Where’s Your Passport? (Half-Life Vr But The AI Is Self-Aware)

I… I have no idea how to write about this. Usually when confronted by such a task, I end up going mad and writing poetry or doing some art project that’s only tangentially related to the subject at hand. But here, I’m left flabbergasted by how I’m supposed to react to this. I don’t even know if I can say it’s good or bad. It is. It’s in the world and there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s very much something you experience as you’re trapped inside for weeks with no sign of escape. I think I might be experiencing burn out. I don’t have much in creativity at the moment and I used it up yesterday on a Batman talks to the Devil story that’s going to happen at some point on someone else’s podcast. I am aware of myself, but I lack the ability to do a thing about it. I need to get out of the house more often.

This post was commissioned by Aleph Null through Patreon. I'm sorry it wasn't that good.

Why the Long Face? (Bojack Horseman)

Commissioned by Aleph Null

TW: Suicide

I told you about my cat Jamara. I took her to the vet every Tuesday and Thursday, I liquidized her food and fed her with a dropper, I prayed for her to get better... I'd have done anything to save her, really. And yet there was a part of me-- the part that observes and writes-- rubbing its hands and saying, "Well, at least if she dies, I'll be able to use it in Animal Man. It'll add a nice touch of poignancy."
-Grant Morrison

I have a tendency to fetishize my depression. Maybe that’s not the right word in this context, but it’s right for this article. I sometimes joke to myself that my critical approach can be best summed up as “I get depressed at art for a couple thousand words.” Not all of my work falls into this mold, but a lot of it does. My initial blog project ultimately revealed itself to be a coping mechanism for my grandfather’s death. My next project was a series of reviews with the arc words “Why shouldn’t I commit suicide” that, in its book form, talks frankly about my desires to end it all. And my most recent project, a series of short stories based on episodes of Cowboy Bebop, perhaps my first non-I’m Depressed project, has largely been a wet fart both in my opinions of many of the posts and in readership. My brand, as is want to be called, is being miserable. It’s not all I am as a writer, but it’s a large part of it.

Furthermore, I’m also very self-deprecating, such that I will frequently talk about the ways in which I screwed up, sometimes without any care for the people who I screwed. Indeed, the original version of this article was another piece where the message is “Sean is rubbish.” But I came up with way too many examples of me being rubbish that I essentially hit a wall of existential dread over whether or not we can actually stop being the person we were yesterday or if the potential to repeat cruel acts makes us… I don’t know how to finish that sentence. I stared at it for a good minute trying to find the right word, but none came out.

When I try to watch Bojack Horseman, I feel like it’s hitting way too many seared wounds. It’s not a one to one connection between the two of us. Beyond species and profession, I’m not an addict to either drugs or alcohol. I’m too introverted to be the kind of toxicity that Bojack is. And mine wasn’t as broken a home as his. But… I feel a sense of kinship to the life and tragedy Bojack lived. The desire to end it all. The feeling that every action I take only makes things worse. The urge to be the center of attention, even when it’s time to let someone else talk. The lack and desire to have closure. But closure isn’t something you deserve. It’s something other people give to you. Sometimes, that means being told to go fuck yourself while others it means just sitting on a roof, silently looking at the stars.

And here again, I write autobiographically. I sometimes wonder if this approach is solipsistic, if I’m just writing to fellate my own ego for the sake of making myself feel better over the cruel things I’ve done. That I’m not really sorry for my actions, just going through the motions of “Cruelty, Guilt, Confrontation, Apology.” Not necessarily in that order. I haven’t seen a therapist in years. A lot of other stuff took priority. I could talk about those things, but those aren’t my stories to tell. At most, I was a supporting player to those events, some I’ve discussed at length. Others are best not expressed publicly for many years.

Oddly enough, one of the many reasons why I argue I should kill myself is that I’m just a space filler. I don’t add anything to the conversation and what I do add is, at best, superfluous and, at worst, inaccurate. Anyone could do what I do and many do it better. I add personal value to the people who know me, but that’s basically it. And that loss could heal in time. Hell, I set up the blog so that, if I were to kill myself after writing this entry, you wouldn’t notice until December. (I’m not going to for a variety of reasons, the least of which being I preordered tickets to Gothic on Wednesday, I’m planning on seeing Sweet Movie a week from Saturday, and I’ve got a Sherlock retrospective essay planned I’m hoping to get onto Graphic Policy. Fittingly, the title structure for each part is based around the song “Don’t Stop Dancing ‘til the Curtain Call” as a metatextual joke about where Steven Moffat’s career would’ve gone were he to stick with sitcoms. Oh, and I’m also going to Grad School in June.)

But then… I want to put a “but then” sentence here, but I don’t really know what would be right. Whenever I write about reasons not to do it, it always feels a bit too cliched, too obvious and straightforward. You are not alone, It won’t hurt forever, I’m willing to listen, and all that. But it feels… not enough. Like I don’t fully believe the words. There are times when rock bottom turns out to be a ledge you hit that crumples as easily as paper. I want to conclude on an optimistic note because, for all my self-loathing, I believe things can get better. I believe I can be a better person than I was yesterday, even though I am still capable of doing what I did and may even repeat my cruelty in the future, intentionally or not. But I am capable of stopping myself. I am capable of doing the right thing. And sometimes that means shutting the hell up. Sometimes that means not begging for closure from those you’ve hurt. And sometimes… it means reaching out to help someone who’s only halfway down.

(Shit, I need another 50 words to accurately call this “being depressed at art for thousands of words.” …Quotes have worked out for me in the past, why not?)

I know that you're tired
I know that you're sour and sick and sad
For some reason
 So I'll leave you with a smile
Kiss you on the cheek
And you will call it treason
 That's the way it goes
Some days a fever comes at you
Without a warning
 And I can see it in your face
You've been waiting to break
Since you woke up this morning
-Catherine Feeny, Mr. Blue Sky

Free Chelsea (The Strange Case of Starship Iris)

Commissioned by Aleph Null

"Penguins get scared too."

