanks attempting a Cockney accent, Hugo Weaving in
unconvincing Asian prosthetics, and a lot of people saying âtru-truâ a lot of times. Surely it was
impossible to tie this all together into a satisfying conclusion.
I started having flashbacks to The Matrix Resurrections, an endlessly creative film plagued
by its own self-obsessions and Lana Wachowskiâs inability to not put the first thing that
came into her head into the script. Was this going to be the same? Are the sisters trapped in an
endless cycle of almost-but-not-quite?
And then there was a point, about 90% of the way through, where i started crying. Theyâd squared the
circle, tied all six stories up into a neat bow; an epic told on the scale of centuries, where
actors cross boundaries of time, nationality, race, and gender; a film that would be their
magnum opus were it not for the long shadow of The Matrix. I donât know how they
did it, but they did â and thus nudged their record of hits against misses slightly to the positive
side.
The Pebbledash Dildo Award for Cinematic Disappointment
2022 was a good year for bad movies. Moonfall was the peak of so-bad-itâs-good Emmerichian
excess. Morbius morbed all across the internet. And the usual Marvel schlock was even
shlockier than usual. But nobody thought those films would be any good anyway â itâs hard to be
disappointed when you donât have any expectations in the first place.
So, by God, was i disappointed in Nope. From Jordan Peele, criticsâ favourite rising star, this sci-fi Hollywood horror brims with so
many creative ideas and metaphors that they all boil over and donât go anywhere. I can only imagine
that a quarter of the script got sucked up into a UFO and they decided
to just keep shooting. There are so many great ideas in this film, and itâs a darned shame they
wound up such an anticlimax.
The Comfy Sofa Award for Peak Television
I donât actually watch much television; iâve always found it hard to get invested for the âlong
haulâ. Ben Stillerâs Severance, made for Appleâs floundering streaming service, is a slow
burner, the sort of thing i despise â but its slowness is methodical, carefully drip-feeding you
bits of information whilst never wasting its time on fluff and filler.
Itâs strange. Itâs puzzling. Itâs brilliant. And the final episode is some of the best
TV iâve ever seen. If i could, iâd sever myself â just to watch it all
over again.
Music
The Golden Lyre Award for Excellence in New Music
Itâs The 1975.
Well, no point in dragging that out. They may not be the best band in the world, but they are my
favourite band in the world; their eclectic pop-rock sensibilities are what got me into
music, and iâll always appreciate them for that.
This isnât just a sentimental pick.
Being Funny in a Foreign Language
sees the band trim away the fat and bloat of their previous works and hold back on the eclectic
experimentation of the Music for Cars era, settling on a distilled, refined version of the
sound that defined their first record. There are no bloated instrumentals, no experimental
noodlings; just, as their international tour proudly suggests, The 1975 At Their Very Best.
No album came close to blowing them out of the water â because iâm a soppish fanboy â but to whet
your appetite, here are some more of my favourite songs of 2022. (In no particular order.)
The Hurdy-Gurdy Award for Enduring Musical Resonance
It was with some trepidation that i typed the word âPaganâ into RateYourMusicâs charts function,
knowing the reputation that explicitly religious music has. The words âChristian rockâ have always
been accented with a sneer, and the most well-known Pagan musician of the modern age is an
unrepentant church-burning neo-nazi.
Right at the top, after iâd filtered out all of the metal (apologies, metalheads; it just isnât my
bag), sat XTCâs
Apple Venus Volume One. You wonât find it on streaming â frontman Andy Partridge has few kind words for the likes of
Spotify â but i made do with a pirate Youtube playlist until i tracked down a physical copy at the
shops.
Apple Venus is the groupâs penultimate album, and even knowing nothing about them, I could
tell. It drips with aching sincerity, the kind that dips into corny pastiche, in that particular way
that only happens when a band who have spent their whole career dripping with snark and cynicism
realise that theyâre getting too old for this shit.
And thatâs all i wrote.
Some other favourite old songs i discovered this year:
The Sad Trombone Award for Most Disappointing Music
Iâve been getting into post-rock recently, and there are a few albums which seem to be near and dear
to fansâ hearts. Sigur RĂłsâ ĂgĂŚtis byrjun, a surprisingly accessible masterclass.
Godspeed You Blank Emperorâs Lift Your Skinny Fists, the best soundtrack for a movie that
never existed. Talk Talkâs Spirit of Eden, a bit too jazzy for my tastes. A few more that
iâve yet to listen to.
