Twin Hearts

It is said that Lumethrys tricked her siblings into her own creation. She brought light and darkness together, cast them apart, inspired their games of hide and seek, and in all of this created herself: the sky.

She was her own canvas, awash with color whether day or night. She brought forth her brother’s pure light and turned it into something entirely new. And every day, she lay up in her domain, creating.

She stole from Dusamoore and sculpted the clouds. She stole light from Kaaos and dotted Erasil’s night with pictures and pinpricks. But most importantly, at least to Dutriss, she stole Dutriss’ heart.

Dutriss, small and quiet, drowned by her cousin Dusamoora’s beauty, had to take her joys where she could find them; and find them she did in all of Lumethry’s antics. From her lands she looked up at the sky in awe at the Majesty of it. Hers was a world of grey. Taendara, trying to help, painted her body with flowers, but such things were not truly hers. And she feared that Lumethrys would never notice her.

Even Dutriss’ stone, her heart of hearts, was dull compared to the other Gods. It was dull and colorless Quartz. It was “everywhere and meaningless” Dusamoore had claimed. “The best souls are coveted and rare.” Dutriss felt herself sink.

“She will never find you if you hide,” Taendara said. But Dutriss could not bring herself to listen.

Despite her tricks, Lumethrys was loved by her siblings. Erasil felt much less lonely at the addition of the stars to their sky, and Kaaos found the games to be quite fun. On one day he bestowed upon his sister a special light. “For your art,” he said. It was the brightest star she had ever seen and it filled her heart with joy. She hung it in the sky for all to see.

Until one night, it fell.

No one can agree on how, but Lumethrys blamed Dusamoora, claiming jealousy. The two fought, and storms raged over the world.

But Dutriss had found the light. It had fallen onto her in the night, but her voice was so quiet she could not tell even Dusamoore let alone Lumethrys. She took it, gently, and tried to call out, but the storms drowned out her cries. She stretched and reached and called out, but still could not be heard. She looked down. She had never been so high up. She held the light close to her heart and pushed herself upward, piercing through the clouds and crying out for Lumethrys.

The thunder quieted. Dusamoora paused in awe of Dutriss’ feat. Lumethrys paused in awe of Dutriss, her body aglow in a rainbow of colors. Pockets of quartz, once dull, shone with a thousand colors.

The rain stopped and Dutriss move her hands from her heart, holding the light out to Lumethrys. The colors stayed, much to everyone’s surprise, save for her heart: a clear crystalline quartz. Without taking her eyes off of Dutriss, Lumethrys apologized to Dusamoore before casting away the clouds and forcing the Goddex back into the sea. She moved forward and took the light from Dutriss, her own body shimmering into a rainbow of color.

“Thank you,” she said.
Dutriss stammered out her name. Lumethrys giggled.

And from then on the world had mountains, places where Dutriss could reach up and touch the art of her love. The earth became rich with color and the sky, in a show of love, would send new stars down to the earth.

No man I’ll just talk about the Facebook movie all day shit man you have to be so interested in the shit I have to say about the Facebook movie fuck dude I just watched it a year and a half ago fuck Jesse Eisenberg man he fucked over Spider-man crazy Winklevoss twins rowing Trent Resin Or did the soundtrack fuck this guy who invented Facebook I don’t like dying I can’t think of who the fuck invented Facebook All I can think is who played the guy who invented Facebook who the fuck invented Facebook

outfromtheinkwell:

M A R K Z U C K E R B E R G

natural–blues:

decrystallize:

witchtimez:

onlyblackgirl:

m4ge:

m4ge:

m4ge:

m4ge:

This came up on my facebook feed and I am so excited to see how generation Xers and Baby Boomers will find a way to use this to shit on millenials anyways

nice okay we’re off to a good start

oh boy do i have something to tell you about millennials, working, and debt that’s gonna absolutely blow your socks off

banksy’s family found this article

Why old people so mad.

It’s funny because millennials can pretty much multitask like it’s second nature simply because it’s necessary to keep up with society, while baby boomers whine about reading subtitles and can’t seem to program anything more complicated than a VCR.

