Liquid Nitrogen Candy at the #Tastemade party. Ouch.
What the city is missing: Thierry Cohen photographs cityscapes and then photographs deserts at night, combing the two to show us what our cities would look like with the lights off. The stars are not enhanced, they are actual photos from relative latitudes that would expose the same starry sky view if it weren’t for light pollution. Click on each photo to see which city it is.
There was no movement from Kirk at all.
What breaks my heart the most about these reactions is that everyone has suddenly become their own opposite in the face of Kirk’s death. Energetic, joking Scotty looks like he’s aged at least ten years with grief, like he’ll never smile again. Strong, put-together Uhura completely breaks down. Spock gives no fucks about holding in his emotions. Bones looks like a child who just watched one of his parents walk out on him forever. They aren’t Jim’s crew anymore, not in these brief moments. They’re entirely different people.
Would have been infinitely more powerful had they actually kept him dead, though. At least until… oh, I don’t know… the next film in the franchise?
But I suppose blockbusters don’t know how to do that anymore, huh?
Wow. Just… wow.
My newest dystopian obsession is The Digital Web Series: H+. You guys. This shit is for real. Here’s episode one, but be prepared, because you might not even finish reading this post if you watch it.
Are you still here? I’m impressed. The first time I watched it I immediately engaged in a video binge session that ended way too late at night and only ended when the insides of my eyelids started sticking to my contact lenses.
I remember the first time I finished George Orwell’s 1984. I was curled up in my childhood bed (which had pink blankets - a fact that astounds me today) and I was breathless. My emotions were at level 99 out of 100. I was sad and angry and confused and frustrated and exhilarated and impressed and overwhelmed. I wasn’t used to a single book eliciting so many emotions.
I fell asleep and years passed and the emotions faded, but the fiction stuck. Why did the fiction stick? Because it wasn’t fiction at all. George Orwell wasn’t an author - he was a futurist. A time teller. A psychic.
I love dystopian fiction, because it’s like a warning song about the future that the vast majority of the public is ignoring and I feel like a special mage who can hear the tune above the newest Selena Gomez song.