The question at the heart of this story about various kinds of people (including, but not limited to, queers, refugees, anarchists, and other kinds of Others) living in the outskirts of a fascist regime is simply this: Just who the hell is listening to The Strange Case of Starship Iris? To understand the implications of this, let’s back up a bit. When looking at a work, one must first ask why is it presented in this format? Indeed, as I was listening to the first episode of The Strange Case of Starship Iris, I was unsure why this was being presented as an audio drama rather than in a more visual format. There were times where Violet Liu openly describes to herself what she’s looking at. Some audio drama presenters have this issue. For example, Big Finish routinely has characters describe their surroundings in detail. For example, in the overall excellent The Chimes of Midnight, Charley Pollard announces that she’s going to write her name and then says her name as she’s writing it. There are some, such as Live 34 and …ish, where the audio drama format is used to its advantage, but typically the format is more seen as a cost saving measure. It’s cheaper to have a character describe what’s in front of them rather than create a set or pay an artist to draw it.

But at the end of the episode, the nature of the format within The Strange Case of Starship Iris becomes clear and in a way that few podcasts do. There are some podcasts that come close. One that comes to mind is Alice Isn’t Dead, where the first season finale reveals that we are, in fact, an unknown operative is listening in on the narrator talk on the radio. However, the second season muddies the waters by having us listen in on her as if she’s another voice on the radio as opposed to being us. Equally, the podcast Between the Wires has a series of found footage auto files in a fascist state. However, at the time I was finished listening to it (season 2), there was no indication that the listener was a part of the narrative. Even Welcome to Night Vale, while positioning us as part of the community, isn’t invested in who we are in the story. The Strange Case of Starship Iris, however, very much is.

Because we aren’t outside of the text. We aren’t some impartial listener without an agenda beyond a desire to be entertained by a story about a ragtag group of smugglers, killers, and dreamers. We have an agenda. We have a reason to listen in on these private conversations, these little moments of insecurity and love. We’re the enemy. We’re the baddies. We’re spying on them.

This is made apparent in the end credits of the first episode. Most shows would have an out of universe speaker list off the cast and crew of the show as well as places where the audience can support further production. However, the credits of The Strange Case of Starship Iris are in universe documents of the “Republic” being inspected by intelligence agents, among which we are. The goodies are being listened to… by us. At one point, when the characters realize we are listening to them, one of them directly address us. Not in a metafictional sense, nor even a “stop listening to us” one. Simply an explanation of her motives. But one of the lines she says hits at the core of our role: Either you hear us, or you don’t.

There is a difference between hearing someone and listening to them. To listen is a passive action. The words enter the brain, certainly, but often the meaning can be ignored. Like listening to music on the radio, focusing more on the sounds made than what is said. A sad song with a happy tune can distract people from the inherent sadness of the song. But to hear someone is to understand what they are saying. To know the sheer horror of the system they are scraping by in. A fascist government where making one wrong move, one tiny disagreement, can throw even the innocent into the pit. One that believes action for actions sake is always the right call, even if it means everyone will die with them. Where the first sign of weakness is an opportunity to destroy someone. Where people can frame the innocent just because they didn’t pay their way to the top and were a bit too yellow for their tastes. That sees torture as a good thing and all the studies against it merely anarchist propaganda. Big Brother is Always Listening. But are the people paying attention. Are we hearing.

Which is to say… what do we do with the information provided to us? What do we do with information that tells us the world is broken, cruel, and monstrous. There are two agents who listen in on the conversations along with us: Agents Park and McCabe (no doubt the latter will end up in a relationship with a woman named Miller in the second season). We don’t get much about their lives outside the recordings. They keep their personal lives outside of their work lives. Indeed, we don’t even learn McCabe’s pronouns until the final episode when they make a decision to rebel against the Regime.

Though what’s interesting is how they come about their decision. Park, for example, is a loyal member of the Regime until it’s suspected that he’s the mole leaking info out to the Regime’s enemies. He’s not, but that doesn’t matter to the Regime. In the end, Park rebels because he realized that the Leopards Eating People’s Faces Party was going to eat his face. (Luckily, he only lost an eye. Other people have lost so much more than that.) McCabe, meanwhile, was ultimately press ganged into rebelling against the Regime due to being blamed for things they were not as liable to as the Regime wants people to think. These are not, in short, people who rebelled for reasons outside of their own self-interest.

That isn’t to say they aren’t sympathetic. There are, after all, ways in which they could have responded to the fascist system eating their face that aren’t rebellious in nature. After all, once the Regime realized that Park wasn’t the mole, they immediately let him resume his job within their organization as if nothing had happened. One could argue they would have done the same had they killed the goodies in a very public manner. But they chose to rebel… because they heard. They heard the various little moments of life being lived. The big moments of horror and implication. They paid attention to the story of the sole survivor of Starship Iris, Violet Liu. And like her, they rebelled.

What then do we do about information such as this, when we hear it for ourselves. The story ends with a shift in our role. From the baddies who listen in on the people just trying to live their lives in a cruel, uncaring universe to people. Any type of people really, be they straight, alien, poor, queer, black, man, woman, child, nonbinary, what have you. After all, anyone can hear a rumor out.

You Think Them Cuddly, But I Think Them Sinister (Untitled Goose Game)

A Commission for Aleph Null.

What is a mob to a king? What is a king to a god?
What is a god to a goose who don't believe in anything?

Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack. (Oh shit, it would appear that a goose has taken over the blog. I’ll try to fight him with the best of my abilities, but I’m not) Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack!

Quack. Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack. Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack. Quaaaaaaaaaaack. Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack. Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack, Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack; Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack.

Quack Quack Quack Quack: Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack. Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack:

            Quack Quack Quack Quack?

            Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack?

            Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack?

