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When did shit get real


Things have always been real, our ability to perceive it is what's in question. I think people take for granted sometimes that the messages that they're given and reality are two very different things. Our brain is an amazing device. It has organs for sensing various changes in radiation, vibrational density and subtle differences in molecular structure, takes all that in and paints you a nice, neat little picture so that you can see what not to walk into, hear what's coming and smell what's not fit to eat.


What people forget is that our brain is (when functioning as intended) also very efficient. It takes that information and filters it, gives you what you need to know. At first this was no doubt practical: Saber Tooth tigers don't jump out at you from the fifth dimension, so you really don't need it cluttering up your perceptions, right? But i think it's become more than that. I think there's a fair amount of sympathetic socialization that shapes how we perceive reality.


In other words, it takes time to learn how to ignore that which isn't acknowledged culturally. I've seen the look in the eyes of an infant as it stares wide eyed over my shoulder at absolutely nothing. Nothing I can see anyway. Nothing we can measure, because how do you devise a form of measurement for something you've completely forgotten exists?


There's probably a reason our long term memory doesn't kick in until after several years. Your brain is learning what information it needs to give you, and what information to simply edit in that long journey between what it sees and what it tells you is there. So strong is the belief in this filtered reality that most people, if they ever get a glimpse outside, react with paralyzing horror. Or they simply have those memories whitewashed, until they become fuzzy and dreamlike. I think the horror at the unknown is most likely a defense mechanism. And if you've ever experienced something you genuinely cannot explain at the time, you know what I'm talking about here. It's like the breath is knocked out of you and you just want to run. Your brain desperately tries to give you a logical conclusion, sometimes even changing the information you're receiving in real time ("real time" is another oxymoron, but I'll reserve that rant).


Barry Windsor-Smith has a really, really great book called Opus. It's marketed as a sketch book, and it is most certainly that (and a gorgeous one, worth picking up just for the art, really), but it's a lot more too. He takes the opportunity to talk about a series of unusual occurrences in his life and it's pretty fascinating stuff, especially when juxtaposed with drawings he did at the time. One story involves when he first moved to the states. I'll paraphrase because I don't want to dig it out, but the actual story is much better.


He moves into a place in the country in upstate New York, this is in the late 60's I think. He's wandering outside one day and he sees something hovering and darting in the air, glittering and making completely unnatural movements: stopping and then zigzagging. He gets terrified, he has no explanation. His heart starts to race and he feels like he's going to pass out.

It's small and it's curls a bit, his brain, panicked, says "Tha's a shrimp that is, guvnor. Seen 'em by the beach!" and it makes sense for a moment, until he tells himself "No, shrimp don't hover." "Nah" says the brain "I'd know one anywhere. Fantail shrimp. Common as crows. Nothin' ta worry about." and it does look more and more like a shrimp. This implausible explanation is calming him down. Then it darts away and disappears. He's shaken. As the day progresses, he starts to dount that it ever really happened. It gets harder to recall specifics. He starts to write it off as a daydream.

Poor Barry had never, in his entire life, heard of such an animal as a Hummingbird or imagined that something so strange existed, Coming into contact with the complete unknown that exists inside the realm normally reserved for "safe" perceptions, the brain recoils in horror. It turns a hummingbird into a floating shrimp, and makes you believe it.


The first memory I have is asking my parents what color air was, because none of the colors I had learned described it, and what the blobs were. They told me, frankly, that you can't see air. That I must be seeing dust particles. I remember arguing for a bit, trying to show them how to do it. Then I don't remember ever seeing air again. I can't remember what the "blobs" I was talking about looked like, and I don't remember the color of air, but I remember asking the question. And I remember getting frustrated when they told me I wasn't seeing something I clearly was. Redacted for life as a functional human being. Mostly, anyway. You can erase the chalkboard but sometimes the outline remains.


There's been more than a little talk in the quantum physics world over the last half a century or so of our perceptions actually changing measurable reality. I think the real issue may be that our "reality" is effected because it isn't really there at all.

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What the fuck are you going to do when i start my ass kicking thread back up? Because as soon as I figure out how to get "tub-girl" out of there I will! (PS Yes MetalHeart, you are responsible for the death of that thread and do not think I've forgotton it)



I will promptly ask a question, hopefully one that will get my ass kicked.


Don't let Tub Girl get ya down. You've already seen it, so it's probably scorched into your mind. It's there, waiting to surface every time you close your eyes. Shit, you're picturing it RIGHT NOW!

Puckered anus like a giant cigarette burn. Unidentified liquid erupting forth, creating a glorious arc.

And the aim. Impeccable. That, my dear, took some practice and it should be respected. One does not merely predict the trajectory of such things on the first attempt. No, this was the result of many a sleepless night as a young lady tediously practiced her craft.


You will also notice that the photo is tastefully edited. It blurs out the offensive vagina, so that one need not worry about being overly repulsed by overt sexual imagery. You are left with just the art itself, and make no mistakes, Tub Girl is first and foremost an artist. Look past it's surface and you'll find a stark commentary on society, brimming with subtext.


Or you could just avoid page 7 and 8, I guess.

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What would your dream car be?


