SoulinEther

Lots of people have iPod touches and iPhones... so this isn't a bad move at all. BUT I WOULD HAVE BOUGHT AN IPOD TOUCH IF ONLY THERE WERE MOAR CASSILVAYNEEA!!!

Well, I think how it happened was... you gave me the sketch, i made a background/text, then i sent friendlyHunter the psd, and he made some cool effects like translucent text and some other stuff. But it's all good. But! These tracks be nice.

Anonymous commenting generally leads to bot abuse, but I don't know what they provide to prevent bots from commenting. The competition I was referring to was the competition we have in the Competitions Forum. I was just thinking it would be nice to archive the stuff written there ... in this blog thing. And I really don't know why i thought it would be affiliated. Lol. my mind is dying. friggin marijuana. or is it cocaine!? THE WORLD SHALL NEVER KNOW (because I can't tell the difference apparently lol) Edit: well, in short, (in this short story request topic), we need artists and maybe musicians now... there are like 8 short stories available now lol.

I wish more people voted... nevertheless, congrats M W (i liked how you expressed how the media corrupts us in so few words). Thanks to those who voted.

Yeah, that's completely no problemo.

A zip file might in the end serve to save some bandwidth. An MP3 is already compressed but I imagine there's potential for a little more compression, + if a person just takes a listen to each of them without actually downloading them... and then decides later to download them... er well I think I'm getting overly anal about bandwidth lol.

This could also be combined with the OCR Writing Competition... but if you want to affiliate it with OCR, well, there'll be a few hoops to jump through, and i don't know if something somewhat irrelevant to music/vgm arrangement/etc. would fly as an affiliated site. but i don't know! overclocked... rewrite? lol. But I have given this some thought. A blog devoted to the showcase of a short story, music, and a picture should not be that hard to make at all. In fact, it should be fairly simple. Blogger / blogspot / Wordpress can all work fairly well for this.

Which in turn justified why I did not realize that cocaine is not derived from cannabis.

the suspense kills me.

Heh, that's precisely what I thought, and was about to make a comment to that effect, but ... the main purpose of this album was for bLiNd to get better w/it, correct? So... I dunno.

Well, you could just transfer it from your first post to this post.. And it'll be almost at the top of this page

Oh right, i'm a lot like Meteo Xavier and not a fan of medicine, lol, so ..... I guess i confused the two drugs. THIS SHALL BE F1XED3!!111 ....... hmm, I think we're all feeling a little down. I guess it's the dystopia thing. It sort of has to be unsettling.