But sure, ok, the kids are lazy and have entitlement complexes

Older Generations: -Make comics about kids not knowing how books work-

Millenials: -Read more books than anyone else-

Older Generations: …no we changed our minds reading a lot is lazy and entitled now

I had a professor, way older, talk at a great length about how his generation is more well read than Millenials. When it was brought up that our generation reads more, he literally came out of nowhere with “Well, that’s not the point. See, my generation was better informed. You kids don’t know what it is to actually sit down and read for information. This generation is the least informed of any previous generation! Other generations sat and read, listened to the radio for information. There’s access, but are any of you *actually* informed? No. If I wanted to know what happened in Finland to make it a country, I would go to the library, speak to another human being, and check out books to read on the subject. We were happy to do it.”

A girl a few seats behind me goes, “Bullshit. If I want to know that, I can Google that in a few seconds depending on my signal. I can youtube or Netflix a documentary on Finnish History. I can listen to podcasts made by Scandinavian historians. I can use Duolingo to get a better than basic understanding of the language, and use Amazon same-day to get a book in my hand by my last class of the day, delivered to the class. I can order Finnish food on my ubereats app, find a language partner chat app to video with people in Helsinki, use Google Earth to visit, patronise interactive museums, and stream the most popular films from the country *right now*. If I so desire I can take an opensource course from a highly accredited university about the same subject and apply to study abroad with a trusted program with the click of a button. I can use Tinder to find me someone there to get some with, I can buy plane tickets and find a top rated hotel for a good price with great reviews and stream their local radio stations with an app. I can buy train tickets, bus tickets and rent a car. We aren’t less informed. We just don’t learn things we don’t give a shit about or need just to say we did all smug about it. Stop sneering at us for the access your generation dreamed of giving us actually happening just because your old ass doesn’t know how to use it.”

Italy gives world-famous opera Carmen a defiant new ending in stand against violence to women

sespursongles:

One of the world’s best-loved operas has been given a radically different ending in Italy, with the heroine killing her tormentor rather than being killed herself, in a stand against violence to women.

In Bizet’s original story, Don José is a naïve soldier who is lured away from his military duties and his childhood sweetheart by Carmen. But she then falls for the handsome bull-fighter Escamillo, driving Don Jose wild with jealousy. The last act of the opera is set outside the bullring in Seville, where Carmen is stabbed to death by Don José.

In what is believed to be a world first, a production of Bizet’s Carmen will see Carmen shoot her thwarted admirer Don José with a pistol that she grabs off him, rather than being stabbed to death by him.

The dramatic departure from operatic orthodoxy is an attempt to shine the spotlight on the modern-day abuse and mistreatment of women, an issue given added resonance by the outrage over the behaviour of Harvey Weinstein and Donald Trump.

The new version of Carmen will open at Florence’s opera house this weekend, with the first few nights already sold out.

“As far as we know it is the first time that the ending to Carmen has been changed,” the opera house’s Paolo Klun told The Telegraph.

The producers said they had changed the denouement of the story in part to protest at the large number of Italian women who are killed each year by jealous husbands, boyfriends and lovers.

Sociologists and campaigners say it is driven by men feeling threatened by the greater freedoms and enhanced economic independence that many Italian women now enjoy after decades of being seen as pliable possessions.

With horrific cases of domestic violence coming to light almost every month, the directors of the work said they were uncomfortable with the idea of audiences applauding the final scene, in which Carmen is stabbed to death and lies motionless on the stage.

“At a time when our society is having to confront the murder of women, how can we dare to applaud the killing of a woman?” said Cristiano Chiarot, the head of the opera house, the Teatro del Maggio Musicale Fiorentino. […]

Italy gives world-famous opera Carmen a defiant new ending in stand against violence to women

If Harry had gotten a less conventional, but more loving adoptive family…

nehirose:

emeraldbirdcollector:

Dear
Minerva,

Thank
you so much for your kind letter of the 17th. It is always a pleasure
to hear from you. I do appreciate your waiving the rules about
familiars to allow Wednesday to bring little Homer – she dotes on
that spider, and I don’t think she could consider Hogwarts home
without his company.