I'm really not much of a car guy. I just want something that doesn't break or cost me a lot of money. I don't break the posted speed limits, so I never saw a point in getting something that goes 240mph. I drive a fuckin' Alero. Generic little sedan. It's incognito as shit. I may as well be invisible to the police. That's how I likes it.


But we're talking DREAMS, right? In my dreams I can drive expensive cars, and live on mars. Have it my way. Also, in my dreams I'm living in a post apocalyptic wasteland. The first thing that pops into my mind is The Dark Knight Returns Batmobile.




Machine guns, front mounted cannon, tank treads, a hull that can't be breached by anything "from this planet".





It also takes up two lanes (like a Hummer), so all the ladies would know that I have a really big dick.

I assume it runs off of the wishes of children or something, because there's no way I'm filling up that tank with unleaded.



There may be a slight learning curve, but I totally played Steel Battalion. I can do this.



For a sense of scale.



As far as cars that actually exist that I would like to own, i'd like something with a swanky interior that's cheap to operate. I don't really give a shit how it looks on the outside, since I'm going to be spending all of my time on the inside.



I'll take that!


I wouldn't mind one of those Hydrogen cars, either. Not because I'm environmentally conscious, I'm just cheap. I'd sacrifice some comfort for the convenience of filling my tank up with water.





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  • 10 months later...

I'm going to need more details on my physiology as a being composed of processed meats. Does that mean that my flesh is made of hotdog, or that I am literally a hotdog? If I'm a hotdog, then I would not posses many o the internal organs and structures that I've grown accustomed to.

If I did not have bones, then I may very well beg for death. What's the status of my pain receptors, or even complex thought? Maybe I deserve the stupid situation I've gotten myself into, I was probably dumped on that island to die by some exhausted caretaker. Do I have orifices at all? Am I living a tragic Helen Keller nightmare?

Or would I regenerate, like a starfish?

Am I perhaps animated by some mystical means? If so, what are my connections with the supernatural? Do I perhaps have a connection to the life-web of the hotdogs?

Also, do I have mustard? Because either way, I'd be fucking delicious. Especially on an island outside on the beach. You'd just smell grilling hotdogs, all day. I think I'd be looking for an excuse. Like if I stub my toe really hard I'd yell out "WHOOPSIE-DAISY", at whatever inanimate object has become my surrogate companion and outlet for madness, and just immediately amputate it with my teeth. Wolfing down smeet bloody gobbets of delicious hotdog meat.

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Logan.. If you could carry 2 guns on you within reason at all times which would they be n why?


First one would be a Glock 17. Simple, efficient, durable. Easy to maintain. 9mm ammo is plentiful in a scavenging situation. It makes the most sense.




My second gun would be the Pfeifer-Zeliska .600 Nitro Express Magnum.




Basically fires a bullet designed to kill elephants. On for sale, right now, for only $17,000.




13.2 lbs of shit your pants. It would cost about $20 everytime you wanted to reload it,

but who needs bullets? As soon as I pull it you sweat bullets.




It's practical.

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I am exceptionally unpleasant company in person. I do not know where to put my hands when walking, so I instinctively curl them up to my chest awkwardly and slowly rub them together. I'm uncomfortable with any eye contact and I don't know what to look at when speaking with you, so I will often stare unblinking over your shoulder when having a conversation. As if watching an invisible assassin sneak up on you. Unless you were a woman, then I would just stare at your breasts.

I will often devolve into a low mutter, prompting you to constantly say "WHAT?". This is from a crushing insecurity and fear that the next thing I say might make you hate me forever. My nose constantly drips, making me punctuate ever sentence with a sniff and occasionally blowing, obnoxiously loudly, into a filthy encrusted handkerchief.

I sweat in every situation, all the time. I'm overly susceptible to the heat and I'm never comfortable. I will be dripping sweat at all points and will often smell terribly.

I can craft a joke in the atmosphere of the forum because I have infinite time to think about it. When off the cuff, I will cringingly swing at everything. Like if you mention the great lakes, I will uncomfortably blurt something like "What's so great about 'em anyway? What, are they Alexander or somethin'? Hah?" in a desperate drive to be accepted. You will give a fake uncomfortable laugh at first, but as the evening wears on your reactions will be reduced to a stone faced stare and silence.

If I can't think of anything to say, I will often just stare off in the distance and ignore that you're even there or, start reading a book until you wander away.

I will have my latest fanfiction on my phone, and I will demand that you read it. Right there, on the spot.

I will try to get you to lend me money, and if you don't I'll steal something from your house.

I will try to get as much inside information on your sister as I can, unnaturally steering the conversation in her direction multiple times. This is so I can decide what her dream man is and seduce her online under a psuedonym. If you do not have a sister, then I will do it with your mother.

Sometimes I pretend to have seizures in order to get attention from strangers. But sometimes I'm actually having a seizure, so don't just ignore it.


So I try to take Sundays off and I always work Saturday morning, so Saturday nights would probably be good.


Your second question will be answered in another post.

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If you used just one word to reply to this here post what would it be? N how in the world is that elephant gun practical??? lol


Wait i said "within reason" didn't I... So what reason would you carry elephant guns? elephant attacks at the club?

Edited by IceManML
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