Cat’s Paw

06/10/2117


sudden / chemical / shipment / tenth / puppet / devil

It’s alive. More alarmingly, it’s alive in me.

Maybe it’s adaptive or maybe it’s different but the ratio of atoms just isn’t the same. The resistance I had back on Earth doesn’t seem to function here and none of the experiments I’ve run are clear about why. It’s not thinking exactly – it’s difficult not to be emotional about these results – but it does seem to change according to stimulus.

I’ve sent a sample back to Earth, warning them not to examine the substance outside of the orbital laboratory. I’m not sure that matters anymore.

I stopped thinking I was the centre of the world when H died, but even after that, even out here, I was still thinking locally. There’s nothing scientific about seeing things entirely from our own perspective.

I’ll always think of H in that leather get-up from his 40th, with the trident and the red cape. He was so gleeful about it. And yeah, we had that awful row. I like to be in control. He was right though: if you appreciate someone else’s difference, you get to participate in it and that kind of participation can be uplifting.

We were part of Earth, H and I. Earth is part of all the planets in the galaxy. The galaxy is part of an entire system of the universe. To disintegrate is to become part of everything.

This is Abstract Machine, coming home.

 

H2 Graph

[delight]

 

I was playing Sole, a game designed by James Mullen in memory of his partner Philip. I enjoyed playing and you might too.

Epstein-Barr

04/10/2117


bogeyman / best / category / glandular / beefcake / esoteric

Being this close to the thing that killed H… well, I don’t know what it makes me feel, really. They mistook it for the Epstein-Barr virus to begin with. He’d just lie there in his hospital bed reading Tom of Finland and cracking jokes.

The dust doesn’t fit any of the known taxonomies. We knew that, of course, but now that I’m closer I’m none the wiser and nor are any of the instruments. It’s some kind of interstellar gas that contains unusual data-sets.

It’s silly to think I have a sore throat in an environment this closely-controlled.

epitelio-glandular-tipos-secrecion

[fear]

 

I’m playing Sole, a game designed by James Mullen in memory of his partner Philip.

 

Soma-6a

02/10/2117


ox / boarder / shine / desolate / impure / attic

Here is my major reason for deviating from the programme: Soma-6a, a planet we barely believed when first we saw it via the Cosmic Origins Spectrograph. That something so coal-black and desolate could exist in such proximity to its star: I can see it absorbing light with my own eyes!

H always preferred the mythologically-inspired names for planets and constellations: he’d tease me about the “scientific imagination” and I’d always take the bait, insisting that science was about everything that was possible.

It’s like some deity is descending their chariot in the heavens, burned irrevocably by the light they bring… that’s the sort of thing he might have said. I’ve stopped wondering what the engineers back home think of me. H and I said we’d make the trip to the ruins at Hari-yúpíyá but we never did.

I’ve turned everything off and I’m just gonna drift awhile: existence without light and death and impurity is lonely.

Black Planet

[delight]

Nasadiya Sukta

(Hymn of non-Eternity, origin of universe):

There was neither non-existence nor existence then;
Neither the realm of space, nor the sky which is beyond;
What stirred? Where? In whose protection?

There was neither death nor immortality then;
No distinguishing sign of night nor of day;
That One breathed, windless, by its own impulse;
Other than that there was nothing beyond.

Darkness there was at first, by darkness hidden;
Without distinctive marks, this all was water;
That which, becoming, by the void was covered;
That One by force of heat came into being;

Who really knows? Who will here proclaim it?
Whence was it produced? Whence is this creation?
Gods came afterwards, with the creation of this universe.
Who then knows whence it has arisen?

Whether God’s will created it, or whether He was mute;
Perhaps it formed itself, or perhaps it did not;
Only He who is its overseer in highest heaven knows,

Only He knows, or perhaps He does not know.

Star Soma-6
Constellation Veda
Right ascension (α) 06h 30m 33s
Declination (δ) +29° 40′ 20″
Apparent magnitude (mV) 11.69
Distance 871[1] ly
(267 pc)
Spectral type G0
Mass (m) 1.35 ± 0.14 M
Radius (r) 1.57 ± 0.07 R
Temperature (T) 6300+200
−100 K
Metallicity [Fe/H] 0.30+0.05
−0.15
Semi-major axis (a) 0.0229 ± 0.0008 AU
(3.43 Gm)
0.086 mas
Periastron (q) 0.0218 AU
(3.26 Gm)
Apastron (Q) 0.0240 AU
(3.59 Gm)
Eccentricity (e) 0.049 ± 0.015
Orbital period (P) 1.091423 ± 3e-6 d
(26.19415 h)
Inclination (i) 83.1+1.4
−1.1°
Argument of
periastron
(ω) -74+13
−10°
Time of transit (Tt) 2454508.9761 ± 0.0002 JD
Mass (m) 1.39 ± 0.04[1] MJ
Radius (r) 1.79+0.09
−0.09[1] RJ
Density (ρ) 326 kg m−3
Surface gravity (g) 1.16 g

