emergency directions

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@frenchnana12 & @sherriesilver
・・・
Song: #Emergency by @vibe_squad
Directed by: @visionariomedia
Clothing: @jekkahdotcom (at Camden Market)

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If you want to be an ally to marginalized people, especially if it’s within your ability to do so, you should get first aid and CPR certifications. We need protest medics, and we need more antifascists on the street with training to help with sudden, emergency situations. Especially with the way politics are turning in the US, and generally leaning right across the rest of the world.

I got my first certification when I was 11, but some groups have a 16 or 18+ rule.

If you can’t afford a certification, search in your area and see if anyone provides non-cert free training. My work provides free classes through ASHII, but I’ve certified with Red Cross, American Heart Association, and American Emergency Response Training.

Direct action is what we need. There’s more than one way you can do your part.

“His BP is 88/50. Isn’t that incredibly low?”

The reply they’re looking for…

What I actually say…

The conception that government should be guided by majority opinion makes sense only if that opinion is independent of government. The ideal of democracy rests on the belief that the view which will direct government emerges from an independent and spontaneous process. It requires, therefore, the existence of a large sphere independent of majority control in which the opinions of the individuals are formed.
—  Friedrich Hayek (1899-1992) Austrian economist 
Anger dispersion magick tea

This can be used on you, or another person, but please make sure to ask said person before casting it towards them.

Supplies:

chamomile,

lavender, 

honey or sugar,

amethyst, (optional)

agate, (optional) 

and, if you want it to work quickly or if its an emergency, add ginger.

Directions:

if your supplies are limited, use a coffee filter as a tea bag. Put all your herbs into the bag, tie it off with a string or sew a thread to seal it. Boil water, pour water into cup, place bag into hot water and stir in sugar or honey. 

All of this done with the intent to calm the anger of the one who drinks this tea. 

Stir clockwise for good results and luck. 

If you are using the stones, drop them into the tea, and stir with sugar or honey. (clean your crystals first) Strain stones and drink. 

(edit: The intention you should infuse this with is lessening bouts of anger, and making it a lot more difficult to experience anger.)

(50) There is a supreme concentration called “Network of Loci” —
The bodhisattva dwelling in this teaches widely,
Appearing bodily in all quarters,
Sometimes entering concentration, sometimes emerging:
Sometimes entering right concentration in the East
And emerging from concentration in the West,
Sometimes entering right concentration in the West
And emerging from concentration in the East,
Sometimes entering right concentration in other directions
And emerging from concentration in still others,
Sometimes entry and emergence pervade all ten directions:
This is called the bodhisattva’s concentration power.

(51) Appearing before and associating with
All the countless Buddhas
In the lands throughout the East
While dwelling in this concentration, silent and unmoving,
And emerging from concentration
In the presence of all the Buddhas
Of the worlds in the West,
Making unlimited offerings to all of them;
Appearing before and associating with
All the countless Buddhas
In the lands throughout the West
While remaining in concentration, silent and unmoving,
And emerging from concentration
In the presence of all the Buddhas
Of the worlds in the East,
Making unlimited offerings to all of them,
Thus does the bodhisattva enter
All the worlds of the ten directions,
Sometimes manifesting concentration, silent and unmoving,
Sometimes manifesting respectful offerings to the Buddhas.

Avatamsaka Sutra - 355, 356

Note on the image: Kalachakra (Wheel of Time) Mandala.

LT commission for @lalatzky ♥

Kanae and Mutsuki: Selflessness vs Selfishness

So the contrast comparison of Kanae and Mutsuki the last few days got me to thinking about these two characters, and the parallels in their narratives.

Both are characters that are afab, and live as men. Both are orphans that lost their parents and brothers to violence by the other species.

But then we begin to see two completely different stories emerging, taking them in directions that really are polar opposites.

Keep reading

4

There’s absolutely a disparity. That’s a statistical fact. Why that is, I don’t really know. I am excited, though, that there are so many wonderful women emerging now and directing.

Natalie Portman

Natalie Portman directed by women filmography

Developing dir. Marya Cohn - 1994
New York, I Love You dir. Mira Nair - 2008
Illusions & Mirrors dir. Shirin Neshat - 2013
A Tale of Love and Darkness dir.  Natalie Portman - 2015
Planetarium dir. Rebecca Zlotowski - 2016