Then thereâs The Earth Is Not a Cold Dead Place.
Explosions in the Skyâs third album is widely beloved. It tops lists with the big guns. It often
shows up on genre âstarter packâ lists. There is a teensy, tiny problem with this: itâs shite.
Well, alright, i thought, two tracks in. Maybe it picks up by the end? Everyone is raving about that
closing track, âYour Hand in Mineâ â and then that was shite too!
This is music for a car commercial. It is
the Imagine Dragons of post-rock. Itâs the sort of music a TV network
might play as inspirational backing for their Paralympic coverage. It is sappy, insipid, and
uninspired dross of the purest and vilest sort, and it boggles the mind to think how it ever got the
reputation it now has. See me after class.
The electronic arts
The Kingâs Dice Award for Interactive Entertainment
Just one game found its home amongst my digital shelves this years, and i have yet to find the
opportunity to complete it. Lucas Popeâs Return of the Obra Dinn wins by acclimation â so
far itâs stylish, intriguing, and fun to solve, but again, iâve not finished it! Weâll see if it
sticks the landing.
The Broken Link Award for Best Use of Hypertext
Homestuck isnât very good. It has an undeniably appealing cast of characters and charmingly
naĂŻve art â you donât get millions of fans without doing something right â that are sadly
weighed down by its authorâs baffling decision, faced with all the sprawling multi-media
possibilities of the web, to tell its story entirely in walls of unreadable monospaced text.
Wired Sound for Wired People isnât my thing. It
has undeniably mastered a medium: its flickering pink pixels and eerie soundscapes build an
unmistakable mix of intrigue and unease, beckoning you to follow it down the rabbit hole. But it
lacks a message to go with it â thereâs no story to speak of, just a collage of strange and trippy
scenes.
So what if someone were to combine the best bits of both, and undo their shortcomings?
Idiosyncratic, eerie audiovisuals, with relatable dramatis personĂŚ, and a
compelling story which uses the power of hypertext to its fullest?
Enter
Corru.observer. Linked to me by someone whose homepage iâd complimented â with no other comment than that it was
a friendâs âpersonal siteâ â Corru puts you in the seat of an archĂŚologist(?) some
decades(?) in the future(?), trying to piece together the memories of an alie⌠iâll let you find out
the rest. Thereâs only an âepisodeâ and a half out right now, and i canât wait to see where it goes.
The Fred Figglehorn Memorial Award for Online Video
But in the age of Tiktok and Vine, it pays to be succinct. Our winner by no means reaches the
six-second nirvana of those two platforms, but at 25 minutes, it would fit comfortably into a
half-hour broadcast slot on telly â not bad on a site increasingly dominated by 7-hour videos about
people watching sitcoms for children.
That winner is Michael Stevensâs video on
the origin of selfies. In it brief
runtime, it answers every question i never knew i had about the selfie, while spinning in a number
of fascinating tangents and eyebrow-raising questions (in the typical Vsauce house style). It even
got me to renovate the gallery just to add that photo by Anastasia. Cheese!
The real world
The Spruce Panflute Award for Outdoor Splendour
I perused many places during my walks out and about this year, but none so consistently provided me
with so many new sights as the Ouseburn, a small but mighty stream which winds its
way in the east of Newcastle from suburbs to leafy woods to industry to hipster vegan cafĂŠs. Every
time i thought iâd seen it all, the Ouseburn revealed a new cranny, some quirky establishment or
warp in the cityâs fabric, something different to explore.
This is what we in the industry refer to as âthe money shotâ.
The Crackling Heath Award for Indoor Wonder
Affleckâs Palace is the beating heart of Mancunian counterculture; a labyrinthine
maze of shops which across their three floors sell everything from rose ice cream to bath bombs to
incense to Hatsune Mikuâthemed fizzy drinks⌠and i canât tell you any more than that, because i
havenât finished my post about it yet!
Really, though â Affleckâs has it all and more, and iâll be sure to stop by next time i go down
south.
The Hubert J. Farnsworth Award for Good News, Everyone!
Day in, day out, we are flooded with the latest news of disasters and terrors from around the globe.
It gets the views, it gets the hits, and it gets the clicks; itâs no wonder journos love to
accentuate the negative.