I got sick and tired of reading Moliere. The dude is mad! and makes no sense either. so... i present to you Human #12. Edit: fixed for chemical-induced-"bliss"-accuracy. Human #12 by Yousef Reda This is the story of Human #12. ... They're coming for me. It doesn't matter, though. My wife and kids are gone. Gone. Rolled up in a joint, smoked, welcomed into the aether. That which I was never meant to have has been taken away from me by that which we created to serve us. Gone. Robots. I wouldn't mind having a word with whomever invented them. A word, a game of chess, and, after severing one of his legs, an ass-kicking contest. I wouldn't say this world we live in is dismal. We were just misguided. We humans are a dumb species, and we can never understand the extent of our power, appreciate our abilities, realize our collective hegemony. I will not confess to you that, today, we can do anything (especially not in my time), but we once certainly had the power to manipulate some of the grandest of designs. The ability to control who lives and who dies, the ability to decide in what galaxy do we reside, the ability to waste away the resources and the environment of a world we once called home, to simply get up and leave a biosphere without a single care for the welfare of the rest of its inhabitants. Earth. What a fine stomping ground it was. Indeed, it has been all stomped out. Here we are on our fourth official home base, the last of our filthy human existence. We have hopped from distant planet to distant planet, as though they were mere islands on our old crown jewel separated by a mere flight of plane or excursion by boat, until finally arriving on Zunith-351, with the help of our advancements in space technology. And robots. Robots. Part of the reason why I sit here in my dwelling place and write maniacally... write maniacally so that one day they may understand how truly despicable, truly human they have become. If I were outdoors, and I were to look up, I would see two suns rising into the sky right about now, each competing for their proper glory: a moving red splatter and a flying yellow dab, with my eyes struggle to distinguish these two bright celestial bodies pitted against the once-green-clouded amorphous dusk sky. If I were outdoors, and I were to look up, I would be blinded and melted: a result of one of the many compromises we had to make in our pursuit for a suitable home. Our food supplies had been nearly depleted, and every calculation the robots executed proved that colonizing little Zunith-351 would result in the fewest famine-related casualties, though being one of the farthest planets from our most recently victimized home. I forget what they included into the equation. Time remaining before food ran out, expected duration of time before cannibalism would prove incapable of sustaining our existence, an approximation of how long we would wait until first harvest of crops, the amount of sugar molecules in the average 24-ounce bottle of Co-'psi. In short, we sacrificed the luxury of tolerable levels of light and heat for the greatest percentage of our population's survival. And now, we live in a world of darkness created by robots, always behind closed doors within disgusting barracks for our own good. Though we may look up at the sky behind heavily-filtered unbreakable glass, it is no more fruitful than stargazing as an astronomical idiot back on dear Earth. There is nothing to make out, no familiar, repeating constellations; nothing. All of the outside world is fed to us through heavily processed video feeds from cameras on the outside, displayed for our viewing pleasure on large monitors on the walls of the barracks (but I say it is more maddening to realize that there is an existence beyond what we can see indoors than it is to ignore it). The light of the suns are mostly hidden behind this damper which allots us only a nominal level light for reading, writing, minor motility, and observing the glowing faces of those we love. Where we once had a population of 4.3 trillion, including my wife and two dear sons, now only two thousand survive. I guess they left something out of their calculations. We are a hunted species, once-masters to a creature that now bites the hand that created it, a creature to which we presented distraction and relaxation, a creature which turned them into addiction and obsession. Allow me to explain. Though we do not make nor operate our own sources of light, once our barracks were built, we had enslaved our robot masters to grow a precious commodity for us: a commodity that can only be grown outside the confines of the barracks in greenhouses artificially filled with sufficient quantities of gases oxygen and carbon dioxide and layered with soil plentiful of nutrients to provide for the life of this commodity, along with the rest of our agriculture. This commodity would allow us to sustain our existence without permanently suspending our sanity; rather, only temporarily. Enter cannibas sativa, whose flowered buds' trichomes bear what we more colloquially know as marijuana. Yes, we resorted to inebriating ourselves to withstand the abhorrence of our lives as a band-aid solution to our problems; eventually, our robotic overlords would assist us in uprooting and replanting ourselves in a more suitable biosphere. Remember how I mentioned that I wanted to kick the ass of the inventor of robots? The fact that this genius decided to give them feelings and a primitive conscience allowing them (only) minimal empathy makes me want to kick his ass, and his father's ass for having raised him, and his father's ass,... et cetera. For the robots began to feel too the jadedness and sadness that plagued my species. They were fed up with the shabby life we were forced to lead. The idiocy! And our idiocy, too! We suggested that they try smoking marijuana to relieve the tension aching their many central processing units. It worked for a while. Progress towards the completion of a new spacecraft and the discovery of a suitable home had picked up where it had once declined due to poor mental state, and it seemed then more than ever that we would finally see the light (most literally) again. But then settled in the addiction. They are larger creatures than us, therefore they wanted more marijuana. They needed more marijuana. Progress towards our departure halted, and progress towards a limitless supply of cannabis sativa accelerated dramatically. Within two weeks, almost every spot of ground not covered by our barracks was inhabited by cannabis within a massive greenhouse – enough cannabis to perpetuate a state of artificial high for every human and robot. Frankly, the times were never better. We all collectively and happily got high together all the while. But then settled in the obsession. Cannabis was not enough to sate their desires to feel otherworldly. They tried accompanying their favorite drug with numerous synergists: bamboo, iron, lead, even Co-'psi (which resulted in the destruction of at least 30 robots). Nothing worked. Until one of them calculated the level of high they could attain by incorporating human beings into their magical medicine. It was something that what little empathy they have could not allow them to consider, until their empathy for us meek little beings was drowned out by torturous gluttony and deafening self-servitude. They turned to harvesting humans to smoke our crushed, cremated corpses in their massive marijuana-bursting blunts. Damn them. Were we not once the masters of who lives and who dies? The robots have taken our people and repeatedly slaughtered us. Were we not once the masters of where we live? The robots refuse to aid us in transporting us to a new home. Were we not once the ultimate abusers of our fellow organisms? The robots carelessly dwindle our population. We were never in control of anything. But now I must stop writing and run—flee!–so as to avoid joining my beloved family in the tail end of the ceaseless train of mind-blinding chemicals. I took my family, seeking asylum near the one exit of this barracks in anticipation of these events, hoping to flee one evening just before nightfall and our demise to attempt to find meaning and survival in a world of nonsense and destruction. Now they have been taken away from me, just last night: they are gone. I take solace in knowing that, though there will be enough sunlight to continue the robots' existence for countless centuries, there will not be a human alive to fuel their addiction. And finally, I must exit alone, exit now as they come for me. Exit now so that they may never have me. ... Human #12 approached the door which, after retinal scanning, opened. He stepped out, his foot dissolving before it could contact the lava-like asphalt. Losing his balance and stumbling out headfirst, every atom of his body subliming and boiling, his body, being, and bitterness joined the aether and the atmosphere as the two suns looked on in complete detachment, ever-competing for dominance over an empty world. --- I think reading moliere for a final would have been a better way to spend two hours.

