The other side to this is that for any storyline taken there is a road not taken. Once a vote is made, the other choice becomes open for any other user to continue the story along that path. Here, pics.

The transmedia reading was actually pretty interesting, considering the project I’ve been thinking of working on recently which will involve multiple forms of media. I’ve been aware of the matrix example for a while, in fact even open a copy of the animatrix. However, I find that when the media is dispersed, it can be quite annoying if done in a way where a certain essential piece of the story is placed in a different location than the media you are currently perusing. If its merely offshots and additional material rather than core content, however, it can be very satisfying to track it down in my free time.

This is a response to the tree museum. I felt it was good in theory, but failed in practice. Though I did enjoy a nice bottle of wine there after I stopped trying to find tiny little plaques.

Got some good feedback on this. Let’s call this version 1. The next step will be to re-order some of the elements, clean up others and re-do certain pictures to centralize the importance of the potato as the main source of conflict. Just as soon as I have some free time…

Thinking up and writing this was alot of fun and I had to do alot of research (about the victorian era especially). Not sure I captured the feeling I wanted but overall, I’m happy with it so far. I kind of want to expand it and expand Kurtz more.

Reminscing about Kurtz

“It has come to my attention recently that there has been a bit of a fuss regarding the death of one Mr. Kurtz. Quite frankly, I believe the management up at Central is making a big deal over a small matter… as usual; though I must admit that the shock of the news, once received, caused me to spill my tea on my morning paper.”

My uncle shifted in his seat as he reached to pour us both new cups. The lavender scent of the tea hung in the air as he performed the task. Uncle was, in this, as in all things, very careful. Watching him pour tea seemed somehow very ceremonious and I took the time to examine him again. It had been some 3 years since we had last seen each other and receiving a summons to come visit him was, though unexpected, a pleasant surprise.

He still carried himself with an upright, solemn air. Oft-times as a child I would fantasize about him floating away like a balloon, so gracefully did he carry himself, though with that great ballast of a head, it seemed highly unlikely. The edges of his coat sleeves were a bit threadbare, and though he insisted on not acquiring a maid, his wardrobe was well pressed and groomed. He sat back now, looking at me over his thick eyebrows, making observations of his own, one could assume.

“Now Kurtz…. You see I once had occasion to travel down the river. I was visiting relatives on the Continent and raising money for my research. The results of which, by the way, are in the book right there on the table besides you, next to the papers.”

I glanced down at ‘Myths and Men: The lonely plight of the savage in the heart of darkness.’

“You can take that copy when you go. I’ll be doing a lecture at the University later if you have any free time…” He paused for a moment to light his pipe. “Now, that book is perhaps the direct result of my encounter with Kurtz. As I said, I was on the Continent traveling when Victor, your uncle on your father’s side, happened to offer me a position as a scribe of sorts in a company expedition to fetch some ivory from along the trading routes. As fortune would have it, I was running low on funds at the time and furthermore, this gave me the perfect chance to study the subject of my research in-situ­ as it were.

“I jumped on this chance and shortly thereafter was on the next boat down. Let me not bore you with the details of the trip down. It was fairly uneventful, though I daresay I might have died of boredom had the captain not been a man of exceedingly good humor. He knew a thousand and one ways that we might entertain ourselves on a vessel. Most of it involving liberal amounts of scotch. Eventually however, we reached the last trading post and this is where I met Kurtz.

“You see, I’d gotten into the habit, as we travelled, of interviewing the various heads of station I came across about the habits of the savages whom made up the bulk of their workforce. I’d tried interviewing the Negroes directly, of course, but they were too simple to grasp the finer nuances of what I needed. Fortunately the station heads were kind enough to provide me with all the information I needed.” He nodded again towards the book.

“One thing that I noticed as we headed further and further into the Interior was the name of this man Kurtz. It started off as a whisper and grew to a roar; till I was left wondering whether it was really a man or some sort of jungle-spawned demi-god they were talking about. As the boat docked at the final station, I found myself peering out over the rail like a child. Looking for my first glimpse of this man-turned-legend. And finally I saw him.” He stops for a moment to pour more tea and relight his pipe. Though, I think it was more for dramatic effect than any practical reasons. I’ve noticed that men with that amount of grey in their hair (well really silver in his case) tend to get a touch more melodramatic in their storytelling.

“Ah… Kurtz. Now the word ‘kurtz’ is German for ‘short.’ Did you know that? Well this fellow was seven feet if he was an inch. He was different from other tall people I know in that he didn’t have that hunch that people of a certain height tend to acquire from bending down all the time to hear and be heard by their shorter companions. His skin was very tight on his frame. It didn’t look as though he were suffering from hunger, just that his skin was held the same color and texture as the vast amount of ivory he procured. Firm and glassy, as if his body were dangerously close to exceeding the amount of cover allotted to it. He had a way of looking slightly above and through you, as though you weren’t there.