The Hubert J. Farnsworth Award is an antidote to doom and gloom, honouring the best thing
that happened in 2022. It was a late entry, but it could hardly be anything other thanâŚ
âŚThe National Ignition Facility, the U.S. government lab who reported that, for the
first time,
theyâd gotten more energy out than they put in via fusion power. There are hiccups, of course; the facilityâs magnets guzzled dozens of times more power than the
reactor itself. But every stepping stone has its imperfections, and this is the first great step to
a truly prosperous future â where energy is too cheap to meter, where power is so abundant that
there will be hardly a grain of economic sense in the idea of tapping any more of
GĂŚaâs precious little black gold.
Happy belated new year, everyone. And as always â may it be better than the last!
I found out that Mark Toneyâs1, in Newcastle, serves Dutch-style apple pie,
and it immediately gave me flashbacks to my childhood like the critic in Ratatouille. I
honestly started crying. Delicious stuff. âŚSorry, whatâs that?
Apologies for the interruption; my legal team have informed me that i have to actually put links in
my link roundups. Who knewâ˝
âMy afternoons with the singing bowl ladyâ
â A rare sympathetic portrayal of new-agers, one that neither revels in tired atheistic snark
nor makes me want to tear my hair out with vapid bollocks
Iâve been hammering away at a big olâ 2022 recap post, trying to get it ready before itâs
irrelevant. It seemed cruel to leave you all with nowt over the new year, though, so i thought i
might send you some photos from a recent evening walk.
Ashington1 is a poor erstwhile mining town at the very tip-top of the local
conurbation, Newcastleâs last gasp before coal and collieries give way to princes and pastures. It
takes pride in two things: one, its mining history, and two, the fact that two Ashingtonians
delivered England the world cup in a final remembered by ever fewer people.
This is the Queen Elizabeth II Country Park â not to be confused with the
Queen Elizabeth II Olympic Park
down in that London â a marvellous regeneration project which has turned a spoil heap into a lovely
lake complete with a Premier Inn. That purple light off in the distance is the
Woodhorn Colliery Museum, a
whistle-stop tour of Northumberlandâs mining history which apparently fancies itself the Blackpool
of the North.2
And thatâs all i wrote. Tune in next time for either another bashed-together filler postcard (by
Gods, am i going to have to make Blyth sound appealing next?), or the first annual Horny Awardsâ˘.
Weâll see how far the Procrastination Monster lets me progress. :â-)
Today i learned that the Marshall Islands have almost no copyright laws. Since the U.S. handles most
of their foreign affairs for them, theyâve slipped through the cracks of international treaties: per
Wikimedia Commons, the only restriction is that you canât directly copy/rip/transfer/sell/publicly perform another
citizenâs work and try to make money off of it. (Which i think is quite sensible â even as someone
who opposes the whole idea of copyright as a nasty intrusion of peopleâs freedom of speech â so long
as we live in a capitalist society.)
Good on you, ášajeḡ. Now if only they had decent internetâŚ
Merry Christmas to all who celebrate, and good tidings to everyone else â my gift to you is one last
sack full of links to send off the year. Mx Tynehorneâs Link RoundupŽ⢠will return in 2023.
Our final submission of the season comes from one
RĂŚl H. Bishop, a dear friend of mine. Thank you
so much for all the entries this year â itâs a lovely thing to have a tradition continue,
especially when iâd worried youâd all forgotten i existed. And as always, please leave all your
comments
on the main site.
This past summer, I lived in a big coastal city. After two months, things took a turn for the worse
and I had to move out. I found the city plastic and frustrating anyways. During my time there, I
would go to the beach quite often. But not to swim or make sand castles. In the mornings, Iâd walk
with a book and a bottle of water and watch the sun dance over the horizon. In the evening, Iâd find
a vacant spot and watch the cargo ships sail over an increasingly indigo skyscape. It was very
cathartic. I feel itâs the same feeling all cathedrals, mosques, and mandirs try to cultivate: a
sense of awe and serenity that lets our minds meld and our troubles wash away.