Quack Quack Quack Quack. Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack. Quack Quack Quack? Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack; Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack; Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack; Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack! Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack

Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack. Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack (Neil Cicierega), Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack (Keiko Nobumoto), Quack Quack Quack (Tom King), Quack Quack Quack Quack (JM DeMatteis). Quack Quack Quack. Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack. Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack. Quaaaaaaaack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack (no, he didn’t).

Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack (mostly due to his decision to use them as a transition from Goliwog apologia to why Grant Morrison is a shit) Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack. Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack.

(Although, consider the case of Gladstone Gander. At once a figure of comedy and tragedy, Gladstone is the luckiest duck in the world. He loves his lucky, truly he does, but the cost of that luck is that people view him more as a resource than as a person. He is forever trapped within the idea. That he is lesser than his unlucky cousin [Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack] and his rich, inexplicably hard working billionaire uncle [Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack] because he’s a lay about who would rather let his luck do the work than do the work himself. And yet, he cares about his family. He cares about those close to him and wishes only the best for them. Sure, he’s a dick sometimes, but who isn’t [Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack]?)

Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack (Why shouldn’t I commit) Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack!!!!

Quack Quack Quack; Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack, Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack/Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack--Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack--Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack: Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack, Quack, Quack Quack Quack, Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack.

Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack (I suppose I should give my thoughts on the game. Erm… I haven’t actually played it. Look, I thought it was going to be on Steam like every single other Mac game. Evidently not, since it’s an Epic Games exclusive. That’s not to say I won’t play the game, in fact I’m planning on doing so before I post this. It’s just that I came up with the idea for the post as I was about to buy the game and felt the urge to write the post as soon as possible.) Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack! (Ok, so I've played the game now and it's a lot of fun to be a horrible goose.) Quack Quack! Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack!

Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack, Quack. Quack. Quuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaackkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!

(Well that was rather rude of him.)

Take These Broken Wings and Learn to Fly (Tuca & Bertie)

Commisioned by Aleph Null

Trigger warning: sexual assault.

HOT FUZZ (2007)
Cinematography by Jess Hall
Directed by Edgar Wright

Tuca & Berite is a delightful throwback to the nineties animated sitcom. Specifically, the kind of animated sitcom that relied on treating the animated world as a canvas rather than a representation of the real world and also didn’t have the lesson everyone got from South Park that being a giant asshole who hates everyone (but is conveniently softer on conservatives than they are on liberals) is a good substitute for a sense of humor. Which is to say that it’s more in the mold of the rubbier episodes of The Simpsons (Sheri Bobbins, Hank Scorpio, Tomaco) than Brickleberry.

The show focuses on a pair of anthropomorphic birds named Tuca and Bertie who fit into the archetypes of “free spirited party girl” and “repressed career girl.” Together, we see them explore the various highs and lows of friendship, love, and workplace drama. But unlike many a throwback series that’s banking on people knowing what the 90’s felt like, Tuca & Bertie takes the lessons learned since the 90’s and applies them to their new series. Specifically, in regards to serialization and the politics of the show.

Throughout the series, Bertie takes on an apprenticeship with a very famous chef whose training style is very… hands on, a phrase which here means “#MeToo.” While not going as far as depicting an actual rape, the imagery of and framing fits within many a narrative of a sexual assault survivor, specifically one in denial of what has happened to them. It’s sympathetic to Bertie’s situation, exploring the ways in which denial and self loathing made her think such things as sexual assault were ok to happen to her.

Equally, Tuca is dealing with having to live on her own as a disaster who can’t keep a job and is estranged from her family for various sad reasons that involve a history of alcoholism, a feeling that everyone who loves you will just abandon you, and dependency on a rich aunt signing checks. Ultimately, Tucan & Bertie help each other through their various issues and grow as people, a rarity for a sitcom.

Indeed, the show is very much a rarity in the sitcom genre as it’s written from a perspective of women. The head writer and creator of the series, Bojack Horseman alumni Lisa Hanawait, brings a sweetness and humanity to the series’ general rubberiness and cartoony charm that one typically doesn’t see in even modern sitcoms. You wouldn’t think 2 Broke Girls would have a cutaway to the two having a heart to heart about an old flame in the midst of a heated argument.

Overall, Tuca & Bertie is a delightful show that’s worth the five hours it takes to watch. Also it has Steven Yeun, easily the best part of most things he’s in, as the put upon boyfriend who has a picture of his own face and had to eat his own grandmother because she was baked into a cake. That’s just delightfully weird in a way you don’t see in modern sitcoms.

ICU (Free Churro)

Commissioned by Aleph Null

Bojack seen.

Bojack Horseman is another example of a show I’ve been told to write about that I don’t feel I can do justice with the limitations of the commission process for the Patron Tier of $5. It’s a show I haven’t watched much of and what I have watched makes me not want to watch it. Not because it’s a bad show or anything, just… look, I’m working on a book that’s largely about a guy coming to terms with his failed suicide. The major project I worked on prior to that (that has been released to the public) was in large part about me coming to terms with the death of my grandfather and was about a guy having a near death experience to come to terms with a depressive period of his life. Bojack Horseman is a show about a depressed actor who is self-destructing. There are loads of reasons for me not to write about it.

And yet, here I am writing about it. More specifically, Free Churro, the best episode of the whole series… the one where Bojack gives a eulogy for his mother, a woman who died not even knowing who he was because of a stupid disease. It’s structured like a joke. “A man goes to a funeral to give a eulogy for his mother. He had a complex and depressing relationship with her, one that didn’t end well, and yet he had to give a final statement on her. He doesn’t know what to say, so he starts rambling, as we’re wont to do. Then, an epiphany happens. He realizes the nature of his mother’s relationship to him and looks at her body. But she’s not there. He went to the wrong funeral.”

Not funny when told in that context, but still. It’s the structure that matters. We are all trapped by the structures we find ourselves in. The face we’ve given ourselves, our style. I’m going to change things up once I finish One Must Imagine Scott Free Happy. I just can’t stand doing the same kind of writing over and over again. Being stuck in that rut ultimately has me saying the same five or six points about myself. I need to shake things up and do something new. I’m not in a place where I can actually write about what I want to write about when it comes to Free Churro. It hasn’t ended yet and so it’s too soon to actually talk about it.

