Located on the corner of John Street in Capitol Hill, Seattle, is this “Mystery Soda Machine” which dispenses cans of mystery soda for 75 cents. However, this machine certainly looks like something from the past, with it’s rust stained body. It isn’t known who stocks the soda machine or who collects the money.
I saw a post yesterday, 8-30-2015, on your blog about the Mystery Soda Machine on Capitol Hill, in Seattle. Since I work in that district, I had to go check it out. They’ve changed all the buttons to the Mystery buttons. ian-and-out and I both tried giving it quarters to get a soda, but it wouldn’t accept them. We did score some extra change. In fact, I got an extra $1.65 just by kicking it a little.
Friends! We are so excited to announce that Edgar Allan Poe’s Murder Mystery Dinner Party will be making its US festival debut at the Seattle Web Fest on March 11, 2017!
We’re honored to be among this year’s official selections and we will keep you updated about whether or not we’ll be attending in person. Either way, if you’re in the PNW, we hope you’ll don your dinner party finest and come support Poe Party at the fest!
Slowly plotting out more of the Dirk Gently, CIA Agent universe with @raeseddon and having some hideously angsty thoughts about how the actual breakout would occur sixteen years later.
Imagine that they’ve all been working for the CIA for about two decades and their powers have manifested themselves slightly differently as a result. The Rowdy 3 still feed on emotional energy, but they’ve only ever been allowed (encouraged) to feed on negative emotion. It became clear that the CIA are not adverse to using them to keep other test subjects (read: Dirk) in line. Dirk’s intuitions are still outside of his control but he’s gotten pretty adept at telling the difference between something that’s good for the CIA and something which the universe wants him to do.
But Bart’s intuitions are playing absolute fucking havoc with her mentally. Dirk’s intuitions give him a lot of leeway with regards to his actions, but Bart? Bart has one purpose only, and that’s to kill who the universe wants her to kill. She’s using her powers for the CIA rather than how they’re actually meant to be used, and the pull of the universe is increasing with each day and she’s so fucking confused-terrified-angry all the time.
Every time she gets the chance to go off script, she does. Suddenly their success rate starts to decrease. People start getting hurt who shouldn’t be getting hurt. She never had that much respect for the uniform to begin with, but now she either comes back covered in blood or dust, or comes back without her uniform at all. Sometimes she finds an alternative, sometimes she doesn’t. Her body has only ever been a weapon and the CIA retrieval team is working overtime trying to hold back the tide of the universe, and all she can think about is how Dirk’s allowed to follow his intuitions in a way that she’s not.
The CIA tells her that she can’t be left to her own devices because she’d be overwhelmed. This is for her own good and it’s the best she could ever hope for.
So when Blackwing gets deployed to Seattle to investigate the mysterious machine they’ve been hearing rumours about, Bart and the Rowdy 3 have started to reach a breaking point. They resent the fact that Dirk supposedly has all of this freedom when they don’t - meanwhile Dirk is trying desperately to maintain some sort of balance between being Project Icarus, loyal and obedient CIA agent, and being Dirk Gently, a leaf on the stream of creation. He’s fully aware that they’ve got him on a slightly longer leash than Bart and the Rowdy 3 but that it’s still a leash, and that he’s disappointing the universe just as much as Bart is. He knows that they could all make each others lives that much easier, but Bart’s entire purpose is to kill people and the Rowdy 3 literally feed on his terror, so he’s left alone and his heart is breaking for them all.
He’s never felt comfortable in his uniform, but recently he feels like the universe is using it to suffocate him.
My favorite city on Earth thus far. It is mysterious, artistically abundant, an ever-satisfying music scene, nonjudgmental, surrounded by water and some of the most beautiful mountains in the world, welcoming, and even filthy in many corners, in many ways. Can’t live in it, can’t live without it. Seattle, thank you for continuing to co-create some of the wildest memories and being home to some of the most beautiful people in the world.
My world falls apart, crumbles, “The centre cannot hold.” There is no integrating force, only the naked fear, the urge of self-preservation.
I am afraid. I am not solid, but hollow.
I feel behind my eyes a numb, paralysed cavern, a pit of hell, a mimicking nothingness. I never thought. I never wrote, I never suffered. I want to kill myself, to escape from responsibility, to crawl back abjectly into the womb. I do not know who I am, where I am going—and I am the one who has to decide the answers to these hideous questions.
I long for a noble escape from freedom—I am weak, tired, in revolt from the strong constructive humanitarian faith which presupposes a healthy, active intellect and will.