I have a very beach-y metaphor for your consideration. The emotions we experience in our lives are
like waves lapping onto a shoreline. All emotions are found in these waves. We get caught up in
waves of anger, of depression, of pride and lust, of sorrow and shame, greed and jealousy, euphoria
and ecstasy. They are strong, powerful waves. We all stand on these shores, but most folks spend
their lives getting tossed and turned by these waves, smashed into the undercurrent and washed up to
repeat the process the next day. What we need to do in the face of these waves is not to get knocked
over by them, but to hold steadfast and let the waves pass. We observe the waves as they emerge, not
âpushing backâ and not âfalling inâ, but noting as they come and noting as they pass. The waves
leave, and more take their place, but theyâre all transient nonetheless.
Iâve tried taking this notion to heart since I realized it. I hope you can find use of this. The
next time youâre caught in a slump, or a fit of rage, or in some all-consuming obsession, just
remember that itâs another wave approaching from the distance. You have the power, the strength, the
will to keep standing in its wake.
You are not these waves, these fleeting emotions. You are yourself. γν῜θΚ ĎÎľÎąĎ ĎĎν. ततŕĽŕ¤¤ŕĽŕ¤ľŕ¤Žŕ¤¸ŕ¤ż.
Todayâs post(s) come to us, in no particular order, from three different people, because like
buses, good things come in threes. As always, please leave your comments on
the main site.
i met Him in the woods and He told me to hold my chin up His
skin black as ash shining
hunt-drunk
blood in the snow, He gave me a bow fitted for me and said to shoot
i said what for, to shoot what, i donât want to hurt a creature
and He said the cycle of life requires death, if you reap then you will sow, to kill a crĂŚture is
to give it back.
i said alright but i was scared and He said what if the other hunters come not my Hunters the other
ones
man-shaped and hunting crĂŚtures like you
and i shot
the arrow fell through the shadow, spilling, and i said to protect i would do anything
and He said now you understand what this is for. and He said daughter, your destructive anger
can construct mountains and miracles. donât listen to those as say death and life and rot and growth
are anything different from each other. look at the berries grow through the snow. it kills the
snow, the snow feeds them, they are not beautiful in this way without the snow.
i said, i understand i am an arrow and a Hunter and i am not yours i am my own and i protect
and like this is how my i became an I
two months later i called for Him
with my head in a bush
because the other ones had taken away my I again
and he said take it back and this time He gave me a knife
and I stole nothing
but I held the knife and sat with Him and remembered that i am I.
Listen to Hanif Aburraqib who says
âI donât know if I believe in rage as something always acting in opposition to tenderness.
I believe, more often, in the two as braided together. Two elements of trying to survive in
a world once you have an understanding of that worldâs capacity for violence.â
and go lightly but know yourself Leave a comment
sinxelo, lost Sent in by an anonymous reader from Santiago
know true, feel feind
creer, pensar concocer, enamorar;
se
estou na miĂąa lengua perdide non coa morriĂąa, ni pobo. pobre.
Todayâs post comes to us from one
Ariel, of the Library Phantasmagoria. I highly
recommend looking at the version on the main site, because itâs
done up with its own custom styling, per request of the author â and that you direct any
comments there for the sake of consistency. Anyway. The post.
Iâve been slowly taking up drawing as a hobby. I wouldnât consider myself a very artistic person. In
school, I was more math and science oriented. Now I work in computer security. But I want to share
some of what Iâve learned.
One of the first things I learned when I started is that using a pencil is hard. When you write, you
can have some variation in the angles and curves of your letters while still maintaining âgood
formâ. An âEâ still looks like an âEâ whether you write it with curves or corners or one stroke or
three or squared-off or angled. Contrast this with something like drawing a circle or a 3D box. Even
a small variance in curve or angle will turn your perfect drawing into something that looks
wrong.
There are tricks you can learn to making more accurate circles or boxes. For example, the lines
going out from the corner closest to the viewer on a box need to have obtuse angles between them. If
an angle is perfectly 90°, then the viewer will have to be looking at a side straight-on. If the
angles are acute, then the box will look skewed. Drawing boxes doesnât get easier just by knowing
the rules, though.
Even though Iâve come up with how every angle and line relates to every other angle and line, I
still draw skewed boxes. My hand just doesnât know how to control the pencil properly. The solution
is simple: the knowledge must be applied - a lot. Thatâs the idea behind
Draw a Boxâs lessons. (No, this is not an advertisement for DaB.)
I think thatâs the idea behind a lot of art lessons. Hell, itâs probably the idea behind most things
you can learn.