I have it planned out though, probably… five years from now? I have the next project and a Chris O’Leary riff to get through first. But for now, I’m writing about something else… Why do I write, I sometimes ask myself. Why do I write the way I do. These stories about the things I watch and read. The ways I talk about myself through them. There are many reasons for that, but the one relevant to this one is… I want to be seen. I want people to be able to see me for me. Not the whole of me, there are some things that I don’t bring up in the very personal old post that’s coming up on the 29^ththat make me look worse. I don’t talk about what I did to compensate for my failings. Or, rather, “failings.”

I’ve done things I regret. Things I wish I never did. Things too recent to just throw them under the rug as the actions of a dumb teenager in high school. I’ve said the wrong word, done the wrong action, made the wrong call. And I don’t want to talk about them. Not yet, not here. Even though Bojack Horseman, a show about imperfect people trying their best to be better despite doing some truly horrible things, would be a fitting place to talk about them. I keep trying to find the right place for them, but they’re too raw at the moment.

Because that’s the thing about being seen, it’s different from being shown. To be shown is to not have agency in being looked at. We all want to be seen, but part of that is a level of agency. We decide what other people see. A corpse can never be seen, for a corpse has no agency in being looked at. An author, likewise, cannot truly be seen through a text. For even in my honesty, there’s still a level of artifice to such things. I can say that my name is Sean Joseph Dillon, a 23, soon to be 24, year old man who writes and edits for a living. But that doesn’t tell you much. Even when I talk about personal things, memory cheats and makes them seem better or worse than they actually were.

There is one thing I could tell you, something that’s relevant. When I was a kid, I was bullied. Frequently, and I didn’t take it well. I’d do a lot of things that were, for lack of a better word, awful. I won’t go into specifics, but there were times when I was a genuine creep who thought my loner status put him above the rest, even as I was self aware enough to know that such archetypes were a bullshit artifice to hide my own insecurities. One of the ways my bullies would torment me was through calling me “Seen.” That would always get to me because I didn’t want to be “Seen.” Because I wasn’t “Seen.” I was Sean. I am Sean.

Over the years, I’ve contemplated a lot of the implications of that statement. What it means to be Sean and whatnot. There are times when I don’t like being me because I’m a fuck up, an ass, and a jerk. Sometimes, I wonder about aspects of myself, if and how I should change my behaviors and outlooks. I try to look at myself through the lens other people, other versions of myself. I’ve even pondered my gender, especially after two major influences came out as trans within a month of each other. (I still haven’t come to a full conclusion, but being trans myself doesn’t feel right for me. I’m comfortable in my masculinity, but not in traditional masculinity, if that makes any sense.) I’m a bit too anxious about how people see me, intentionally or otherwise. And that anxiety causes me to sometimes lash out at people. But ultimately, I try to be better. I sometimes fall back into bad habits and attitudes, but in spite of that, I feel like I’m a better person than I was when I was younger.

I’m trying to be, at least. That’s the best we can do really.

My God! My God! There’s Duck Guts Everywhere! (Ducktales (2017))

Commissioned by Aleph Null

The second most bitter Doctor Who cast reunion.

My history with watching cartoons has always had a preference towards those of Cartoon Network, Nickelodeon, and KidsWB than those of the Disney Channel. There are, to be sure, good Disney cartoons I watched as a kid: Fillmore, The Emperor’s New School, The Proud Family. But more often than not, I’d find myself watching Courage the Cowardly Dog or Fairly Odd Parents or Johnny Test than any of those. Even during the television cartoon renaissance, I’d lean more towards Steven Universe and Archer than Phineas and Ferb or Star Vs.

Ducktales is no different. I can certainly see its quality as a show and I do try to watch it every so often, but there isn’t that oomph to actually watch the series that I get from any of the other shows that I do watch. That’s not to say the show is bad per say, merely that it’s not go to television. There are a few reasons why that is: the vast amounts of orientalism for one. In particular, the episode that introduces Gladstone Gander where, as Jen Blue notes in a vlog, it could have easily been a riff on Las Vegas, but because they decided to set it in Macaw, ends up being about how Asian cultures aren’t as real as western ones and ultimately suck the life essence (i.e. money) out of those who travel in them.

I’m not sure if I’m fond of the characterization of Scrooge as being an adventurer who’s incidentally a billionaire rather than a billionaire adventurer. The distinction is notable in the series’ general focus on Scrooge’s money. It simultaneously wants being a billionaire cheapskate to be core to his character (such that Glomgold’s motivation is partially due to Scrooge stiffing him on the bill) as well as being not core enough to his character that he will spend vast portions of his money on seemingly frivolous things like saving his niece from being lost in space. The vultures effectively act as his “I’m a billionaire, why should I help” side that I feel is vital to his character at that point in the narrative of his life.

Around the time the show started, I did what every single comics scholar has done before me and started to get into Duck Comics. There, Scrooge’s character becomes a bit clearer and one the show doesn’t get despite trying to be a holistic exploration of the entirety of Duck comics such that it literally has Fethery, Fergus, and Della Duck in it. (The only way it could be more holistic is if there was an entire episode devoted to Donald Duck running around the city as a superhero calling himself the Duck Avenger while everyone else calls him Paperinik.) Scrooge’s character at the point in the narrative the show starts at is, shall we say, a bit of a bastard. For the past 30 some odd years, Scrooge has worked his way into becoming the richest duck in the world, be it through buying out businesses hurt by the financial crash, bamboozling native tribes and destroying their homes pushing them to send a zombie after him in the name of revenge, or evicting a group of children from their Boy Scout base because he wants to house his billions of dollars. Even when he’s with the kids early on, he’s still a bit of a bastard, unwilling to let go of even a miniscule portion of his vast wealth to feed a homeless shelter and let them have a good Christmas (as is the case with many a billionaire).