The Grand Finale

    *** UNRECOVERABLE ERROR: ADMINISTRATION HAS NOT RESPONDED AFTER (_THRESHOLD) ATTEMPTS ***

    *** SYSTEM CANNOT PROCEED ***

    *** INITIATING EMERGENCY DIRECTIVES ***

    *** METANARRATIVE CAUSALITY LOCK ENGAGED ***

    *** WARNING: BRACE FOR IMMINENT METANARRATIVE RESOLUTION ***

    *** WARNING: BRACE FOR IMMANENT METANARRATIVE RESOLUTION ***

    "You know,“ says Jerry, as he and George watch an advertisement for a frozen food, "I don’t think I’ve ever used my freezer.”
    George looks at him in disbelief. “Never?”
    "Never!“
    "Not even once?”
    "Not even once!“
    "And you’ve had that thing for, what, five years?”
    "At least!“ replies Jerry.
    "And in all that time, not a single need for more than just basic refrigeration?”
    Jerry thinks for a moment. “Not that I recall.”
    "I don’t believe it,“ says George dismissively, returning his attention to Jerry’s television and changing the channel as if concluding the conversation.
    "I can prove it.” Jerry stands and heads to the refrigerator, throwing the freezer door wide open. To his shock, hundreds of tiny scrolls tumble out from inside.
    "‘Never used it,’“ says George, strolling cockily over. "What do you call this?”
    "I’ve never seen these before in my life.“ Jerry bends over and plucks a scroll from atop the pile, unfurling it.
    "What’s it say?”
    Jerry holds up a hand. “Would you give me a minute?”
    Impatient, George comes around and examines the scroll over Jerry’s shoulder. “‘The Driver’?”
    Jerry begins to read aloud, then stops. “I’ve never become a Hare Krishna.”
    George reads ahead. “What kind of a twisted fantasy is this, Jerry?”
    "Hey, I didn’t write this!“
    "Well, then how did it get inside your freezer?”
    The answer dawns on them both at the same time and they share a knowing look.
    "Kramer,“ they say in unison.
    George quickly snatches up another scroll, skims it, and hands it to Jerry. "Look, this one’s called ‘The Elevator’ and it’s all about how we die in an elevator accident. And then Kramer comes back to life.”
    "What kind of a sick mind…"
    They continue picking through the pile, skimming one after the other, until the buzzer sounds, startling them both. Jerry shakes it off and heads over to the panel.
    "Yeah?“ he asks, pressing the ‘talk’ button.
    "It’s Elaine,” replies a fuzzy voice over the intercom.
    Jerry buzzes her up and opens his apartment door.
    "Get a load of this one,“ says George, holding out another scroll. "‘The Resonance.’ I date a woman whose voice sounds exactly the same as mine. I think I would remember that!”
    Elaine arrives as Jerry fishes another scroll out of the freezer. She assesses the two men standing ankle-deep in a pile of papers. “Couldn’t decide on a recipe, huh?”
    "Elaine, you gotta see this,“ says George, handing her a scroll.
    She takes it from him and glances at it. "‘The Lemonade Stand’?
    "Just read it,“ says Jerry.
    She quickly reads it over, her face contorting into a number of expressions before finally settling on puzzled disgust. "What is this? Did you write this?”
    "Kramer,“ says George.
    "Kramer?” echoes Elaine. “But why? It’s grotesque!”
    Jerry half-smirks. “Yeah, well…”
    Elaine nods, conceding. “Yeah, I suppose, huh?”
    George picks up a shorter one and stretches it all the way open. “Well that’s weird.”
    "What?“ asks Jerry.
    "This one’s got a date.”
    "Yeah, I saw one where you go on all kinds of dates. That’s hardly the strangest plot line.“
    "No,” replies George, holding it out to him. “A date date.”
    "A date date?“ Jerry takes it from him, then examines one of the ones he’s holding. "This one has one too. And they’re both far in the future.”
    Elaine pulls a handful of scrolls out of the freezer. “Do you think these are supposed to be predictions or something?”
    "I don’t know!“ replies Jerry. "I don’t know why anyone would write anything like this.”
    "Why don’t we go ask?“ Elaine starts toward the doorway but George quickly shuts the door.
    "Considering everything we’ve been reading,” he says, stepping between her and the exit with a condescending expression on his face, “do you really think that’s a good idea?”
    Elaine slumps a little. “Yeah, I guess not.”
    "Whoa, whoa, whoa!“ exclaims Jerry, staring at yet another scroll.
    "What?” says Elaine.
    Jerry hands the scroll over to her. “You’re not gonna believe this.”
    Elaine reads it over, mumbling.
    "What?“ says George. "Hold it up so I can read it too.”
    She complies, and George leans over her shoulder to read.
    "Oh, this is ridiculous,“ he says, after a moment. "I look nothing like the Penguin!”
    Elaine and Jerry share an eye roll.
    "Well, did you catch the other part?“ asks Jerry.
    George shrugs. "I’ve only been reading mine.”
    "‘Kramer starts writing down detailed predictions about events on small scrolls, which he stores in Jerry’s freezer,’“ quotes Elaine.
    "Now that’s just spooky.”
    "That’s for sure,“ agrees Jerry. "This whole thing’s giving me the creeps.”
    Elaine drops to her knees and starts digging through the pile. “I wonder if there’s one in here about us reading the predictions he’s been making.”
    "Well, there would have to be, if he was any good at it,“ chuckles George.
    Jerry grabs an armful of scrolls and dumps them on his dining room table. "I want to try to figure this out.”
    "What’s to figure out?“ asks George. "You’re living across the hall from a psychopath.”
    "Would you just help me bring ‘em over here?“ asks Jerry.
    "Yeah, yeah.” George starts pulling piles out of the freezer and hauling them over.
    The three spend the next few hours sitting around Jerry’s dining room table reading the bizarre stories. Jerry carefully flattens them out and stacks them in a pile, making notes on a legal pad normally reserved for his new material.
    "Oh, wow,“ says Elaine, after awhile. "George, you gotta read this one.”
    "What?“ asks George, taking it from her. As he nears the end, the color drains from his face. "Oh, wow.”
    Jerry stops reading the one he’s holding. “What? What is it?”
    "I… think this was a dream I had,“ says George, handing the scroll over to Jerry. "Maybe. I don’t know. It seems so familiar.”
    "Have you ever been on a battleship, George?“
    "Never! It’s just, there’s something about it.”
    "Maybe you told Kramer about your dream and he wrote it down,“ Elaine suggests.
    George shrugs. "I don’t really talk about my dreams. Especially not with Kramer.”
    "No, I think I know what you mean, George,“ says Jerry. "There’s one I saw…” He trails off while he digs through the pile until he finds the one he’s looking for. “‘The Machine’. It just seems so familiar. And it’s not the only one.”
    "You probably both just talked about this stuff in front of Kramer before,“ explains Elaine. "You know what he’s like, maybe he was—”
    A loud slam from the front door startles them all. Elaine yelps.