A long time ago, I was browsing a forum thread on a fairly unpleasant website. The forum thread had
something to do with programming, and someone was asking about learning programming. I
donât remember the programming language in question, the person in question, or anything else. But I
do mostly remember the response.
It was a well-formatted, but very sarcastic paragraph about the âgreatest developersâ. These
âgreatest developersâ would spend years studying the fundamentals of the language. They learn the
nuances of the compiler. They learn the most efficient algorithms for every problem. They read books
and watch tutorials and browse forums until they understand the language better than the people that
created it. And so on and so fourth. But one line from the paragraph summarizes the idea and stands
out most in my mind: "The greatest developers go years without writing a single line of code." (And
in case it wasnât clear, the post was satire.)
I donât think I appreciated that line at the time, but I find myself thinking about it more and more
lately.
Iâm one of those people with a tendency to âlearnâ more than I practice something. Iâll watch
hours-long YouTube videos on obscure topics, and my favourite podcast(s) came from the How Stuff
Works group: Stuff You Should Know, Stuff You Missed in History Class, etc. Iâve read books on the
history of tea, the book index, and capital punishment in France. Itâs knowledge that canât really
be applied in my life, or is only applicable to hyper-specific niches. I donât think thereâs
anything inherently wrong with this - itâs a form of entertainment for me.
Yet, learning as enjoyment and learning to apply are two different things. Returning to the art
topic: Iâve spent more time watching the Draftsman Podcast, browsing r/artistlounge, and similar
activities than putting pencil to paper. I - like many in my position - justify it as time spent
learning, and there is value in learning from others. (âDonât reinvent the wheel,â as they
say.) But that time is really more entertainment-learning than applied-learning.
Itâd be better spent putting pencil to paper and improving. Using the pencil is hard, though,
because it means having to face failure when the boxes donât look right despite my best effort.
I donât have any good words on failure or dealing with it. Thatâs another thing Iâm still learning.
But I donât want to end on a sour note, so I want to highlight another thing Iâve learned through
art: how to see it.
I know that sounds a bit pretentious, but hear me out.
Iâm going to be using a digital painting by the artist âWLOPâ as an example. Itâs titled
âCivilization3â and you can find it on
his DeviantArt. (Iâm
avoiding posting it here directly because Iâm unsure of his re-upload policy.) The art is of a girl
playing a magical steampunk-esque violin with lots of floating gears. I think itâs a really pretty
piece, and Iâd probably be able to know it was one of WLOPâs at a glance (even if it didnât have a
big watermark saying so).
Thereâs a few things about the painting that I wouldnât have noticed before I started learning art.
For example, look at the part of the violin furthest from the girl. Itâs only a few simple strokes
and even has some bits randomly floating off to the side. The more you look, the more you notice
things like that. The gear under her chin has misshapen teeth. The leaf pattern on her dress is just
bean-shapes and circles with a few thin lines running through it.
I donât say this to make fun of or insult the piece. Itâs actually an amazing trick that I hope to
be able to emulate one day! But itâs something that I wouldnât have noticed before I started
learning to make art instead of just looking at it. (I also apologize to the artists to whom Iâm
probably stating the obvious.) WLOP focused on the areas that most people would unconsciously notice
the most flaws with (the face and hands) and let the viewerâs mind fill in the detail for the less
important parts (the pattern on the dress).
Hereâs another one to look at:
Breathe by Yuumei. Itâs
another portrait. This time itâs a girl wearing a respirator of sorts with roses where the filters
should be. One of the first things youâll notice is the clear brushwork-iness of it and the lines
again. But this one I point out for the colour. At first glance, sheâs wearing a tan coat,
but notice the left side: itâs blue. So is part of her hair and face. (Also, if you go back to
WLOPâs image, youâll notice the characterâs hair is actually a bit green. Especially in the back.)
Before learning a bit about colour, Iâd probably have defaulted to a black or grey for shading.
Iâm happy that Iâve learned to see things this way. Itâs like Iâve learned a secret to unlocking a
hidden part of the world.
IĹ Saturnalia! Just as last year, a month ago, i flipped the tables and invited you all to send
me whatever you wanted and i would put it up on the site. Iâm pleased to say that even more took
up my offer than last year, and over the next five days, youâll be seeing a variety of their
works. Our first submission for 2022 comes from a reader by the nom de plume of Baki. Enjoy.