 

RX J5623.5-3754

01/10/2117


helpless / large / paralysed / clubfoot / ambiguous / discussion

One up, two down. It doesn’t make any sense. The down particles keep getting heavier, according to my readings. I probably shouldn’t get any closer than I am. I wouldn’t be the only thing destroyed by a gamma-ray burst on that scale.

There’s this whole discussion in the datalogs about quark stars and its basically two astrophysicists going at it over whether or not they should have their own category – the stars, I mean. Neither can bear the ambiguity created by the other and there’s this whole field of research paralysed by the unconscious symmetries between these scientists; Pessoa is the senior researcher, no doubt – we all know she disproved the preon hypothesis and what a great help that was – but since she went to Hawaii, well, I’m just gonna come right out and say it, she’s been a little cranky. And this other guy, he’s got a point to prove: it’s like he’s forgotten the uncertainty at the heart of scientific inquiry.

If you turn the settings right up on the spectral analysis machine you get to watch this wonderfully misshapen ebb and flow of particles – kind of like Italy turned upside-down and wrapped in the glowing wax from a lava lamp. I’ve been watching it a while. I need a rest. I need a rest from taking a rest. I’m shooting some footage of this thing because I can.

Neutron Star

[wonder]

 

I’m playing Sole, a game designed by James Mullen in memory of his partner Philip.

Join in if you like: you can play under your own steam.

Year Zero

30/09/2117


discovery / swarm / calendar / officer / condition / houseguest

The data arrived as formaldehyde and methanol from the Local Interstellar Cloud – or, at least, that was the way it seemed at the time. Pretty soon, anyone on or near the equator had the condition and it spread like some lurid inkblot across the surface of the earth: everyone remembers those infographics on the news. Aunt Dolly on Orkney took us in but H didn’t make it: “You can’t keep running,” he said to me. “I know you flunked the training but you’re resistant, which means you’re one of the few people who can do this now.”

They made me an officer. Bastards. This meant they told me a lot of the truth from the beginning, about how the cloud was something huge, something terrible, something beautiful. The launch seemed difficult, as did the time spent in orbit – none of the pilots really got to talk to one another – but an awful calm has descended now that I’m finally out here on my own on the trajectory of Orion: a painted dot upon a painted backdrop. It barely seems real now that I’m actually seeing it. I can’t seem to stop rehearsing what I should have said to H.

 

black-cloud

[melancholy]

 

I’m playing Sole, a game designed by James Mullen in memory of his partner Philip.

Join in if you like: you can play under your own steam.

Rosemary’s Baby

Where stories on a planetary scale might reveal the magnitude of human folly, Cities obscure the private degradation of human motives; both venues, however, allow for the interrogation of the relationship between Identity and civilization. Rosemary’s Baby is in many respects as New Wave as anything that appeared in sf magazine New Worlds or any of the Original Anthologies of the 1960s: rarely can have the mutual indebtedness of the nouvelle vague in Cinema and the new wave in Genre SF been so clearly demonstrated. That the film also reveals the continuing importance of Horror in SF to the emergence of Fantastika as a cornerstone of popular culture is instructive: there is little so cathartic to the human imagination as watching one’s unspoken fears about the malevolence of human society rendered as entertainment.

Rosemary’s Baby achieves this by the way it merges its slow, almost predatory, portrayal of human Psychology under supernatural pressure with its mastery of surrealistic filmmaking techniques: here the razor from Un chien Andalou (1929) by Luis Buñuel & Salvador Dalí is exchanged for the kitchen knife in the hand of postpartum mother Rosemary Woodhouse (Farrow), the keyhole voyeurism of Le Sang d’un Poète (1930) by Jean Cocteau repurposed as the neighbourly manipulations of Roman (Blackmer) and Minnie Castevet (Gordon) and the clandestine marital set-up of Les Diaboliques (1955) by Henri-Georges Clouzot recycled as the selfish ambition of Rosemary’s flaky and avaricious husband Guy (Cassavetes). Les Diaboliques, released as Diabolique in the United States and sometimes translated as The Devils or The Fiends, also influenced the Freudian terror of Psycho (1960). Robert Bloch, author of the novel Psycho (1959) on which Alfred Hitchcock‘s seminal thriller is based, cited Les Diaboliques as his favourite horror film. It is the way director and screenwriter Roman Polanski fuses the oneiric force of Rosemary’s inner life to the interior of the New York apartment block to which she and her husband have moved that causes the viewer to identify so closely with her predicament:

Rosemary’s Baby entry

Invisible City

menagerie cover
David M Wright

Vagrant Workshop has released Itras By: The Menagerie, a compendium of supplementary materials for the Itras By roleplaying game organised like Dadaesque pamphlets or avant-garde magazines of the 1920s. I’m very happy.