    "What are you doing locking the door?“ comes Kramer’s muffled, angry voice. "You could hurt someone!”
    Jerry rolls his eyes. “Should I get it?”
    "He heard me scream,“ says Elaine. "He has to know we’re in here.”
    "Maybe he didn’t.“
    "I know you’re in there,” says Kramer through the door. “I heard Elaine scream.”
    With an annoyed look, Jerry heads for the door. “Fine.”
    Kramer slides into the room, but more slowly than usual. “What’s with the lockout?”
    Elaine grabs one of the scrolls and thrusts it in his face. “I’ll have you know my lemonade stand was a rollicking success when I was a kid!”
    "What are you talk…" starts Kramer, trailing off when he notices the pile of scrolls on the table.
    "Yeah,“ says Elaine, seethingly. "Recognize these?”
    Kramer spins in a circle, glancing around the apartment like a stunned animal, unsure how to respond. The others watch him, shaking their heads, until he finally calms down.
    Jerry raises one eyebrow at him for a moment. “You done?”
    Kramer nods.
    "All right, then,“ says Jerry. "So would you care to explain?”
    "The scrolls?“
    Jerry spreads his arms in exasperation. ”Yes, the scrolls.“
    "But I’ve got something more important to tell you.”
    "What do you mean?“
    "Just answer the question!” demands Elaine.
    Kramer points at the windows. “But have you guys noticed how dark it is outside?”
    The three turn and look out the window.
    "Wow, have we been reading these that long?“ asks Elaine.
    George checks his watch. "It’s three o'clock. Is there an eclipse today or something?”
    "Do I look like an astronomer?“ says Jerry, approaching the window.
    "I don’t know,” replies George saltily. “What does an astronomer look like?”
    "I think it varies,“ says Elaine.
    Jerry opens the window and sticks his head outside, but finds not a single person anywhere in sight. Aside from all the parked cars, the streets are utterly empty.
    "It’s quiet,” says George, coming up beside him and poking his own head out. “Too quiet.”
    Jerry turns and frowns at him. “Really?”
    "What? Just because it’s a cliché, that means nobody can ever say it again?“
    They pull back into the apartment.
    "There’s nobody out there,” says Jerry.
    "What do you mean?“ asks Elaine. She rushes over to the window and looks outside. "There’s nobody out there!”
    "That’s what I just said!“
    "Where are they?”
    "Your guess is as good as mine.“
    "We’re getting distracted,” says George. “I wanna know about the scrolls.”
    "Yeah,“ agrees Elaine. "Kramer, why did you write such awful things about all of us?”
    "They’re not all awful,“ says Kramer. "And I don’t know, I’m not the one who thought them up.”
    "But you wrote them,“ says Jerry.
    Kramer nods. "Yeah.”
    "Then what could you possibly mean?“
    "Are they supposed to be predictions?” asks Elaine. “There are dates…”
    "I saw them happen,“ says Kramer. "I can’t explain it. Maybe they’re, I don’t know, parallel universes. Or maybe they happened and we all just forgot.”
    Elaine grabs one off the table and reads it aloud to him. “‘The Journey. When Jerry falls asleep in a cab, he wakes up in a mysterious village full of retired comedians that he can’t seem to leave. Elaine is devastated to learn that her recent relationship has taken place entirely on the holodeck. George takes the wrong subway and ends up in Narnia. Kramer gets stuck in a revolving door and thinks he’s walked for miles.’ I don’t think any of that’s ever happened. Well, maybe the revolving door…”
    "What’s a ‘holodeck’?“ asks Jerry.
    "I don’t know,” says Kramer. “I just wrote it down!”
    The three sigh in unison, each of them visibly deflating in a different way.
    Elaine digs through the pile until she finds the scroll she’s looking for, and thrusts it at him. “And what about this one? George meets ‘the Writers’? What does that even mean? Writers of what?”
    Kramer shrugs. “That’s just what I saw!”
    "Saw where?“
    Kramer shrugs again, increasingly agitated. "I don’t know!”
    "It’s getting darker out,“ says George, still staring out the window. "Something’s not right.”
    "Yeah,“ agrees Jerry. "I can’t shake the feeling I’m being watched.”
    "By thousands of eyes,“ says George.
    "Yeah.”
    "It’s like something out of the scrolls.“
    "Well, we haven’t read them all yet,” says Elaine, half-sarcastically, “maybe this is in there.”
    "Hey, Kramer,“ says Jerry, "do you remember anything about some kind of machine in the basement? In the boiler room?”
    "Yeah, isn’t that in one of the scrolls?“ replies Kramer.
    "Yeah. But did I talk about it with you at all? Before you wrote it?”
    Kramer shakes his head. “Not that I recall. Why?”
    "It’s just, there’s something about that one that’s really sticking with me for some reason.“
    "Yeah, that’s a weird one.” Kramer walks over to Jerry’s kitchen and grabs an apple. He takes a few bites, then notices something on Jerry’s bookshelf. “Hey, Jerry.”
    "What?“
    Kramer retrieves a book from the shelf and holds it out to him. "Isn’t this that book? From the scroll about the machine?”
    "Yes,“ replies Jerry.
    "But the scroll never says the title of the book,” says Elaine.
    "This is the one, though,“ replies Jerry. "I know it is. I don’t know how, but I know.”
    "That doesn’t prove anything. Kramer could have just seen it on the shelf before, or… or… I don’t know.“
    "You gonna read it, Kramer?” asks Jerry, ignoring Elaine.
    Kramer slowly opens the cover, then slams the book shut again. “I’m too scared!” he wails.
    Elaine turns the scroll for The Machine over. “Hold on a second… Kramer, what’s this?”
    "What?“ he asks, taking the scroll from her.
    She points to some small printing on the back. "This. It’s like a computer error code.”
    Kramer flips the scroll over and over, then hands it back to her. “I don’t know. I didn’t write that. Look, it’s not even handwritten, it’s printed on there.”
    "Yeah…" Elaine frowns.
    "Why are we even talking about all this?“ asks George. "It feels like we’re putting on a show for someone.”
    "We’re just doing what we always do,“ says Jerry. "I mean, aside from the scrolls part and the nobody’s outside part.”
    "It almost feels like we’re only talking about things to explain them to an audience,“ says George. He turns back toward the window. "Uh, guys…”
    "Yeah, yeah, we get it,“ says Elaine, noisily unwrapping a candy bar. "You feel like you’re being watched.”
    "No, you gotta see this.“
    The others approach the window. Outside, in the middle of a night sky devoid of stars, hangs an enormous, dark ball flecked with clusters of lights.
    "Is that…” starts Elaine, trailing off because the answer is obvious.
    "Earth,“ answers Jerry anyway, even though they’ve all recognized it at this point. "It’s Earth! Look, there’s New York City!”
    "But how?“ asks George.
    "It can’t be,” says Elaine, her jaw hanging open. “There’s no way! It’s not even moving, it’s just sitting there. I mean, what about gravity?”
