Ty Ødin / Texts
Order by: date ↑ - rating ↑May we hear them?
This is a thing
If you want to comment vote you go ahead, but there's plenty of hard labored praxis from earlier eras that I would love to get votes for and we can both maintain the fiction that you're doing it for the quality of praxis.
that Burn Unit said. I wish to stop it. The idolization of players. The inherent worth that we assign to praxis based on the poster.
This is a thing
I voted for this before I had read the whole thing, because I knew it would be epic.
that Sombrero Guy said that I can't agree with. Although the task was epic and was definitely worth a 5, the fact that votes are doled out in the expectation of greatness, not the presentation of greatness does not sit well with me.
This is a thing
posted by Likes Music 0w0 on September 9th, 2010 7:35 AM
I don't think Danny's going to vote for me
posted by Picø ҉ ØwO on September 9th, 2010 7:44 AM
He ought to. It's Ørder rules.
posted by relet ⍟ on September 10th, 2010 2:05 PM
Well, maybe some people have a backbone still.
posted by PDØ Pixie on September 10th, 2010 4:40 PM
I do find the order's control of voting to be rather worring
posted by relet ⍟ on September 10th, 2010 11:44 PM
There is a rule to vote like animated sockpuppets. There is no rule to actually make praxis that would be worth it.
that does not sit well with me. I feel like it extends well beyond the OWO; players voting the second a prolific name appears.
This is a thing
"When I was exhausted, I started to wonder how it would be to fall, because that is something you should have done as well."
that Relet said. It is how I want to play this game, not with an expectation of greatness. Not with fame now that I have reached the front page and earned an "Ø" in my last name. I need and want to fail and fall and work harder and struggle and begrudgingly earn every single point I am awarded. I want to refuse fame and great expectations. I want to task and have it mean something to me, regardless of the opinions of others. When I task I do not care what any of you think about it, I care about how I think about it and how it makes me feel. I wish I had always been this way, but I think I am ready to do this now. This is my trajectory of desire. Erratic.
I'm seriously glad this one wasn't in honor of your mother.
Now deliver, Squibbs.
Often in my youth my family would go out and peruse the neighborhood for garage sales. My mother found obscure works of art, my father, gold clubs, and I often returned with a small book or toy. When my step mother took me, though, it was all about porcelain figures. She must have had a million cats and dogs in various poses weighing down her mantle place, perching on her chairs, and filling her windowsills. This love for animals made from fire-hardened dirt was pressed upon me as a sort of bonding ritual. It disgusted me.
Over the years I "lost" most of the mementos of those dreary Saturdays, the only known survivor a small black pepper shaker in the form of a cat. It cherished a small spot on my shelf, cozily residing next to my KGB medal and a scorpion encased in amber. While lacking inspiration I would often look over this curio shelf, filled with odds and ends from across the globe. The cat constantly failed to inspire me until today.
I rushed to the garage, grabbed the largest hammer I could find, and obliterated the poor porcelain cat. There was little ceremony or ritual to the act, just the smashing of a small thing I cared little about. Its remains joined several other things in what I have decided to affectionately call "The Lava Bucket".
(Part I)
(Part II)
(Part III)
(Part IV) <(You are here)
(Part V)
With an abundance of saws and a great void where the inspiration for the "beautiful something" should be I set raced through the week. My mind churned and chewed over the essential question of beauty; was beauty merely in appearance or substance? Could I destroy a piece of my art work? Does anyone, myself included, find my art beautiful? These and many other concerns plagued me this Yule, and as I lay on my roof watching the recent lunar eclipse I was struck by the idea that beauty is not simply how something looks or how much it can make you feel, but in how it changes you.
With this vague idea I summoned my trusty saw to work and set about destroying a piece of my childhood that changed me; "The Last Battle" by C.S. Lewis.
The final entry into the Narnia series has always been my favorite and the idea of a life lived only to experience an even more potent sense of feelings and even more lucid sights as that life progressed is an idea I continue to believe in and pursue.
Actually destroying the book was harder than I initially thought it would be.
The pages and cover offered far more resistance than one would expect. After what seemed an endless hour of sawing the deed was done, and the loose pages fluttered around me in the growing wind. I buried the book properly by covering it in lava.
Utility indeed.
(Part I)
(Part II)
(Part III) <(You are here)
(Part IV)
(Part V)
Over the course of Yule I destroyed four things in four very different ways. I abstained from the obvious combustion and still completed the four tasks that were set before me. Below are my results
(Part I) <(You are here)
(Part II)
(Part III)
(Part IV)
(Part V)