One thousand eight hundred and seventy dollars. That was all. She had put it aside, one dollar and
then another and then another, in her careful posting of selfies and other online activity. Della
counted it three times. One thousand eight hundred and seventy dollars. And the next day would be
Christmas.
There was nothing to do but post an Instagram Story and cry. So Della did it.
While the lady of the home is slowly growing quieter, we can look at the home. A
VW van. There is little more to say about it.
The engine had decided to finally stop working completely and needed replacement. In the back there
was an area too small to hold a toilet. There was a bed, but it was not long enough. Also there was
a barely functional kitchen with the names of the owners above the tiny window surrounded by little
hearts, Della and James Young.
When the names were placed there, Mr. James Dillingham Young was being paid $300 a week via PayPal,
Venmo, and Patreon from people supporting their #vanlife social media lifestyle. Now, when he was
being paid only $200 a week, the name seemed too long and important. It should have been âJamie
Young.â But when Mr. James Dillingham Young entered the van, his name became very short indeed. Mrs.
James Dillingham Young put her arms warmly around him and called him âJim.â You have already met
her. She is Della.
Della finished her Instagram Story and wiped the tears from her face. She sat by the window and
looked out with no interest. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only one thousand eight
hundred and seventy dollars with which to buy Jim a gift. She had put aside as much as she could for
months, with this result. Two hundred dollars a week is not much. Everything had cost more than she
expected. It always happened like that.
Only $1,870 to buy a gift for Jim. She had had many happy hours planning something nice for him.
Something nearly good enough. Something almost worth the honor of belonging to Jim.
There was the interior of the van. Perhaps you have seen the kind of interior of a van that is
created by two people living #vanlife on social media. There was wood. There were lots of fairy
lights. There was a colorful blanket to tie it all together. It was very narrow and hard to
photograph properly with an iPhone that was two generations out-of-date. However, if she were very
patient and used a cheap five dollar fish eye lens attachment, she might be able to get a good pic
of the interior. Della, being quite patient, had mastered this art.
Suddenly she stopped trying to film the interior of the van and stared at her phone. Her eyes were
shining brightly, but her face had lost its color. Quickly she turned off her phone and set it down
on the colorful blanket.
The James Dillingham Youngs were very proud of two things which they owned. One thing was Jimâs
VW van. It had been their reason for quitting their boring forty hour a
week jobs so they could live their #bestlife. The other was Dellaâs iPhone, the only camera they
owned which allowed them to document their #vanlife on social media so they could be influencers.
If a queen had lived in the campsite next to them, Della would have taken pics of her with the two
generation old iPhone and posted them so the queen could see. Della knew that her pics were more
beautiful than any a queen could have taken with much more modern equipment.
If a king had lived in the campsite next to them, with his fancy $200,000
RV with pop outs and self-leveling, Jim would have invited him over for
a ramen dinner. Jim knew that no king had anything as wonderful as his
VW van.
So Della stared down at her iPhone then picked it up again. She stopped for a moment and stood still
while a tear or two ran down her face.
With the bright light still in her eyes, she created an eBay auction for her phone then announced it
on social media.
âWill you buy my phone? Only two hours to bid!â Della Instagramed.
âWonderful iPhone for sale. Only two hours to bid!â Della Facebooked.
âGet it while you can! #carpediem #2hourauctionâ Della Tweeted.
Two hours later, PayPal announced a four hundred dollar increase in their account.
Oh, and the next thirty minutes seemed to fly. She was going from online store to online store, to
find a gift for Jim.
She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in
any of the online stores, and it was from a shop very close to them.
It was an original replacement engine for the VW van.
As soon as she saw it, she knew that Jim must have it. She paid the two thousand two hundred and
seventy dollars for it. The owner of the shop was a fan, a subscriber to their YouTube channel, and
promised it would be delivered within the hour.
What luck! To find the engine so close to their location and so close to Christmas!
Humming Christmas carols under her breath, Della quickly posted that âbig things were afootâ and
that she âmight be off social media for a whileâ to her social media accounts then packed up her
iPhone to be shipped to the winner of the eBay auction.
When Della had done this, her mind quieted a little. She began to think more reasonably. She started
to try and cover the sad marks of what she had done. Love and large-hearted giving, when added
together, can leave deep marks. It is never easy to cover these marks, dear friends â never easy.
Within forty minutes her head looked a little better and the engine had been delivered. âIf Jim
doesnât kill me,â she said to herself, âafter he realizes we canât post to social media any longer.