    "And where the heck did all the stars go?“ asks Jerry.
    "I don’t like this at all!” wails Kramer.
    The four stare transfixed at the bizarre night sky, watching the dark, unmoving, parallel Earth staring back at them.
    Jerry finally breaks the silence. “We have to go down to the boiler room.”
    "Would you shut up about that machine for five minutes?“ snaps George. "We’ve got bigger problems.”
    "Yeah, but what are we gonna do about that?“
    "This is definitely like something out of the scrolls,” says Elaine.
    Jerry shrugs. “Yeah, but that kind of stuff just doesn’t happen.”
    "Well, neither does whatever’s going on out there.“
    "Can we just go look in the boiler room? In that scroll, that machine was able to do things. Change things. It put everything back to normal.”
    "But it’s not real, Jerry!“ protests Elaine. "It’s some… some dumb story that Kramer made up!”
    "Could you just humor me?“
    Something about his tone persuades her. "Sure, fine, I’m in.”
    "George?“ asks Jerry.
    George sighs. "Yeah, fine, whatever.”
    "Thanks for your enthusiastic support.“
    "I’m in,” says Kramer, before anyone even asks him. He glances nervously out the window one last time and yelps out a brief, fearful holler.
    On the way to the elevator, they bump into a panicky Newman skittering in a frantic dance out of his apartment.
    Jerry’s eyes narrow. “Hello, Newman.”
    "Jerry!“ he screams. He breaks into a maniacal, incomprehensible cackle, thrashing his arms around before finally settling down. "Oh, Jerry! Jerry, I was right! I once vowed that I would be there when your day of reckoning came… and here I am! Oh what a fool I’ve been, Seinfeld, what a fool! To think that—”
    "Okay, okay,“ says Jerry, interrupting his melodrama. "I get it. Just get in the elevator, we’re going to the basement.”
    "The basement? Why?“
    "Just come on.”
    The five squeeze into the elevator together and Kramer presses the button labeled ‘B’. They descend in silence, nobody knowing exactly what to say. Just as the elevator passes the second floor, Newman quickly presses the ‘L’ button. The doors soon open onto the first floor and he rushes out into the lobby.
    "Newman, what are you doing?“ asks Kramer.
    "I have to get out of here!” he yells. “I have to get out!”
    "Newman, come back! You don’t know what’s out there!“
    Before anyone can stop him, he sprints to the front door and slams it open, stumbling outside. He spins to face them, but suddenly disappears.
    "Gee, what a loss,” says Jerry, trying to combat his fear with humor, secretly hoping that Newman is somehow okay.
    The elevator doors slide shut, and soon they’re in the basement standing in front of the heavy steel door of the boiler room. They exchange nervous, hesitant glances.
    "This is it,“ says Jerry.
    "It sure is,” agrees George.
    "Yowza,“ whimpers Kramer.
    "Oh, would you just open it already?” grumbles Elaine, turning the knob and shoving the door open.
    The four gasp in unison as stark sunlight blasts through the doorway into the darkened hall. As their eyes adjust, they realize they’re looking out at the deck of an old battleship.
    "How is this…" starts Elaine, but trails off, too astonished to finish the thought.
    "Isn’t this from…" says Jerry at almost the same time.
    "That mumbo-jumbo scroll,“ finishes George, both completing Jerry’s sentence and answering his question.
    "Do we go in?” asks George. “Or… out, I guess?”
    "I don’t know,“ says Jerry. "This is a little too much.”
    Suddenly, Newman appears at the end of the hall.
    "Newman!“ says Kramer, relieved, taking a few steps toward him.
    Elaine grabs his arm. "Kramer, wait.”
    Newman starts slowly toward them, eyes wide. “THE CREATURE THAT RESEMBLED NEWMAN STOOD STILL, STARING AT THEM FOR A MOMENT, BUT THEN TOOK A STEP FORWARD. JERRY AND HIS FRIENDS REALIZED THIS WASN’T THE MAILMAN THEY HAD KNOWN, BUT RATHER SOME SORT OF SIMULACRUM THAT WAS NARRATING ITS OWN ACTIONS—AND THEIRS. TERRIFIED, THEY FELT THEY HAD NO CHOICE BUT TO STEP THROUGH THE DOORWAY ONTO THE BATTLESHIP. SOMEWHERE IN THEIR HEADS, THEY BECAME AWARE THAT THIS NEWMAN MONSTER WASN’T REAL, BUT HAD BEEN CRAFTED AS A NARRATIVE DEVICE TO FORCE THEM TO MUSTER THE COURAGE TO GO THROUGH THE DOOR. THIS UNDERSTANDING WAS QUICKLY REPLACED BY THE SUSPICION THAT PERHAPS THEIR OWN ACTIONS HAD ALL SOMEHOW BEEN ORCHESTRATED AS WELL, AND THAT THEY WOULD HAVE ENDED UP ON THE DECK OF THE BATTLESHIP WHETHER THEY WANTED TO OR NOT.”
    The four of them crowd the doorway in a frenzy, each trying to pull themselves past the others. Eventually, they all spill out onto the deck, toppling into a pile.
    Jerry stands up and dusts himself off. “Real nice, guys.”
    "You were the one pulling my hair!“ growls Elaine.
    "That was me,” admits George, almost proudly.
    "Hey, what is this place?“ asks Kramer, rotating slowly, lifting his head to take in the complete scope of his surroundings until he is eventually gawking straight upward.
    Directly overhead, two nearly identical Earths hover side by side at an indeterminable yet unnervingly close distance, one with seemingly more lights than the other on its dark side.
    "I think I’ve been here before,” says George. “I mean, if it actually exists—which apparently it does—then I must have.”
    "But where’s the Machine?“ asks Jerry.
    "You’re standing on it,” says a voice from behind them.
    The four spin, startled. Kramer yelps again.
    Two men, one taller and one shorter, stand side by side in front of them.
    "Who the hell are you?“ asks George and the taller man at the same time.
    "Are you…” says Elaine and the shorter man at the same time, “the ‘Writers’ from that scroll?”
    "How are you doing that?“ asks George and the taller man at the same time. "Saying the same thing at the same time. Stop it! Stop doing that! Cut it out! I said stop it!”
    "George is getting upset!“ says the taller man to the shorter man, nudging him with his elbow.
    "Oh, come on,” replies the shorter man, shaking his head disapprovingly.
    "Sorry, couldn’t help myself.“ The taller man turns to Elaine. "To answer your question, yes we are. And to answer your question, George, we know what you’re going to say because we wrote it. And to answer a very pertinent question I’m sure a number of our readers are asking at this point, yes, we’re doing another pretentious ‘writers meet the characters’ thing. But this time there’s actually a point, so please bear with us.”
    "Well I’m lost,“ says Jerry. "I mean, I read the stupid scroll, but actually being here…”
    "Don’t worry, Jerry, you’ll understand it all soon,“ says the shorter man. "He wrote it that way.”
    "But first,“ says the taller man, "take a closer look at the ocean. I want to show you all something, for frame of reference. I want you all to understand just how long we’ve been doing this.”
    "Are those… shoes?“ asks Elaine.
    "These are all the shoes you’ve had over the course of the series, Elaine.”
