new star trek idea: aliens not knowing jack shit about earth animals. riker has to physically restrain worf from fighting a bear. janeway watches lovingly as tuvok cradles a duck in his arms. odo sees a blobfish and has a spiritual experience. kira fights a nile crocodile thinking it’s dukat. spock represses the urge to simply Hold a penguin.
Worf was raised by a human family, he wants to fight the bear because hes russian
Among the reasons why Star Trek: Deep Space Nine is the best Star Trek is that the outfits look like they were designed by a competent costume designer who had been given a pile of the world’s most miscellaneous fabrics and told that if they didn’t use it all up by sunrise, Rumpelstiltskin would take their firstborn child.
#ironically that's also a b-plot for one of the episodes
[ID: a change.org petition with the title, “petition to not allow jeff bezos re-entry to earth.” above the title is a picture of jeff bezos and below the title it says, “1 has signed. let’s get to 100!” /end ID.]
[PARODY] “oh no the old anti-ballistic missile defense system is malfunctioning whatever shall we do?” [PARODY]
Truly the most difficult part of implementing the dictatorship of the proletariat in the US will be having to devote a whole secret police group solely to forcing people to take a fucking break every once in a while
#literally a Nanny State! #making you take naps! #and we'd be better off for it
This month actually has a more personally important ten-year anniversary
for me: sometime this month (I forget the exact day) was the day I
checked myself into a hospital because I was feeling suicidal.
was at the end of my fifth year of college, having basically wasted a
third semester in a row academically because I just couldn’t break
through my own mental blocks around studying, and because I was deeply
afraid of what would (or wouldn’t) come after graduating.
In retrospect I think I had been dealing with depression (either on its
own or as a symptom of something else I’m still not 100% sure) probably
since high school, but college-
and then the thought of graduating from college and having to provide my
own structure entirely- made things much worse. I delayed, and
sabotaged myself, so that if I still had to complete college, I’d at
least know what I had to do.
But I was feeling too bad for too long, and it eventually came to a
head.I don’t know how “actually” suicidal I was; I didn’t have much of a
plan, and I don’t think I would have acted on it. Still, I’m glad I
didn’t find that out.
I spent just over a week in the hospital,
another six in an outpatient program, and have been going to therapy off
and on since then. And I’m doing so much better. Finishing college
helped I think (even if sometimes I doubt how “real” my graduation was),
and in any event
I’m in a much better place now than I was then. While I’m probably not
doing all of what ten years ago me would have expected, I’m not sure ten
years ago me expected much, so in that sense I’ve exceeded my
I’m not “cured,” but I am better. Happier, more
fulfilled (even if not completely fulfilled), and more hopeful for the
future, both personally and generally. It’ll take more work, but I can
Those who are only slightly familiar with anthropology are aware
of the many explanations that have been proposed to account for the “blacksmith complex". He is impure because he is in contact
with iron (a loathsome and repulsive element), or with fire (from
which demons are born), or because he forges murderous weapons; or because he is endogamous, or is not independent, or because
blacksmiths are the dregs of conquered peoples, do not produce
their own food, do not go to war, and break some unknown divine
interdict. They are respected because they have dared to break
a divine interdict, because they make useful instruments, because
they are rich, because they are initiators, educators, religious chiefs,
peace-makers, sacrificers, civilising heroes, and even, according to
the embryological theory of M. Eliade, because they help the Earth
to give birth to minerals and in so doing are a substitute for Time etc. Their powers issue from their tools, from spirits hidden in
the bellows of their smithies, from fire, from the “numinous” force
of iron, from the ornaments they forge for shamans; or from the
celestial origins of their techniques, from their novelty, from the
fact that these secret techniques are hereditary, or simply because
they are in their possession; or again from the “ambivalent magic
of weapons made of stone,” which, by emitting sparks when
struck, are likened to lightning, a magic that is transmitted into
the metal; or from the fact that they forge flashes of lightning
for the gods, etc…
One can see that, even when they contain elements of truth,
all these explanations are one-sided and often in need to be
explained themselves. The only valid explanation is one that can
show the inner reason for the different manifestations of the
“blacksmith complex” and their coexistence, and attain to the
structure that determines their interconnection and renders them
An interpretation that coordinates the various elements of the
problem, on the basis of the blacksmith’s violation of taboo, should
satisfy these conditions. It would form part of a wider interpretation
of magical violations of taboo in general, based on an
analysis of the nature and function of taboos.