“Between 1900 and 1937 Europe experienced an extraordinary cultural rebirth and interchange of ideas, comparable to the Renaissance and Enlightenment,” says Stephen Bury in his introduction to Breaking the Rules: The Printed Face of the European Avant Garde 1900-1937 (2007). The term avant-garde (“vanguard”) had become associated with utopian politics over the course of the nineteenth century.

“We, the artists, will serve as the avant-garde: for amongst all the arms at our disposal, the power of the Arts is the swiftest and most expeditious,” said Henri de Saint-Simon in Literary, Philosophical and Industrial Opinions (1825), a treatise on how artists, scientists and manufacturers might combine to lead humankind out of the alienation caused by industrial society. “When we wish to spread new ideas among people, we use in turn the lyre, ode or song, story or novel… we aim for the heart and imagination, and hence our effect is the most vivid and the most decisive.”

I’d long-hoped for a roleplaying game to address this shared imaginative space: my own efforts to introduce surrealist ideas into games of Vampire: The Masquerade – I was always enamoured of Clan Toreador – or Mage: The Ascension were for the most part paltry and ill-conceived; I wanted the thing without knowing how it should be done. The decision of editor Ole Peder Giæver and publisher Carsten Damm to open the Menagerie up to all-comers was inspired. The book (at almost three hundred pages) was made by Aleksandra Sontowska, Anders Nygaard, Banana Chan, Becky Annison, Caitlynn Belle, Carsten Damm, Cecilie Bannow, Clarissa Baut Stetson, David Cochard, David M Wright, Edward “Sabe” Jones, Emily Care Boss, Evan Torner, February Keeney, Gino Moretto, Henrik Maegaard, Jackson Tegu, Jason Morningstar, Jeremy Duncan, Joshua Fox, Josh Jordan, Judith Clute, Kamil Wegrzynowicz, Karina Graj, Kat Jones, Kathy Schad, Keith Stetson, Li Xin, Lizzie Stark, Magnus Jakobsson, Martin Bull Gudmundsen, Mathew Downward, Matthijs Holter, Mo Holkar, Niels Ladefoged, Ole Peder Giæver, Olivier Vuillamy, Philipp Neitzel, Sanne Stijve, Steve Hickey, Terje Nordin, Thomas Novosel, Tobie Abad, Tor Gustad, Trond Ivar Hansen and Willow Palecek.

There are lots of wonderful things about the Menagerie but it’s the insanity and the sex I like most – that and the way they’re combined with a creative generosity about every conceivable view of the world. Thought and expression are a deadly-serious game that should be treated with the utmost frivolity, and conducted in an atmosphere of outright honesty. People who tell you that life is work want you to work for them: they might ask you to die for them too. This is instead an invitation to express yourself.

A century has passed since Guillaume Apollinaire named surrealism:

This new alliance—I say new, because until now scenery and costumes were linked only by factitious bonds—has given rise, in Parade, to a kind of surrealism, which I consider to be the point of departure for a whole series of manifestations of the New Spirit that is making itself felt today and that will certainly appeal to our best minds. We may expect it to bring about profound changes in our arts and manners through universal joyfulness, for it is only natural, after all, that they keep pace with scientific and industrial progress. (Apollinaire, 1917)

800px-Guillaume_Apollinaire_foto

Little has changed since Apollinaire died; the world’s war machine rumbles on and public discourse seems to ebb further away from scientific data. The surrealists understood that it is by playfulness that we can achieve the arraignment of violent human impulse to spontaneous truth.