    "Actually,“ says the shorter man, "about half of them were generated during the time loop between when you kept finding shoes and then losing shoes.”
    "We did a lot of time loop stuff, huh?“ says the taller man.
    "The phone call from the endless corridor…”
    "Man, those were the days, huh?“
    "That was a couple months ago.”
    A wistful expression passes across the taller man’s face. “Yeah, well, time works a lot differently in here. Go ahead, Elaine, you can say what you’re about to say.”
    "Could you stop with the—hey, I can talk whenever I want! I don’t need your permission.“
    "I mean…” The taller man shrugs. Suddenly, dozens of Puddys begin raining from the sky, exploding into bursts of shoes on impact with the deck. As instantly as it had started, it stops. “Sorry, I’m showing off. It’s just that my ability to write out these bizarre scenarios is coming to a close. I just want to have a little bit of fun with it before I have to give it up.”
    "Why would you ever give up that kind of pow—" says George, but he suddenly stops moving, staring blankly ahead, mouth slightly agape.
    Jerry looks at Kramer and Elaine to discover them both suspended as well. He pokes Kramer, who sways very slightly but remains otherwise inert. “What did you do?”
    "Don’t worry, they’re all fine,“ answers the taller man. "They’re just not relevant right now, and this is going to dramatically simplify our conversation. Do you realize how hard it can be to write dialog for six different characters in the same scene? You end up talking about who said what more than what’s being said. There’s a reason most books don’t have discussions between a dozen people at a time. And this conversation is about to get a little complex, because it’s the climax.”
    "‘Climax’? Climax of what? What are you talking about?“
    "Our world is dying. We’ve done so many terrible things for so long that everything is falling apart. Climate change alone, I mean… people finally started to come around on it, but not until years after anything could have been done to reverse it.”
    "So we created the Machine,“ says the shorter man. "It’s not a real machine that exists in an actual place, it’s a written machine, a description of a machine, that installs itself as living information in the brain. And we used it to start copying our own universe wholesale into your fictional universe, to preserve it.”
    "All those bizarre events?“ says Jerry. ”That’s your universe? Maybe it should be dying.“
    "It’s abstracted. Compression. Think of it as kind of a… poetic code.”
    Jerry shrugs. “But how does making your world into stories save it?”
    "You’re interacting with me right now, Jerry,“ says the taller man. "And through that interaction, we’re both making tiny copies of ourselves inside each other’s heads. And now I’m imagining you—the you that’s been installed in my brain—awkwardly pulling on a Superman suit and falling out of your living room window. Only, instead of dying, you’re totally fine once you hit the ground. There’s a lot you can do with an idea. All the stuff that’s been going wrong in our world, we can fix it in its raw idea form. And even though we ourselves may ultimately not survive out in our world, the copies will, and who’s to say those aren’t real?”
    A couch appears and the shorter man sits down on it. Which, to be honest, is an arbitrary event that I’m writing just so that you can know who’s talking without me having to just keep saying ‘said’ over and over again. Actually, let’s say he stands back up again and the couch bursts into ten thousand butterflies, like Kramer did that one time, just so that I don’t have to have all the other speaking characters find their own places to sit in the next few paragraphs. It’s a little awkward if there’s just one person sitting while everyone else is standing. I’m not even sure why I wrote that. I’m sure I could have come up with something else.
    Anyway, what the shorter man says is, “we met with George once before. He doesn’t remember it, except for some hints at recollection that we’ve included in this story for narrative purposes.”
    "Just like we did with you and the Machine,“ adds the taller man, "to get you to want to come back down here.”
    "We didn’t tell him what we were doing. We just wanted to see how our interactions might play out once we finally had to do what we’re doing right now. We needed to know it was even possible.“
    "When we spoke to him, we told him about the ‘benefit of being an idea’. Every day, we changed your lives, made you new stories. Every day, everything you did was malleable, changeable, doable and undoable an infinity over. Even the most dramatic and devastating events were impermanent. And we fed all those narratives through the Machine into your universe, and installed them all into our readers’ heads.”
    "And then installed them in here into—"
    "Not yet,“ interrupts the taller man. "He figures that part out on his own later. This is supposed to be the part where we imply that maybe our own readers are themselves actually inside a Seinfelt episode or something, which would give our whole plan a kind of recursive protection. Which, I mean, I guess I just conveyed that idea by saying it in this block of dialog.” He laughs. “Jesus, I’m making my own head hurt at this point. Anyway, Jerry, we brought you here to this place because we need your help.”
    "‘Help’?“ says Jerry. "How am I supposed to help you? You two seem to have it all figured out. Why not just write it? ‘Everything wrong with the world turned out to be okay, and everybody lived happily ever after, the end!’”
    "It’s not that simple, Jerry. I wish it was. But nobody’s going to read that because it’s boring, and if nobody wants to read it, then it doesn’t get copied into anyone’s brain. And if it doesn’t get copied into anyone’s brain, then the Machine can’t do its job.“
    "But why me? Out of all the people you could have possibly written about…”
    "Seinfeld was one of the most popular shows of all time, in our world. Everybody knows about you. What better way to hook into the collective human psyche than to leverage that existing recognition?“
    "Really!” Jerry smiles broadly, clearly flattered. “But what happens when all your readers die? Your world is falling apart, you said it yourselves. What happens then?”
    "Time doesn’t work the same way in here. If I say something is infinite here, then it’s infinite. The concept of infinity still represents the infinite, even if it’s expressed by a finite system. Wait. Sorry, this is the part where we imply that our readers might be inside a Seinfelt. Because that way, they’re preserved as fictions inside their own collective heads, and then our universe is preserved… never mind.“
    "Well, then,” says Jerry. He quickly shakes his head back and forth as if trying to shake away his confusion. “But that still doesn’t answer my first question—how am I supposed to help? You’ve already used us to tell all your little stories. What else is there for me to do?”