Ohoy, villain! Wretched iron! Wretched iron! Cursed bog ore! You flesh-eater, gnawer of bones, You spiller of innocent blood! Scoundrel, how did you get power? Tell how you became so haughty! Damn you, bastard! Wretched iron! I know your birth, you purblind fool, I know well your source, you villain!
Once there walked three nature spirits, three fiery daughters of the sky. They milked their swelling breasts to earth, they squeezed their milk onto the fens. From the first maid spurted black iron, this turned into soft wrought iron. White milk squirted the second maid, this was the source of tempered steel. The third maid spouted blood-red milk, this gave birth to bog iron ore.
Ohoy, villain! Wretched iron! Wretched iron! Cursed bog ore! Then you were not high and mighty, not yet mighty, not yet haughty, when you sloshed in swamps and marshes, when in bogholes you were trampled. Damn you, bastard! Wretched iron! I know your birth, you purblind fool! I know well your source, you villain!
A wolf then ran across the fen, a shambling bear walked in the moor. And the swamp stirred in the wolf tracks, under the bear’s paws moved the moor. And there sprouted iron seedlings in the traces of the wolf’s claws, in the hollows of the bear tracks. Ohoy, iron! Child of boghole! Swamp’s red rust and gentle smooth milk! Tell me, who made you so baleful! Who decreed your works of evil?
Death was riding through the marshes, plague was on a winter journey. Seedling steel it found in swampland, rusty iron in a boghole.
The great death then began to talk, the killer plague then spoke and said: In a pine grove on a hillside, in a field behind the village, far beyond the farmers’ granges, right here will be the forge of death. Here I’ll build the forge’s furnace, here I’ll place the widest bellows, here I’ll start to boil the iron, fan and blast the rust-red bog ore, hammer anger into iron.
Iron, poor man, shivered, trembled, shivered, trembled, shuddered, quavered, when he heard the call for fire, heard the plea for flaming anger.
Ohoy, villain! Wretched iron! Then you were not high and mighty, not yet mighty, not yet haughty, moaning in the white-hot furnace, whining under beating hammers.
Droned the old man on the oven, groaned the greybeard from the furnace: Iron stretches, spreads like blubber, Trickles, flows like dripping spittle, oozing from the blazing furnace, flowing from the scorching fire.
Iron, you’re still soft and gentle. How have you yet to be tempered to make steel from harmless iron? Get the spittle from an adder! Bring the venom from a viper! For iron wouldn’t harbor evil without spittle from a serpent, without venom from a black snake.
Droned the old man on the oven, groaned the greybeard from the furnace: Shelter us, supreme Creator! Keep us safe now, God Almighty! So that mankind would not perish, mother’s child vanish without trace from the face of the earth, from life, from existence, God’s creation.
New eras. New gods and heroes. And cannons and airplanes and tanks, and guns. New steel and iron. Brand-new, intelligent, precise, powerful killers, equipped with automated guiding devices, armed with nuclear warheads. Missiles invulnerable to defensive rocketry.
Knives and spears, axes, halberds, sabers, and slings and tomahawks and boomerangs, bows and arrows, rocks and warclubs, and claws and teeth, sand and salt, dust and tar, napalm and coal.
Brand-new and up-to-date technology, the ultimate word in electronics, ready to fly in any direction, stay undeflected on its course, hit the target, paralyze, and knock out of action, obliterate, render helpless and defenseless, harm and hurt, cause unknowable loss, and kill, kill with iron and with steel, with chromium, titanium, uranium, plutonium, and with a multitude of other elements.
Ohoy, villain! Evil iron! Blade of the sword, mother of war! Boghole ore’s the golden guardian, but you, steel, are kin to evil! Damn you, bastard! Wretched iron! We are kinsmen, of the same breed, of the same seed we have sprouted.
You are earth-born, I am earth-born, in the black soil we are brethren. For we both live on the same earth and in that earth we two will merge. There will be land enough for both.