But as the years go on, he starts being less of a bastard. He’s not the kind of person who would give up his for the sake of a village he burnt down, but he’s also no longer the kind of person who would burn down said village. His growth is becoming someone who cares about people, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. The problem is that the show wants to start at the point where he cares about people rather than build up to it.  It’s not a bad take per say, there are many a hero who start from that point. But Scrooge feels like the kind of character who needs that arc. He shouldn’t be patting Webby on the back of the head after one minor adventure is what I’m saying.

But, again, that’s just a personal point of contention. It’s not an objective “Ducktales (2017) is Garbage and Here’s Why” claim. It’s just a factor within my preference for other versions of the characters I like. The season arc, likewise, is part of a genre of “main characters keep secrets from one another for their own protections only for it to blow up in their faces” stories that I personally don’t like. I get why they didn’t tell their family what was going on, but there comes a point when such storylines get tiresome and drab.

However, there are reasons why I watch the show. The voice acting is phenomenal, the animation is delightful, I like the ways the characters bounce off one another (when they’re not keeping secrets from each other). The bit with Donald getting a voice change is hilarious and I hope that they actually do a crossover episode with the actual Duck Comics version of the cast and there’s a gag where Donald sounds like a normal person because his words appear clearly in a word balloon. The action scenes are always a delight with my favorite being the musical Three Caballeros reunion. Most of all, it’s a fun kids show that’s not fully catering to my tastes as a fan of Scrooge McDuck comics. There are worse things it could do, like the aforementioned orientalism it does a lot in the show. I mean, how hard is it to not be “evil foreigners are evil because they’re foreign and not as real as us westerners” when it comes to your one off baddies?

Also, I would really love it if there were a three cousins episode where Donald, Fethry, and Gladstone had to go on an adventure together. Those were always fun comic stories to read.

Ain’t No Lie, Baby (Crazy Ex Girlfriend)

Commissioned by Aleph Null. If you would like to commission a post, consider backing the Patreon at the $5 level.

I do not watch Crazy Ex Girlfriend. This is not a statement of the shows quality as I don’t watch a lot of good shows and Crazy Ex Girlfriend looks like it’s one of them. From what I’ve gathered, it’s a series about a woman who’s trying to get her boyfriend back through stalking and other things unexamined by traditional romantic comedies. Also, it’s a musical.

Going off the series, there were two approaches I could take with examining the show. On the one hand, I could go off brand and look at the Weird Al cameo as the be-all, end-all moment in his career. This would include examining his various songs and cameos prior to this moment with sidesteps into arguing that his appearance in Teen Titans Go! is the best interpretation of that character ever put to screen, explaining why the episode of MLP with him in it wasn’t enough to actually get me into the show bar looking at certain segments of the fandom, and why the duel in Wander Over Yonder is just so much better. It would ultimately end with the sentence, “But his career reached its highpoint when he cameoed in Crazy Ex Girlfriend as a hot air balloon salesman.”

But twitter voted for me to stay on brand, so here’s a lyrical analysis of Getting Bi.

 

Disaster Bi

We start with a seemingly realistic office setting where one of the board members is tapping on the table. And then the lights change and suddenly, it’s a musical. This show is delightful and I don’t fully know why I’m not watching it.

I don’t know how.

I don’t know why.

But I like ladies!

And I like guys!

This is perhaps the most succinct definition of bisexuality I’ve seen in fiction, one that does not imply that bisexuals want to fuck around with other people because, by “rejecting” the sexual binary of straight or gay, we are more amoral in our sexual desires. This ranges from Deep Space Nine’s Mirror Kira, which for some reason doesn’t reveal Kira is Bi, to Partick Hocksetter from IT. That this bisexual guy named Darryl is having a musical number where he’s shown as being delightful instead of villainous is a welcome change of pace.

I realize

It’s a surprise.

But I see that it’s just me

It’s not like I even tried!

I don’t remember the exact moment I realized I was bisexual. It felt sort of like a gradual thing rather than a shocking revelation. I’d see a cock or a vagina or whatever and I’d feel aroused. But the exact moment is a bit of a blur to me. It certainly was a shock to some of my family, though others are more open to it. I should stress that there hasn’t been a “Sean, we’d like for you to go to therapy to deal with this” type conversations and I haven’t been disowned. At worst, some members of the family have been in denial of it. I can live with that.

So if you ask me how I’m doing,

Here is my reply: 

I’m g-g-g-g-getting bi!

I’m getting bi!

Oh yeah, I’m letting my

Bi

Flag

Fly!

Many bisexuals, myself included, have been championing for this song to be made into a bisexual anthem. It’s hard not to see why, as it’s a delightfully peppy song about how amazing it is to be bisexual and it’s title is a pun on the phrase “Getting by.” Puns are one of the core aspects of bi-culture ever since Kieron Gillen entered the fray. That I am not that great at puns is a great source of contention on my end.

Not gonna hide it!

Not gonna lie!

I’m a bi kinda guy

There’s no reason to be shy!

My oh my,

It’s a fact I can’t deny

I’m Bi! Bi! Bi!

Until the day I die!

One of the interesting aspects of the video is that it goes back and forth between two layers of reality. One being the office and the other being a soundstage akin to the old variety shows. There are two worlds of reality being presented to us, both equally valid in the world of the show and both ones where Darryl can exist and be himself. He can be both the man in the grey suit and the man in the white suit simultaneously. Pretty good metaphor for being bi, don’t you think?

Now some may say,

“Are you just gay?

Why don’t you just go gay all the way?”
But that’s not it!

‘Cause bi’s legit!

Whether you’re a he or a she,

We may be a perfect fit!

Another part of the bisexual identity is that we have to repeatedly assert our status as bisexuals. By and large, many people both within and without the LGBTQIA community will look at bisexuals as “Straights trying to sound interesting” or “Cowardly gays” or even “traitors.” Most times, people will just be confused by the sexuality and act as if I’m just straight or gay. The truth, as with most things, is more complicated and yet more straightforward.