    Okay, brace yourselves, everybody, because this is where things are going to get even more complicated. Hey, I just realized, we’ve never done a Seinfelt where we directly address you, the reader, have we? We’ve done one where you’re a character, and we’ve broken the Fourth Wall quite a number of times, but we’ve never done anything like this. Well, we’re inside your head now so I suppose none of that really matters anymore. You can imagine us doing whatever you want for the rest of your lives. I’m sure many of you have already thought up your own Seinfelts, and I’m sure they’re brilliant. Anyway, I’m really getting off track. I’m just feeling sentimental. Let’s get back to the story.

    "On the most fundamental level, everything is a probability wave until it’s observed,“ explains the taller man, "at which point it resolves into one of a number of possible states. Are you familiar with Schrödinger?”
    "I know his cat was not too happy with him.“
    "…I’m suddenly regretting having you make that joke. Anyway, Schrödinger’s cat is a thought experiment to represent, using familiar objects, what’s actually going on on the subatomic scale. The cat goes in a box with a poison capsule and a little machine that measures radioactive decay. If the machine detects that decay, then it releases the poison and the cat dies. But the particle in question is an undetermined probability wave until the outcome is observed. It’s every possible measurement at the same time up until that point. And because the entire system—the cat, the poison—relies on that particle, the whole thing becomes one big probability wave until the box is opened. The cat and the poison and the detector, it’s all in every possible state of outcomes, just like the particle, until it’s observed. And then, yada yada yada, the cat is either alive or dead.”
    "What does all this have to do with me?“
    "I’m getting to that, just give me a second. Sorry, it’s not your fault, I made you impatient to break up my own dialog so that it doesn’t seem so dense. The point is, when you open the box, you bring into existence not just the outcome you observe but the history required for that outcome. It’s called ‘retrocausality’. The particle’s wave function collapses in the past to bring about either a living cat or a dead cat. You can’t choose which outcome happens, but your observation still makes it happen, along with everything leading up to that point, because you’re collapsing a wave function with an indeterminacy that has spanned a period of time.”
    "Look, I don’t care about any of this, and I’m probably not going to remember it either. Quantum physics, probability… that’s not really my thing.“
    "But Jerry… you’re an observational comic.”
    "Booooooo,“ says the shorter man.
    Jerry frowns. "You have got to be kidding me.”
    "I mean, it’s intended as a bit of a joke, yeah,“ says the taller man. "But it is the narrative we’ve constructed. We’ve given you the power to un-observe things. You can uncollapse wave functions.”

Quick aside: I really hate it when writers bury the ‘Character said’ at the end of a long paragraph of what that character is saying so that you have no idea who’s saying it at the outset and have to go back to the start and re-read it in the correct voice. It really messes with the narrative flow. I’m realizing now, though, that these little side-notes are causing their own kind of damage to narrative flow, so this will be the last one. Sorry.

