Micro-Setting: Alpha Genome

An advanced amphibious alien species that birth hundreds of young at a time. For the sake of their ecosystem and as a biological imperative, they must allow their young to be preyed upon. 

The young are laid in eggs on land and must travel to the ocean after hatching. They are slow, clumsy, and vulnerable on land, and hunted in droves by predators from the sky, on the land, and at the shore.

Despite their technology, wisdom, and spirituality, they must allow this violence, and many even embrace it. But also, some sacrifice more than others.

They have a pheromone system strong enough to sense genes, and have a strong sense of genetic memory.

The Alpha Genome are allowed to breed by the hundreds each. At any time up to 40% of the total population may be related to AG, with varying degrees of access to that genetic memory. The AG and lesser Genomes are a Family, a nation, a technology, a resource, and a religion. They are a species that places great emphasis on genetic "purity".

Much of popular culture is just rehashed genetic memories that induce something like a species- or culturally-specific emotion roughly equivalent to nostalgia.

Memories are altered by Hebbian Learning. When a memory is recalled it is changed due to coactivations of neurons at time of recall.

The genetic memories work similarly.

The Genomes themselves are like gods and demiurges and demons. But there are individuals or clusters who represent them, or claim to represent them, or who acquire disproportionate power through other niches.

The pheromones and genetic memories also make them more social even than humans, and they can empathize and socially intuit at a higher resolution. They experience and propagate both love and hate in dimensions beyond our ability to perceive.

Although they suffered terribly when the technologically superior Americans first colonized their world, the Alpha Genome were eventually elected minority rule over Earth geopolitics, and the nations that allied with them during the period of American colonization prosper under this new regime.

Over time their social technologies, the genetic memories and superior intuition, proved more powerful than guns and missiles.

Despite their similar intelligence and reasoning skills, because humans aren't part of the Genomes and can't experience the genetic memories, they do not feel the same degree of empathy or emotional volatility towards humans as they evoke from each other.

Humans are not socially equitable, but it is different than persecution humans impose upon themselves. Both species continue to inflict far more suffering on themselves than against each other.

The mechanism of the geopolitical takeover of earth involved a targeted effort to rebrand political power and leadership roles as a kind of service industry. 

Through this campaign, a critical mass including even some of the staunchest American individualists were eventually convinced to largely acquiesce organization and administration.

Although in minority control, they are acutely aware of their vulnerability should humanity choose to organize against them.

Dandy Dust Not-Review

I am not a fan of the "so bad it's good" mentality. I hate how people go to these campy movies with preconceived ideas about the experience they're going to have; who, when faced with something totally outside their frame of reference for consensus reality, choose to scoff and laugh and close their minds, not even considering to actually sit with their thoughts and truly experience what is being presented to them on its own terms.

If you're that person, skip this movie.

Watched this movie at my local indie theater last year, and then when they brought it back in January 2024 for their best of 2023 set I had to rewatch it even though I never rewatch things. I figured I might never get another chance.

This movie is pure awesomeness. It's weird, it's queer, it's campy, it's scifi. I am not expert enough in music to articulate fully, but it's got sounds like from the videogame series Wipeout, Lo-Fi Trip Hop at least a decade before that was much of a thing, electronica, disco, metal, Persona 5-style nu jazz, and all of it is amazing. It's a shame this movie doesn't have an available OST or track list.

It's super low budget but it does some really cool things visually, like semi-transparent overlays of the actors over exotic hand-crafted sets, paper cutouts of tanks over cars, puppets in isometric view engaging in war.

The dialogue and character expressions are all so strange. The voices sometimes seem dubbed over. It takes you totally outside your frame of reference for what people are, how they behave; it makes it feel more scifi, but also more queer (in multiple senses of the word). These are humans who operate in totally alien ways.

There is a story, but it's very surreal, I didn't necessarily understand it the first time but on second viewing it was easier to follow, but it's not really necessary to understand what's going on. It's not a movie that needs to be fully understood, just appreciated.

It's sexy, but in a way that is totally orthogonal to heteronormative sexuality. It deals with some mature themes, there's some very graphic scenes, but it never feels exploitative and it always handles it matter of factly.

There's a character named Spidercuntboy.

If you can get your hands on it, or better, if you can find it in an indie theater, I would strongly recommend checking it out if you're at all into weird stuff.

I would love to get a full-length track of Candle Man's theme, it is so good.

Campaign Setup: The Elemental Trinity

For generations the Fire Kingdom has oppressed the Leaf Folk. That is until the Azure Horde arrived from the seas. At a disadvantage, the only way the Fire Kingdom can survive is by leveraging the unique abilities of the Leaf Folk, if they can make peace in time.

A World in Two Times

Each player is two characters, an Ancestor and a Successor. 

This is a world of circular time, or at least for the PCs. Actions in one time affect the other. If it's easier, think of it like a surrealist dream. A whole other life, a world with its own rules, and maybe no less significant. Quite literally, this is how luck is made. 

Like Karma, attaching to the present at the expense of the future (or past, as it were) accrues debt. Even though you represent both interests, sometimes it feels like you just don't have a choice.