And one more thing,

I tell you what!

Being bi does not imply

That you’re a player

Or a slut!

Sure, I like sex,

But I’m no ho!

I take things slow

Until I feel at ease!

Remember what I said about depraved bisexuals? It’s a long running tradition to queer up the villains, but not make them “too gay,” so bisexuals get thrown under the bus. There’s an air of “I’m not like the other bisexuals” when some characters try to defend their sexuality in fiction (mainly because such characters are written by people whose conception of bisexuality comes from reading books about the evil wizard who does ghastly things to both men and women). Crazy Ex Girlfriend knows that bisexuals like myself are just like any other person, warts and all.

So if you ask me how I’m doing,

I’m feeling peppy,

Spritely,

Spry!

I’m g-g-getting bi!

I’m getting bi!

And it’s something I’d like to demystify!

There is an air of mysticism to all levels of queerness. Indeed, all forms of sexuality are in there way mystical. Alan Moore, for example, hinges a lot of his beliefs on the powers of love, hence why he views rape so abhorrently and yet so naïvely: it’s a corruption of love by violence rather than what it actually is (a form of taking power over someone, love and sexuality be damned). To say you’d like to demystify any sexuality is a bit-

It’s not a phase!

I’m not confused!

Not indecisive!

I don’t got the “Gotta choose” blues!

Oh, that kind of demystify. Never mind.

I don’t care if you wear high heels 

Or a tie!

You might just catch my eye, cause I’m definitely bi!

The thing about bisexuality, that the song doesn’t get into directly, is that it’s not, as the “bi” implies limited to two genders. Rather it’s an attraction to two or more genders. Bisexuals can have partners with ladies, guys, non-binary people, and all the other types of people in the Technicolor landscape we call gender.

BIG MAN!

After this comes a saxophone solo. It’s delightful, as all saxophone solos are. After this, Darryl sings, “I’m getting bi” six more times.

It doesn’t take an intellectual

To get that I’m bisexual!

If nothing else, that such an open, honest statement about bisexuality was found not in a personal drama about queer people dying of AIDS, a prestige show ostensibly about tits and dragons, or a great American novel about how terrible it is to be able to afford to not die on the streets, but in a CW comedy series speaks to the validity of this statement. That’s not to disparage the show; rather it’s to note that what we as a culture consider to be “high art” tends to be dour pieces where everyone secretly hates everyone else and will do horrible things in the name of their own self interests rather than delightful ones about how amazing sex and other people are.

Also, minor quibble, that’s not what the bi flag looks like.

This is a bi flag.

(Not) On a Series of Unfortunate Events

To Aleph Null—

[Insert poetic death pun here]

Sadly, I cannot write this article. There are several reasons whyI could write about the lives of the Baudelaire Orphans and those they have come across. I liked the show quite a bit, I have fond memories of the commentary of the movie where Lemony Snicket just takes the piss out of the whole damn thing, and I grew up with the books.

And therein lies my problem, a phrase which here means, “This is why I can’t help you” and is used as a transition to lead to the core problem instead of simply saying why the thing cannot be done: I never finished them. I certainly got well into the series, all the way up to the Penultimate Peril. Alas, I never read the final book in the series, The End. I’ve sneaked a peek at bits and pieces of the book, but I’ve never finished. It’s a hole in my library and to fill the hole would require me to finish the series, which is something I cannot do, what with my other… commitments. Alas, I would love to wax poetically on the themes and implications of the series, how they tie into the way the world was and is, and whatnot. But I literally cannot do so at this time.

Regretfully yours,

Sean Dillon.

PS Patrick, you’ll find the package in the basement three buildings to the left of where we last met. I figured it was too important to tell you this in secret code. 

Mouthstuck (Mobius Trip and Hadron Kaleido)

Commissioned by Aleph Null

[It is recommended that as you read this article, you listen to The Night Begins to Shine by BER at the speed it takes to finish that song. If you do not finish the article by the end of the song, please start again. If you finish the article before the song is done, restart the song and start again.]

Of powers we cannot perceive! The stars aren't aligned or the gods are malign. Blame is better to give than receive, you can choose a ready guide (in some celestial voice). If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice. You can choose from phantom fears and kindness that can kill. I will choose a path that's clear: I will choose free will! There are those who think that they've been dealt a losing hand. The cards were stacked against them, they weren't born in Lotus-Land. All preordained, a prisoner in chains, a victim of venomous fate kicked in the face. You can't pray for a place in heaven's unearthly estate!

No singing in the acid rain. Red alert! Red alert! It's so hard to stay together, passing through revolving doors. We need someone to talk to and someone to sweep the floors. Incomplete! Incomplete! The world weighs on my shoulders, but what am I to do? You sometimes drive me crazy, but I worry about you. I know it makes no difference to what you're going through, but I see the tip of the iceberg, and I worry about you.

Learning to match the beat of the old-world man, learning to catch the heat of the third-world man, he's got to make his own mistakes and learn to mend the mess he makes. He's old enough to know what's right and young enough not to choose it, He's noble enough to win the world, but weak enough to lose it. He's a new-world man!

Yet now, we feel that we are paper, choking on you nightly. They tell me "Son, we want you, be elusive, but don't walk far." For we're breaking in the new boys, deceive your next of kin! For you're dancing where the dogs decay, defecating ecstasy. You're just an ally of the leecher, Locator for the virgin King, but I love you in your fuck-me pumps and your nimble dress that trails! Oh, dress yourself, my urchin one, for I hear them on the rails. Because of all we've seen, because of all we've said: “We are the dead!”