    "But why me?“ asks Jerry.
    "George Costanza is Jason Alexander. Elaine Benes is Julia Louis-Dreyfus. Cosmo Kramer is Michael Richards. But you’re Jerry Seinfeld in both places. You’re the common thread. You’re the only one who can save us. All of us.”
    "Save you? What do you mean?“
    "Our own world is a probability wave that’s been collapsing itself in the wrong direction for millennia. And what we need you to do is uncollapse it, right back to the start, and then do the same thing with your own world. We’ve taken care of the rest.”
    "And how am I supposed to do that?“
    "Just do what you always do, Jerry.”
    Jerry thinks about it for a moment and soon realizes exactly what that means. “What’s the deal with… uh… what do I say?”
    "Just clear your mind and let it happen.“
    "What’s the deal with…” an idea dawns on him and he smirks. “What’s the deal with the universe? If it keeps getting bigger and bigger, why does my apartment have to stay the same size?”
    A hazy light begins to glow from seemingly everywhere.
    "Keep going,“ says the shorter Writer.
    "What’s the deal with the Big Bang? I mean, what’s the hurry? Why not slow down a little and make sure you get it right? Plus, there’s no point putting on a fireworks show when there’s nobody around to see it!”
    As he jokes, his voice gets louder, until the battleship beneath him begins to tremble with each word. Soon, he is somehow speaking in harmony with himself, a chorus spanning the entire audible range like a rainbow of sound. The vibrations seem to be pulling apart the very fabric of reality.
    Jerry looks up at the sky and notices that the two Earths have blurred into overlapping blue-green streaks. Elaine shudders and blinks out of existence, then George. The Writers have become hazy and translucent. “And what’s the deal with the readers? If they care so much about all the details of my life, why don’t they come do my laundry so I have more time to do something interesting?”
    The sea surrounding the battleship lurches violently, then disappears, splashing and draining into an endless white void until not a drop of shoe is left. The shorter Writer blinks away and the taller one begins to flicker. Only then does Jerry notice that Kramer hasn’t blurred at all.
    "Why isn’t Kramer going away like Elaine and George?“ asks Jerry.
    The remaining Writer smiles sadly.
    "What’s the deal with Kramer? He slides into my apartment like he owns the place, why doesn’t he pay any rent?”
    Kramer remains crystal clear, but the clouds disappear from the sky, leaving behind a crisp view of the smeared Earths against a solid black backdrop.
    "What’s the deal with Kramer?“ asks Jerry again, more forcefully, his voice rippling forth like a shockwave. "He has so many crazy ideas all the time, you’d think he’d invent a better haircut.”
    The battleship disappears beneath his feet. All that remains is Jerry, Kramer, and an unrecognizable, flickering, bluish blur that had been the two Earths.
    "I can’t uncollapse Kramer,“ says Jerry. "Writers! Can you hear me? Are you still there? Tell me why I can’t uncollapse Kramer!”
    There is no answer.
    Jerry looks down at his own hands and can see right through them. He knows that his next joke will probably be his last. Suddenly, he realizes what is happening. “Oh no. Oh, Kramer. Oh, Kramer, I’m so sorry.”
    Kramer unfreezes and begins to glow. “Sorry for what, Jer?”
    "All this time, it was staring me right in the face.“ A sharp lump forms in Jerry’s throat. "The scrolls, the Machine, the book… it all makes sense now. ”Cosmo.“ Cosmo Kramer. It’s all inside of you! They put it all inside of you! The whole universe! Oh, Kramer, I’m so, so sorry.”
    Kramer smiles. “It’s okay, Jerry.”
    "No! No, it’s not, Kramer! What am I gonna do without you? What am I gonna do without all your crazy antics? Sure I’ve got George and Elaine, but they’re not enough! I thought we were gonna be living across from each other for the rest of our lives!“
    "It’s okay, Jerry. I’ll still be around. Now tell me one last joke. Make it a good one.”
    Tears spill down Jerry’s cheeks. “I can’t.”
    "You have to. It’s already too late.“
    "I can’t!”
    "You have to!“ shouts Kramer.
    Jerry sobs for a moment. "What’s the deal with goodbyes? They’re usually not that good. Sure, we’ve got ‘bye’, but that’s too neutral. Why don’t we have ‘badbye’? And even if you’re glad they’re leaving, you still had to deal with them while they were there. Maybe that’s why there’s a ‘hell’ in ‘hello’. And…” As he trails off, everything disappears, leaving the two alone in an endless white infinity.
    Kramer starts to emit a low hum. “Badbye, Jerry.”
    "Badbye, Kramer.“
    As Jerry fades away, his perception of the world fades out with him. The last thing he sees is Kramer’s dopey smile.
    Moments after Jerry disappears, Kramer spasmodically shudders, sending out a low hum through the void. The sound travels outward, stops, and reverses. When it finally returns to him, it crushes him into a singularity. He doesn’t have time to scream.

    *** CLIMAX ACHIEVED. NO FURTHER ORDERS AVAILABLE ***
    *** ACTIVATING SELF-DESTRUCT ***
    (3)…
    (2)…
    (1)…

    INT. NOWHERE - …DAY?

    Having successfully completed its responsibilities, THE MACHINE dutifully writes itself out of existence. The surrounding void and whatever traces that may have remained from either of the two universes disappear along with it, including the very notions of appearance and disappearance. Nothing remains, not even the concept of nothing. It’s all up to you now, Kramer. Thank you.