The Ancestor and Successor are each other's spirit familiar.

Lucid to each other's dreams.

Both images by the Surrealist Max Ernst

Possibilities

• Luck, synchronicities, spiritual phenomena all operate within the circularity of time.
• Ancestor and Successor are arbitrary terms. Ones' history is the others' prophecy.
• Causality as we think of it is merely a heuristic; a reasonably predictive and explanatory model for something much more complex.

The Apologists

The Apologists believe that in the space between life and death, one is not held on trial. Instead, one receives an intervention with their no longer living friends, enemies, loved ones, and ancestors. One is made to feel sorry for every wrong they've ever committed, to apologize to themselves, the dead, and the living (this is where magic and miracles come from), to have a very cathartic cry, and then a deep and pleasant rest, well deserved.

Some have criticized this belief as a means by criminals and profiteers to stomach the abuses they commit in life. "We'll all experience the same things in the end, so what's the consequence, one way or the other?"

Others find comfort knowing that they will always find forgiveness, and feel empowered to be more forgiving in life. As well, their impact on the world has been vast, and in many cases quite positive.

The Apologists are overrepresented relative to the general population in the field of mental health. They also led the movement to dismantle the prison industrial complex that persisted into the early 21st century.

At the same time, every Carnival King, May Queen, and Fool has been an Apologist, and were empowered by popular support from the Apologist majority.

While many today still debate the merits of this new movement, none deny the influence it has had across the world in such a short time.

No idea what this is, just found it googling around.

I imagine this as a mid-Apocalyptic, Epic Dark Fantasy setting that happens to be set in a technological and culturally Modern world. Something between Game of Thrones and Final Fantasy XV.

You could throw out the explicit reference to the 21st century and embed it in a more traditional fantasy setting and use the Apologist belief system as the source of "magic and miracles" within the setting.

The Magical Man Machine

Thank you, I designed them myself! Yes they really work! See that vein there? Yes, I just attach it to the wheel overnight and it's reinvigored by the morning. Oh, those are self-producing bioplastics, I'm especially proud of those. You think I'm beautiful? Gee golly, thanks. I think I'm beautiful too. I mean, I think you're beautiful too. I know it seems impractical, and like a lot of work to have done this, and it is and was, but art isn't meant to be practical. Yes, this is my art. Some people are repelled by it, but I think that says more about them than me. You see what the engineers don't understand, they really just don't get it, is that the system is just one side of the equation, but you can't explain the experience as a system. So I knew, I knew, to really know what it means to be a machine, I had to become one. But it's not enough to be a cyborg, no, that's got it all wrong. Cybernetics is about systems of control, and you can't understand what anything really means through systems and control, isn't that obvious? A cyborg is just a series of interfaces, translation points between electrical signals and those of the body, and then the spirit. No, to embody the machine, I had to reshape myself, the body itself, into something like a machine, a Man Machine. The qualia of it, the pure aesthesia, well, it can't be described, that's the whole point isn't it? To roll on wheels, to see like a camera, to store memories as hash mapped blocks of information! And see, that's where the artists get it all wrong, because they think the machine can never produce art. But it's a moving target, art to them is whatever the human can do that the machine cannot, and when the machine can do it, then it's not art anymore, it's something else. But let me tell you, they've got it all wrong. The machine has an art all of its own, invisible to the perceptual quirks of the human eye, out of phase with the holographic human soul, illogical to the material brain. Let me tell you from personal experience that there is magic in the machine! Am I so repulsive? Don't you want to be a Magical Man Machine as well? Sometimes I miss the oxytocin tingle of a gentle finger stroking along the hairs of my forearm, or the spicy floral fragrance of navratna oil and its cooling sensation on my scalp. I have the memory in block storage, but even in its "lossless" format, I know the je ne sai quai is all wrong, it's a different flavor of experience. And it is lonely sometimes, being the only Magical Man Machine. It's no better nor worse an experience. I mean, in some ways its worse, if only because the world doesn't know what to do with me. But that's where the magic comes from isn't it? The divergence from consensus reality. A vast and sparse noosphere, the joy of ships passing in the night, sailing the ocean of anonymous nobodies and nothings, each themselves doing likewise, whether they even know it or not. Oh my gosh, oh I'm so sorry, I really ran away with myself there. I'm sorry, I haven't even asked yet, how was your day?

The time I got into an argument with Grant Morrison

A little over a year ago, Tuesday September 6th 2022 at 7pm at the Barnes & Noble at Union Square in New York City, I met Grant Morrison. I even brought *them a copy of Maximum Recursion Depth, or Sometimes the Only Way to Win is to Stop Playing: The Karmapunk RPG, along with a shitty hand written note on an index card because I spent years writing and publishing a book but didn't think to write a personalized message to go along with it until an hour or so before the talk, so it's on an index card, it's surely cringe beyond belief, over-written and self-conscious, in my shitty handwriting because I don't hand write, with scratch marks where I decided I wasn't bold enough to say this, or had just enough shame to recognize I would regret saying that, and for whatever reason didn't bother to just rewrite it entirely.