But what could I do â oh! What could I do with one thousand eight hundred and seventy dollars!â
At seven, Jimâs dinner was ready for him.
Jim was never late when he was out scouting new locations worthy of being photographed. Della held
the colorful blanket that the engine lay on and sat cross-legged on the bed. Then she heard his step
outside and her face lost color for a moment. She often said little prayers quietly, about simple
everyday things. And now she said: âPlease God, make him think the engine is nice.â
The van door opened and Jim crawled in. He looked very fit and he was not smiling. Poor fellow, he
was only twenty-eight â and with only a couple hundred followers on Twitter!
Jim stopped inside the door. He was quiet as a hunting dog when it is near a bird. His eyes looked
strangely at Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not understand. It filled her
with fear. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor anything she had been ready for. He simply looked at
her with that strange expression on his face.
âYouâve bought me an engine?â asked Jim slowly. He seemed to labor to understand what had happened.
He seemed not to feel sure he knew.
Jim put his arms around Della. For ten seconds let us look in another direction. Two hundred dollars
a week or a million dollars a month â how different are they? Someone may give you an answer, but it
will be wrong. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. My meaning will be
explained soon.
From inside the coat, Jim took something tied in paper. He threw it upon the blanket. âI sold the
van to get the money to buy you the new iPhone.â
For there lay The Latest iPhone â the iPhone that Della had been reading reviews about for months. A
beautiful iPhone with improved lenses and increased memory, perfect for taking selfies and pics of
their van. She had known it cost too much for her to buy. She had looked at it without the least
hope of owning it. And now it was hers, but the van was sold.
And then she cried, âOh, oh!â
The magi as you know, were wise men â wonderfully wise men â who brought gifts to the newborn
Christ-child. They were the first to give Christmas gifts. Being wise, their gifts were doubtless
wise ones. And here I have told you the story of two influencers who were not wise. Each sold the
most precious thing they owned in order to buy a gift for the other.
But let me speak one last word to the wise these days. Of all who give gifts, these two were the
most wise. For when Della popped back onto social media that night using her new iPhone to tell
their followers this story, Della and Jim went viral. Money and offers of sponsorship poured in. The
lady who bought Jimâs van gave it back to him for nothing. The shop who sold Della the engine
installed it for free. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are most wise. Everywhere
they are the wise ones. They are the influencers.
P.S. Lords of Misrule starts tomorrow. Hope you enjoy everyoneâs submissions â i know i did! :-)
I like a lot of SCP stuff, but man, they really shot themselves in the
foot by giving them all numbers and never using the âofficialâ article titles. It makes it
impossible to tell what people are talking about unless theyâre talking about a
really famous one like 173 or 3008: how am i meant to tell the difference between
SCP-5031 the one where they realise torture is bad,
SCP-3930 the one that doesnât exist, and
SCP-4999 the one who offers you one last smoke for the road,
all great in their own right, when they all have iPhone passwords instead of names?
Thereâs been a lot of kerfuffle in the art world as of late about the ethics and capabilities of
AI art (previously), and
as Britainâs leading institution for contemporary art, you seem like just the right people to bring
it to the public. My proposal is simple, but effective â let man and machine compete on equal
footing.
Eight or so talented human artists will be given a prompt to work from. At the same time, the same
prompt will be given to a state-of-the-art machine-learning algorithm, like Midjourney or Stable
Diffusion. In the gallery, the two works â one made by metal, one made by flesh â will be hung side
by side, and the audience will not be told which is which.
Next to each diptych will sit two bins where visitors can dispense plastic tokens (like the ones
they have at Asda) to vote on which painting is their favourite. At the end of the exhibitionâs run
(or perhaps updating live; your call), the votes will be tallied up, and weâll finally find out
whether us or our creations are the better artists.
If you really wanted to provoke, you could ask the humans to provide you with a list of every
painting theyâve ever seen, every photo theyâve ever taken, every film theyâve ever watched, and
every song theyâve ever heard. Then you put that big list up on the wall, tell the visitors that
Advanced Biological Neural Learning Algorithms have taken quote-unquote âinspirationâ from all of
these copyrighted works, and put to vote whether you should contact the rightsholders and ask them
to sue. It would be only fair.
ChĂŚre and regards, Xanthe. P.S. â I am not a crackpot.