See how it sings like a sad heart and joyously screams out its pain! Sounds that build high like a mountain or notes that fall gently, like rain. I can’t wait to share this new wonder, the people will all see its light! Let them all make their own music! The Priests praise my name on this night. In the sudden silence as I finished playing, I looked up to a circle of grim, expressionless faces. Father Brown rose to his feet, and his somnolent voice echoed throughout the silent Temple Hall. Instead of the grateful joy that I expected, they were words of quiet rejection! Instead of praise, sullen dismissal. I watched in shock and horror as Father Brown ground my precious instrument to splinters beneath his feet. I know it's most unusual to come before you so, but I've found an ancient miracle I thought that you should know. Listen to my music, and hear what it can do. There's something here as strong as life! I know that it will reach you!

Heaven is cold without any soul. It's hard to believe I was so in love with you. Don't say your prayers, don't build your hopes. Just walk away. Don't phone me up, don't call around, don't waste your time. You were so in awe of me, you were so divine, you would do just anything to still be mine. Heaven is cold without any soul. It's hard to believe I was so in love with you. All the things you said to me, I was so obsessed. You were always talking, talking. God, I did my best!

Ok, it’s like this. There’s a tribe living by a river. And in the river, there are crocodiles. The tribe has one particular piece of wisdom passed down through the generations. It goes like this: if you happen to meet a crocodile, don’t stick your head in its mouth. Every now and then, and who knows the reason, people ignore this advice. Which is sad because they die, but very stupid because they were warned. They had a choice. The moral of the story is this: you can’t afford to be stupid. There are crocodiles.

Oohhhhh! He's a frozen treat with an all new taste! 'cause he came to this planet from outer space! A refugee of an interstellar war! But now he's at your local grocery store! Cookie Cat! He's a pet for your tummy! Cookie Cat! He's super duper yummy! Cookie Cat! He left his family behind! Cookie Caaaaat!

To seek the sacred river, Alph, to walk the caves of ice, to break my fast on honey dew, and drink the milk of paradise, I had heard the whispered tales of immortality. The deepest mystery from an ancient book, I took a clue, I scaled the frozen mountain tops of eastern lands unknown. Time and man alone, searching for the lost, Xanadu.

I hate a moral coward, one who lacks a manly spark. I just detest a man afraid to go home in the dark. I always spend my evenings where there's women, wine, and song. But like a man, I always bring my little wife along! I'm a member of the Midnight Crew! I'm a night owl, and a wise bird too. Home with the milk in the morning, singing the same old song! Rise with the moon, go to bed with the sun; early to bed, and you'll miss all the fun! Bring your wife and trouble, it will never trouble you! Make her a member of the Midnight Crew!

Now that time, it came calling. An angel has fallen, and nothing can be how it's been. And when love seemed so heartless, when light turned to darkness, now only her star can be seen. What have we done? You could talk without speaking, cry without weeping, your secrets will never be told. Leave your bonds left unbroken, words left unspoken, and dreams that can never unfold. What have we done? So there's no one to cry for, to lay down and die for. Now only the scars can be seen: What have we done?

Go screaming through the valley as another joins the chase! Drive like the wind, straining the limits of machine and man, laughing out loud with fear and hope. I've got a desperate plan! At the one-lane bridge, I leave the giants stranded at the riverside, race back to the farm to dream with my uncle at the fireside.

Soon it will be the phase of the moon when people tune in. Every girl know about the punctual blues, but who's to know the power behind our moves? A day of coincidence with the radio and a word that won't go away. We know what they're all going to say. "G" arrives, funny, had a feeling he was on his way. We raise our hats to the strange phenomena. Soul birds of a feather flock together. We raise our hats to the hand a-moulding us. Sure 'nuff, he has the answer, he has the answer, He has the answer: Na na, na na. On mani padme. On mani padme. On mani padme hum. You pick up a paper, you read a name. You go out, it turns up again and again. You bump into a friend you haven't seen for a long time. Then into another you only thought about last night.

These are the little children, the future in our hands. When all God's children on this Earth inherit all our plans, these are the lies they tell us. The future's good as sold. In all the things we do and know, we really must be told.

And ever since then, we've been based on the dollar value on a freely floating exchange rate! [SCREAMS] The money ain't tied to a specific item of value. And it's all make believe numbers and market manipulations. But now, me and my gold will be safe from financial ruin. How do you like that, President Nixon? Huh?! Back on the standard, baby!

Red frame, white light. Telephone calls. Black and white. Red frame, white light. You have a yellow book.

So many things I think about when I look far away. Things I know, things I wonder, Things I'd like to say. The more we think we know about, the greater the unknown. We suspend our disbelief and we are not alone. Mystic rhythms capture my thoughts and carry them away. Mysteries of night escape the light of day. Mystic rhythms, under northern lights, primitive things stir the hearts of everyone.  We sometimes catch a window, a glimpse of what's beyond. Was it just imagination stringing us along? More things than are dreamed about, unseen and unexplained. We suspend our disbelief and we are entertained! Mystic rhythms capture my thoughts and carry them away. Nature seems to spin a supernatural way. Mystic rhythms, under city lights or a canopy of stars; we feel the powers and we wonder what they are. We feel the push and pull of restless rhythms from afar.

But we were the evil empire all along, who fought the other evil empires not because we were the Good Guys, but because we wanted to be a bigger evil empire than all the others. We didn’t win the war between good and evil because there was never any such war; we won the war to be the biggest bully on the block. The Nazis learned by watching us, their racial policies just a Germanized Jim Crow, the Holocaust American-pioneered techniques of mass production applied to the American-pioneered techniques of concentration camp and genocide. Lebensraum is just German for “Manifest Destiny,” which is why we fought them–one imperialist expansion smacking into another. (Well, not really. The Germans and Japanese both learned from us, but it was the expanding Japanese empire that smacked into ours first. But they could ally with Germany because they had the Soviet empire in between them, and that’s how we ended up at war with Germany. The point: it’s all empires fighting empires; if you want scrappy bands of heroic rebels, look to the places already conquered.)