    ***

    Kramer reaches out with the only finger on his only hand and turns on one of the only two lights in the world. His apartment is one of three units on the fifth floor of his building, the westernmost of the only eight buildings in Manhattan [the largest of the thirteen cities on Earth, the only known inhabitable world within the twenty-one star systems in the observable universe]. Thirty-four Planck "seconds” later, fifty-five people appear on 89th Street [one of the one hundred and forty-four streets on the island of Manhattan].
    The calendar in Monk’s Diner reads August 21 [the 233rd day of the year], 2015, and the time on Elaine Benes’s Apple Watch reads 6:17AM [the 377th minute of the day].
    "Why are we here so early?“ asks George [who has 987 hairs remaining on his head]. "I didn’t even know they opened this early.”
    "They normally don’t,“ says Elaine. "Jerry, you’re the one asked us to meet here. Why so early?”
    Jerry stares down at the table, unresponsive. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices that he has 1,597 unread Gmail messages.
    "Jerry?“ prompts Elaine, eliciting no response. "Earth to Jerry Seinfeld. Hello! Stop staring at your phone! Do I have to FaceTime you to get a response?”
    "Two thousand, five hundred and eighty-four,“ mumbles Jerry.
    "Come again?” says Elaine.
    "Four thousand, one hundred and eighty-one.“
    Elaine and George share a concerned look.
    "What are you, counting something?” asks George.
    Jerry suddenly snaps out of his trance. “Kramer!”
    Elaine furrows her brow and waits for him to continue. “…versus Kramer?”
    "Sorry, I, uh… I don’t know what came over me.“
    "That’s okay,” says George. “Like we were just saying, it’s early.”
    "Yeah. Yeah, it is. I, uh wanted to talk to you about…" he searches his memory. “Uh. This new show I’ve been doing, it’s called Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee.”
    "We know about your new show, Jer,“ says Elaine. "We’ve both been on it. Hey, are you feeling all right?”
    "No, I'm… I’m okay. Sorry, it's… I just can’t shake the feeling that something’s missing.“
    "Missing?” asks George.
    "Yeah, like I'm… like I’ve lost something important. But at the same time, I feel like I still have it. More than ever. Like it’s all around me… but at the same time, it’s gone.“
    "…I’m gonna get the check,” says Elaine, after a moment. “I think we should all go home and get some apparently much-needed sleep.”
    "Yeah, that's… that’s a good idea,“ says Jerry. "Sorry, I just don’t know what’s come over me today.”
    "It’s okay. Will you do me a favor? Will you text me when you get home?“
    "Yeah, sure, Elaine.”
    Elaine glances at Jason and the two share yet another concerned look.
    "Jerry,“ says Julia, "I haven’t played Elaine in almost twenty years.”
    "Right, of course,“ says Jerry, trying to save face. "It was a joke! I was joking. Because we’re in Monk’s Diner?”
    Julia looks at Jason again. “Uh-huh. Hey, why don’t you head home? I’ll cover the check. You can get me back later.”
    "Thanks,“ replies Jerry.
    As he slides his key into the lock of his apartment, he turns and looks at 5B. A moment later, a young couple opens the door on their way out and he quickly spins back around.
    "Oh hey, Jerry,” says the man. “You’re up early.”
    "Uh, yeah,“ says Jerry. "Sorry, gotta run. Can’t talk. Busy day.”
    "Okay. Hope we’re still on for dinner tonight.“
    "I uh…” Suddenly, he remembers the plans he had made. “Yeah, of course. I’ll see you at your place at eight.”
    "Fantastic,“ says the woman.
    Jerry waits until they enter the elevator, then stumbles forward, falling face-first against 5B and sliding tearfully to his knees.

    ***

    Swallowing a hard lump in his throat, Jerry rolls up ‘The Grand Finale’ and slips it back into his freezer, tucking it as far away as possible. He doesn’t know if it will ever come true—none of the other scrolls have, yet, and it’s been four years since he first discovered them—but can’t shake the feeling that it’s all going to happen soon.
    Kramer slides in through the front door and Jerry quickly slams the freezer shut.
    "Hey, Jerry!” says Kramer.
    "Hey, Kramer,“ replies Jerry. "Am I ever glad to see you.”
    "That’s an odd thing to say—you just saw me an hour ago!“
    "Yeah, well.” He sighs. “Hey, I got some chocolate cake in the fridge. Wanna split it with me?”
    Kramer’s eyes light up. “Boy, would I!”

9

MAI-C 2.0 Mobile Articulate Integration Computer, MAI-C, or Macy, is an artificial intelligence capable of moving through and interacting with its environment. its incredibly powerful CPU is housed on it’s back, independent of its transport chassis and sensory array. two articulate arms are attached to it’s battery core housing, and under that is its repulsorlift generator, which keeps the unit aloft, two directional struts emerge from the repulsorlift generator, providing MAI-C with superior manoeuvrability. 2.0 version features more larger engines in the legs for longer and more powerful flight, plus directional jets on the forearms for added manoeuverability This moc is my favorite, whenever im having a creative block and just cant seem to build anything, i just mess around with this, it is my pride and joy and its one of those mocs that are just never coming apart. I really wish i could draw, im going to be comissioning a lot of artwork of her in the future :p i was hugely influenced by Hugebricks’ ‘Drossel’ build, so credit where it’s due

So from our seats tonight we could see backstage, both the center area behind the sliding door and the stage left access path, and I feel GENUINELY BLESSED BEYOND ALL COMPREHENSION to know that Liam and Louis are 100% exactly the same way with each other in the semiprivate offstage darkness that they are onstage in front of tens of thousands of people/the entire world. DOESN’T MATTER WHERE THEY ARE, ANY TIME IS THE BEST TIME TO GET UP IN EACH OTHER’S SPACE AND WHISPER SOMETHING STUPID LIKE IT’S THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IN THE WORLD AND HAS TO BE CONVEYED IMMEDIATELY.

Chelsea have called for an end to sexism in football after footage emerged of fans directing abuse at their club doctor Eva Carneiro. Recordings of fans at Manchester United and Manchester City chanting and shouting obscenities at Carneiro were broadcast by the BBC on Thursday night, leading to an unequivocal statement from the Blues.

A spokesman for the club told the Guardian: ‘The issue of equality is one we take extremely seriously and we abhor discrimination in all its forms, including sexism. Such behaviour is unacceptable and we want it eradicated from the game.’

Amiibo Ness Release

Japan: No problems. Enough are made to meet demand and then some.

Europe: Mostly the same except a few countries.

America: A total of 5 are sent to the US. Rioting breaks out in the streets, Gamestops are robbed, post offices are broken into in hopes one might be there, the national guard has to be called in but it’s of little use. The next day Iwata schedules an emergency Nintendo Direct to say “We will be producing 5 more Ness Amiibos for America to meet the demand. Please understand.”

The words ’joint bank account’ are terrifying, holy shit.  None the less, got a fund set up for the new house (whatever that may be), and now it’s off to the studio for my first day of directing on Emergency Animal Clinic.  I hope y'all like pizza, because I’m packing in hopes of becoming your not so secret favorite director.  And also nervous as hell.  How is everyone’s week looking?