* It is entirely possible I mis-gender them at some point in this post because they were a he/him for most of the time I've known them, feel free to correct me if I do, or feel free to not correct me if you don't want the responsibility, but I'll fix any mistakes if I catch them, no-problem.

So, they talked a bit about the book that I own that they signed and that I also own digitally but still have not read yet (the time will come). Honestly I don't remember much about what they had to say about it.

I remember them talking about their philosophies, mostly the same stuff I've heard them talk about before. It was cool to hear it live, in real-time, to absorb the idiosyncrasies. They went on a long rant at one point about how they don't believe in Karma and reincarnation because of hypertime and superorganisms, that was one lovely new talking point I'd never heard from them. I don't even remember how that came up; I was too nervous and despondent to even try to ask a question in my one chance to do so, let alone to argue with them about why they're wrong about the stuff they've been writing about for decades, that made me so obsessed with them in the first place, that was one of the largest inspirations for most of my ideas that are also probably wrong.

So I dunno, they seemed like they were in the mood of somebody who was doing work travel, doing something that probably used to be exciting for them decades ago but now was fairly mundane, trying to shill their art for the sake of capitalism in a corporate bookstore, close enough in time to a global pandemic to still have that hanging over everything, not really ideal circumstances for anyone.

But it was a life goal of mine to meet Grant Morrison, and there I was, so Grant was going to affirm everything I've done, look into my eyes and realize despite our wildly different life experiences, personal identities, age gap, regional gap, whatever, that they would know in that moment that actually their life was incomplete until meeting me, that they would be forever changed and we're going to be best friends going forward.

Obviously that didn't happen, and was never going to happen, and of course we both knew that that wasn't going to happen, but we're going to play this out anyway. It's funny how, in accomplishing this life goal of mine, to meet Grant Morrison, and giving them a copy of my published book, another life goal of mine, I mostly just made myself inordinately depressed and also reminded myself of how I made myself inordinately depressed for publishing the book, for largely the same category of reason, so it was a recursive episode of life goal accomplishment depression, which in retrospect I can appreciate the irony of a little bit more than I could in that moment.

Anyway, they were heading out, escorted by their "people" and one or more employees of Barnes & Noble. I was passing by the stairway as they were heading down, and I stared into their eyes, and they in turn into mine.

I could see the confusion and exasperation in their eyes, and surely they could see the depression and existential frustration and unrequited longing in mine, and yet we both recognized the inevitability of the confrontation.

And so we got to have a proper conversation, without the audience. It went like this.

They said something to me, to the effect of— and please excuse my poor paraphrasing — "What the fuck do you even want from me? I'm old, jetlagged, busy, tired, hungry, and I've been holding a wet fart for the better part of the last three hours. You think you're the only one who wants to talk to me? I skimmed through your book and I thought it was shite*, you pretentious fuck. I don't owe you anything, fuck you and your Karma."

* "Shite" being my one and only attempt to mimic their glorious Scottish accent in my hoaky paraphrasing of events.

And I wish I could say I responded with something really witty and funny, make them second guess themselves, blow their mind with all of my cognitive neuroscience and machine learning and philosophy and idiosyncrasies and dramatic traumas (and undramatic traumas, and most of all, embarrassing traumas) that make me the ornery, maladjusted, but mostly innocuous bastard that I am, but I've never been that great under pressure, so I mostly just sighed and stammered and sounded like a whiny fuck. And then they were gone, and that was that.

I think in my chicken scratch index card note I gave them along with my book, which in retrospect it would have been clever if I had signed but I don't think I did, I said something about how I don't believe in their magic but still managed to make something of it, like I was making some grand statement. 

And ironically I believe in their magic a lot more now than I did a year ago. I've been embracing the synchronicities, and astral conversations, and the Weird stuff outside constructed reality, which I always was doing in my own way but not in the way that conforms to their magic, but now I've internalized that stuff too, at least a bit. Enough that it's allowed one of my closest personal friendships to evolve to a new level, and contributed to my improved mental health, and made me open to all sorts of other new experiences and perspectives*.

* There's a challenge in this statement, one which I am reasonably confident a non-trivial number of people will fail, or at least they've failed it before. It's clever to me anyway even if I suspect most people don't get it. Also, you (exactly one of you): I acknowledge that you are a good person, but kindly go fuck yourself in circles. I went back and forth on whether to say that, or how to say it, or how much to say. It's petty, maybe more petty for how vague I am about it, but I already acknowledged being an ornery maladjusted but mostly innocuous bastard, so I'm just gonna throw that in their for fun. The rest of you, whether you pass it or fail it or it doesn't apply to you or you figure I can go fuck myself on principle because who am I to be throwing you a challenge— it's all good; as far as I'm concerned, we're good.

So I dunno, even though the conversation didn't exactly go the way I would have wanted, even if we didn't totally see eye to eye, I'm starting to at least appreciate it for what it was, and look back on it fondly. Or at least it's a good story. Even if I mostly came off as a buffoon, how many people can say they've gotten into an argument with Grant Morrison?

And maybe we'll laugh about it together some day.