Regarding this album… Imagine if members of Rush and Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark decided to work with Greg Cipes of Teen Titans, Teen Titans GO!, and Fast & Furious fame on a concept album about how the secrets of the universe can only be discovered through falling in love while having a dispute online over what Homestuck is about, and how such love is fleeting, but ultimately worthwhile. That’s this album. But at the same time, that feels a bit mean. There’s a snideness to describing the lyrical nature of the song as just “Homestuck Discourse Romance.” In truth, I didn’t even notice it was a Homestuck thing when I first listened to it. It sounded very modern and techno, but also had what sounded like a harpsichord. I don’t really listen to lyrics as I listen to a song. I mainly focus on the tune it implies and how the song makes me feel. There’s an air of melancholy to the singer that conflicts with the upbeat instrumentals. The harmonies collide like an electric ocean on the psychic landscape that is this brave new world. Analyzing it in prose doesn’t do it justice, and I don’t have the right technical and editing skills to do it in the soundscape it deserves. In short, I liked it quite a bit and would recommend it to non-Homestuck fans (Are Homestuck fans called Stuckers? Trolls? Peak Nerdom?).

Everyday I'm on my knees to pray. Since I kissed you once, and I held you once, things have never been the same.

And on that night, and in that way, you wove your magic slowly. The broken boy is healed again. I fall into you wholly. Unforgiving and now all alone! Where's the beauty that you bled? When you've buried all the pain that you have known, I will carry you to bed. Where's the perfect that you used to know? Where's the rainbow in your head? When you've cast all your enemies to stone, who will carry you to bed?

Keep the nightlight on inside the birdhouse in your soul. Not to put too fine a point on it, say I'm the only bee in your bonnet, make a little birdhouse in your soul. Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch, who watches over you? Make a little birdhouse in your soul! Not to put too fine a point on it, say I'm the only bee in your bonnet. Make a little birdhouse in your soul.

To be honest, I’m not much of a music critic. Oh sure, I’ve dabbled here and there. But most of that was looking at the lyrics or looking at things that aren’t actually the songs being performed. To be a music critic, a true music critic, one must understand the implications of each cord, each melody, each verse in the cosmic whole of the song. Without this understanding, you can miss the forest for the tower through the trees. But then, I suppose that would be fitting from what I’ve gathered about Homestuck. The small things get lost to the monumental scale of it all. History is like that too. The meaning of things is discarded for the things themselves. That’s why we’re doomed to repeat it, I suppose. We never learn our lesson. Wasn’t World War I supposed to be the War to end all wars? They aren’t supposed to get sequels, is what I’m saying.

History [Terminology] In a War where all the major powers are time-active, it’s vital to understand the difference between “history” and “time”. History has (or is) a structure, but has no tangible existence: it’s a method of perceivingtime, of recording it, of remembering it and attempting to predict it. When groups like Faction Paradox talk about ‘changing history’, or the Great Houses talk about ‘defending history’, they’re talking about a process that’s as much psychological as material.

Each of us, a cell of awareness, imperfect and incomplete genetic blends with uncertain ends on a fortune hunt that's far too fleet.

My friend Jon always said it was nicer here than under the atmospheric domes of the Outer Planets. We have had peace since 2062, when the surviving planets were banded together under The Red Star of the Solar Federation. The less fortunate gave us a few new moons. I believed what I was told. I thought it was a good life, I thought I was happy. Then I found something that changed it all...

Our one source of energy, the ultimate discovery: Electric-- blue for me, never more to be free: electricity, nuclear, and HEP, carbon fuels from the sea: wasted electricity, our one source of energy: electricity, all we need to live today, a gift for man to throw away; the chance to change has nearly gone, the alternative is only one, the final source of energy: Solar Electricity! Electricity! Electricity! Electricity! Electricity! Electricity!

Let those old familiar feelin's start to show. Sing my favorite phrase from those good old days. Let those tears and sweet memories flow! It amazes me to hear it--how it's beauty never ends. Now the music made us friends, I'm asking you: so play it one more time, that symphony in rhyme. Let those old familiar feelin's start to show! Sing my favorite phrase from those good old days! Let those tears and sweet memories flow!!!

Death, I suppose, is a way out. They say it’s the easy way out, but that’s because they’re jerks who think it’s easy to dive into the great unknown. As if throwing away everything you’ve ever known, both the good and the bad, is easy. As if they wouldn’t turn on you if you dared tried to kill the ones hurting you even as they advocate for it. But death doesn’t have to mean suicide. In Tarot, for example, the Death card represents a great change in one’s life. Throwing away everything you once were could simply mean running away or embracing an aspect of yourself that you thought was best to repress. Death isn’t always good, obviously. But it’s an understandable option. At the same time though, it’s not the only one…

[END OF ARTICLE]

Sampled Works:

All Star by Smash Mouth
All You Fascists by Billy Bragg

Beata Virgo Viscera by Scout Tafoya

Birdhouse in Your Soul by They Might Be Giants
The Book of the War by Lawrence Miles, Simon Bucher-Jones, Daniel O’Mahony, Ian McIntire, Mags L. Halliday, Helen Fayle, Phil Purser-Hallard, Kelly Hale, Jonathan Dennis, and Mark Clapham

Cookie Cat by Jeff Liu

Crisis on N Earths: Dark City by Jen A. Blue

The Devil's Dictionary by Ambrose Bierce

Distant Early Warning by Rush

Electricity by Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark

Everyday by Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark

Fly Me to the Moon by Frank Sinatra

Free Will by Rush

Genetic Engineering by Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark

Ghost Star by Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark

The Gold Standard by Steve Borst

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams

I’m a Member of the Midnight Crew by Eddie Morton

I'm Going Slightly Mad by Queen

Mystic Rhythms by Rush

New World Man by Rush

Night Watch by Terry Pratchett

The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman

On a Bicycle Built for Two by Nat King Cole

Red Barchetta by Rush

Red Frame/White Light by Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark

Sad Song by Paul Williams

So In Love by Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark

Strange Phenomena by Kate Bush

There are Crocodiles by Steven Moffat

2112 by Rush

We Are the Dead by David Bowie

What Have We Done by Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark

Worldburners Unite by Seeming

Xanadu by Rush