“The Moon grew bigger and bigger until it was the only thing in the sky (and presumably, growing ever still, until it is the only thing in the universe) and with each passing night drilled holes of light into the eyes of the people of city until all they knew was the Moon, all they thought of was the Moon, and all they wanted to do was make the Moon happy,” says Caitlynn Belle in Lunacy (pp69-74, with jagged, evocative illustrations by Thomas Novosel: “And the Moon wanted flesh. And the Moon wanted blood.” My kind of game. In The Hyacinth in the Bureaucracy (pp25- 44) by Jackson Tegu, Matthijs Holter and Jeremy Duncan, everybody and everything is having sex: it’s great. (Jone Aareskjold has written a critique of The Hyacinth in the Bureaucracy’s treatment of the sex trade here.) “No such thing as love, only passion!” cries Evan Torner in The Shadow Carnival (pp216-238), a freeform scenario in which the principles of German Expressionism guide the action: “No luck, only the will to gain power! Don’t be afraid of me!” I am afraid. I like that. Henrik Maegaard’s illustrations for Evan’s scenario are luminous. Becky Annison and Josh Fox have (correctly in my view) discerned the suitability of Itras By for GMful play in Sharing Room and Giving Space (pp145-154), an approach which calls upon every player to frame scenes, play supporting characters and drive external events.

These are just a few excerpts from the five parts of the MenagerieDiorama, Laboratory, Dream Resume, Hall of Mirrors and Post Scriptum. Martin Bull Gudmundsen’s essay When Life Does Not Make Sense (pp256-263) was, for me, a masterclass in making sense. It may be that you prefer to purchase games or books in digital format to lessen your impact on the environment or save shelf-space but I must say I didn’t fully appreciate the wonder of Kathy Schad’s visual design until I held the physical artefact in my hands. You can buy it here.

IMG_2450
Kat Jones & Cecilie Bannow
IMG_2460
Terje Nordin & Ole Peder Giæver
IMG_2456
Banana Chan
IMG_2457
Tobie Abad, Aleksandra Sontowska, Ole Peder Giæver, Trond Ivar Hansen & George Barbier
IMG_2449
Clarissa Baut Stetson

IMG_1868

IMG_1882

The second issue of RPG fanzine Machineries of Joy is dedicated to games from the Nørwegian Surreal.

The Desiring Machine

I’ve had occasion to consider my politics.

Where did they start and where do they end? I always had opinions, of course, and anyone who uses the internet knows about the impossibility of debating perspectives over platforms designed to sell commodities, but I mean when did they cohere, take shape, begin to mean something persistent in a variety of contexts?

I think it was the first time I read Mille plateaux by Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari (1980; trans 1986 by Brian Massumi as A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia); this turned out to be a sequel to Capitalisme et schizophrénie. L’anti-Œdipe (1972; trans 1977 by Robert Hurley, Helen R Lane and Mark Seem as Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia). I often read things back-to-front or in the wrong order or in a half-arsed and incomplete manner, a product, I think, not only of the internet but of having learnt to read fairly late in childhood.

I barely understood what I was reading – it kept mentioning Hegel, and boy oh boy oh boy did Hegel defeat me – but I had an intensely novelistic reaction (I was a little hypomanic at the time) to its intertextual games and plurality of register and felt very strongly that this was a book that was describing me and the world I experienced much more accurately than the ponderous one-thing-after-another histories of western civilization I’d read before then. I went back and read it more carefully when I had calmed down and found that my thoughts accorded with my feelings.

I picked up Anti-Oedipus yesterday and found that Michel Foucault had summarised the contents of the book very clearly in its preface: I’ve had trouble comprehending Foucault’s writings on sexuality and madness but I love the clarity and intimacy of how he writes about Deleuze. Here is a transliteration of what Foucault calls the “essential principles” of the book:

  • Free political action from all unitary and totalizing paranoia.
  • Develop action, thought, and desires by proliferation, juxtaposition, and disjunction, and not by subdivision and pyramidal hierarchization.
  • Withdraw allegiance from the old categories of the Negative (law, limit, castration, lack, lacuna), which Western thought has so long held sacred as a form of power and an access to reality. Prefer what is positive and multiple, difference over uniformity, flows over unities, mobile arrangements over systems. Believe that what is productive is not sedentary but nomadic.
  • Do not think that one has to be sad in order to be militant, even though the thing one is fighting is abominable. It is the connection of desire to reality (and not its retreat into forms of representation) that possesses revolutionary force.
  • Do not use thought to ground a political practice in Truth; nor political action to discredit, as mere speculation, a line of thought. Use political practice as an intensifier of thought, and analysis as a multiplier of the forms and domains for the intervention of political action.
  • Do not demand of politics that it restore the “rights” of the individual, as philosophy has defined them. The individual is the product of power. What is needed is to “de-individualize” by means of multiplication and displacement, diverse combinations. The group must not be the organic bond uniting hierarchical individuals, but a constant generator of de-individualization.
  • Do not become enamoured of power.

These are my politics.

The art in the main image is by Marc Ngui.