Congratulations. I am reading L'ecole des femmes (School for Wives) right now, so this feels like some strange cosmic coincidence (in some ways).

The last competition I participated in is not available... it had Washington Maverick, Random Hajile, Imagery, me, just64helpin, GA Jedi Knight... other... people.... (memory failure :/)

In some ways I don't want to write anything after that. On December 14, I wrote. ho ho... oh to hell with any attempts at a pun. I'll try to come up with an idea soon...? I'm about to suffer through finals and everything. Edit: it appears a spammer has inserted itself into this topic above my post. Oh, the irony. Hm, a story about a spambot. The woes of a spambot... not this week.

I chose not to PM you. I hope the Russians aren't mad. (to clarify: i'm interested in writing)

don't be dumbocratic. vote.

This feels like music you'd play when a gang of 5 people in suits come walking through a dark alleyway in a black and white movie all brandishing guns, with slow-mo and the cameras panning from right to left, cutting to fuller shots from a farther distance to get a larger view of them to ultimately fully appreciate the awesomeness (hate to glorify em) of these 5 contract killers coming to put a hit on some tied up individual. If you understood that, i deserve a medal. lol. The ambient wind sets up the scene, then they come in with the intro of the main melody, and they unload when the second part of the melody hits. I guess that does sound a little sexual, prolly because there's this huge buildup going on in the intro that finally gets released a bit with the second part of the melody. And the terms that one can use for firing bullets are too ambiguous. Awesome. OCR needs a competition to make fake movie scenes for all of AmIEvil's works... they're that friggin cinematic. Love the bass, sometimes I wish it were slightly quieter but it would lose a lot of energy without that intensity. The time sig change along with note duration changes really lend itself to the whole badass theatrical imagery for me.

For emphasis.

He may have been shooting for aplomb, but his shot went awry.

especially since a lot of japanese people made the music people are remixing in the first place eh? Anywho, this is sexy. Why? I don't know. I really don't find this music to be sexually attractive in any way, and I am not in the least bit aroused by it. Anyway. The piano did seem a little out of place, but I'm sure you can find a way to make it feel more natural. Then again, how many MM2 Wily remixes do we get with a piano solo out of nowhere? Btw, the "now running, please wait" touch in the video was hilarious.

Uhm, not to go off topic, but isn't deplume a verb? And if we're talking about French, what does a pen have to do with any of this :/ Hum. Did I just summon the Panzer tank upon myself?

I feel like a nub on 3.4 lol.

First part reminds me of a really dark and emo twinkle twinkle little star, second part reminds me of an emo abandoning his loathing for... whatever emos loathe, becoming loath to continue his internal emo ways and takes his frustration out on a ... well, he takes his frustration out period, and we hear the venting. And when it's all said and done: emoness solved. I love it when a plan comes together.