“But his appearance, though a startling, was hardly the most impressive thing about him. It was his voice that captured your attention, engaged your emotions, and encouraged, no forced you to listen to and believe what he said as if it were truth.

“His voice had a sonorous quality to it. You didn’t really hear his voice as much as you felt it with your whole body. It put me in mind of standing under the great bells in the Cathedral. The visceral quality of his voice inspired an almost religious feeling.

“And if it affected a sensible, scientific man such as myself, the savages stood no chance. They revered him as a god. Men at the mouth of the river, who had never met Kurtz, who had only heard the rumors as I had at the beginning of the journey, could only wonder at the amount of ivory his station produced. And yet, standing here, watching the numerous clans who had gathered around him, it seemed only natural. It was a sight indeed to watch the chieftains, proud in their own way, crawl on their bellies to offer him obeisance and gifts of fruit, meat, ivory, and even the occasional piece of gold!

“The magnificent quality of his voice was only complimented by his deep understanding of the savages’ culture. He took part in their rituals, contorting his body alongside them in the fire light. To watch him, save the color of his skin, you would think he was one of them. Which is why it shocked me to find him dead. I was only at that station for 2 weeks, but he was so full of energy and life; it was as if he’d absorbed the very essence of the jungle into himself.

“Yet, as great as he was, he also had his dark moments. And he could be very dark indeed. At the core of it all I think Kurtz was a selfish man and being in the jungle for so long, participating in those savage dances may have contorted his mind as well. We were sitting on chairs once discussing the clan culture and contemplating the skulls.

“Oh yes, there were various shrunken heads lined up on stakes facing his cottage. Whether by his design or the savages’ I never worked up the nerve to ask.

“He asked me if his name would appear in the novel. I assured him it would not. That his contributions would be taken in the utmost confidence and I would do my best to preserve the anonymity of all those involved. He grew frightfully upset. As I sat there, he drew a small knife in a flash and held it to my eye, demanding I acknowledge his contributions and furthermore devote a whole chapter to him. Only twice before in life have I come that close to death. Once from a falling pot and the other when I was caught peeking in the female bath. Yes, I had a bit of a wild streak when I was younger. This grey hair is but an illusion.

“In any case, I swore as he wished but he was still not placated. He put his knife to both our thumbs.” He showed me a small scare on the base of his thumb. “Only when our blood had mixed and he had mumbled something in the language of the savages did he appear appeased. After that he was quite friendly and jovial again, as if the whole thing had never happened. I sat there terrified and to be sure I took more care around him from then on.

“And then there was the woman.”

He paused for a long time now.

“I’m kind of hesitant to relate this last part. To me this is integral to understanding Kurtz and yet I’m not sure if it was real or a jungle fever induced dream. Well let me present it to you as such and you may judge it how you will.

“I woke up, or dreamt I woke up, one night. The moon was full and blue in the sky when I went to relive myself. Taking advantage of the cover and broad leaves provided by the edge of the jungle, I squatted. I had a clear view of the camp. As I looked on, the underbrush near Kurtz’ hut rustled. Expecting another visit from some savage or other, I gazed on with no small degree of apathy.

“What stepped out of the bushes nearly caused me to lose my seat. It was a woman clad in nothing but her skin and a king’s ransom of ivory ornaments. She was perhaps a bit taller than me, certainly taller than your average man. Her form was nothing like ugly, pendulous breasted creatures usually seen by day. Combined with the glow of her skin under the moonlight, it took my breath away. She stepped up to the cabin, opened the door and silently slipped inside.

“I returned to my hut and slept fitfully. But I never again saw her, and I’m ashamed to admit that I both waited up at nights to catch another glimpse. I was too impressed by him to actually ask Kurtz himself.

He sighed and looked down at his pipe, surprised that it had gone out.

“Well boy,” 45 years old and he still called me boy. “Would you like some more tea?”

Tea, smoke and firelight. Watching our shadows dance against the wall. Tonight I will dream of the jungle and my perhaps plan my own travels.

Into the heart of darkness.

The struggle that corporations have with their intellectual property being dealt with in whatever manner a fans sees fit will probably never go away as long as they’re interested in making money. Both groups feel a strong sense of entitlement. I’m on the side of the fans as long as they’re not trying to make money off of someone else’s work. As long as that’s the case, who cares really what they’re up to?

6 word story

Surrounded by friends: my first kiss.

55 word story

A day in the life

These things happened:

     “Would you like to tango?”
     She said no.

     Came up with a plan.

     She said no.

     I spent.      several.     hours.      drawing. . . a picture.

     She said no.

     Shaved.
     Brushed my teeth.
     Showered.
     Deodorant AND lotion.

     She said no.

     Met my boss. We brainstormed “the situation.”

     She said no.

Except, not in that order.

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