We
were delighted but completely unsurprised by the children’s Sorting.
Of course Wednesday is a Ravenclaw – she has always had a brilliant
mind, and it is rather traditional for the women in our
family. Slytherin might have been a possibility, with her cleverness
and ambition, but sadly (and quietly, between friends) I must admit
the wrong sort have rather taken over that House at the moment. Death
Eaters are so vulgar. Gomez, naturally, is over the moon about
our little Harry being a fellow Gryffindor – the world does need more
dashing, brave, and reckless men. They make life so interesting for
the rest of us, don’t you agree? And I am certain he will be safe
under your care, after his rather difficult start in life, poor
child. That aunt and uncle of his are just too terribly common to
protect him adequately – I am grateful Albus saw sense and left him
with us rather than her.

I
appreciate your bringing to my attention the small difficulty between
Harry and Draco – I shall have a word with Narcissa. (Lucius is still
being terribly silly about that little peacock incident, and refuses
to speak to Gomez at all. Men can be so ridiculously proud. And they
really did look so much better in black.) Really, though, Harry was
only defending his friend. I probably should warn you that Wednesday
writes that she is teaching young Longbottom a few of her more subtle
defenses – I sincerely doubt Draco will trouble him in future if he
uses those. I assure you, none of them cause permanent damage, only
temporary discomfort, and she is well aware that they are only for
self-defense, not mere childish aggression. Addamses do not start
fights, but we do finish them, and Wednesday has always looked out
for her brothers.

At
least that little incident allowed you to see Harry’s flying skills
in time to recruit him for the Quidditch team. I think he shall be an
excellent Seeker – he was always the best at bat-spotting on summer
evenings, and then there was the time he “borrowed” Gomez’s
broom to rescue Pugsley’s pet octopus Aristotle, who had developed an
unaccountable taste for tree-climbing, but had neglected to learn how
to climb down. It was a successful rescue, even though he was mildly hampered on his descent by Aristotle clinging to his face in terror.

Please
send my apologies to Severus for that unfortunate incident in Potions
class. I should have warned him that Wednesday was experimenting
with, shall we say, some variant recipes. I am quite certain,
however, that Miss Parkinson’s hair will grow back normally, and that
the snakes are only a temporary embellishment.

My
best regards, and do drop by for tea if you ever happen to be in the
neighborhood. Thing has perfected your favorite shortbread recipe – I
do believe he has a little crush on you. Or perhaps it is merely that
you are the only visitor we have had, outside of family, who is
sensible enough to shake hands with him without flinching.

Yours
truly,

Morticia
Addams

OH THIS IS LOVELY

tinybro:

kiaxet:

captainsnoop:

arctiinae:

dr-archeville:

blessedharlot:

darkersolstice:

captainsnoop:

one thing i think is interesting, as someone who basically grew up playing video games non-stop, is how some types of video game just don’t gel with people

like, it’s easy to forget that, even though i’m pretty bad at most games, that my skill at handling video games is definitely “above average.” as much as i hate to put it like this, i’d say my experience level is at “expert” solely because I can pick up any game controller and understand how to use it with no additional training.

a friend of mine on twitter

posted a video of him stuck on a part of samus returns. the tutorial area where it teaches you how to ledge-grab. the video is of him jumping against the wall, doing everything but grabbing the ledge, and him getting frustrated

i’ve been playing games all my life, so i’d naturally intuit that i should jump towards the ledge to see what happens

but he doesn’t do that.

it’s kinda making me realize that as games are becoming more complex and controllers are getting more buttons, games are being designed more and more for people who already know how to play them and not people with little to no base understanding of the types of games they’re playing

so that’s got me thinking: should video games assume that you have zero base knowledge of video games and try to teach you from there? should Metroid: Samus Returns assume that you already know how to play a Metroid game and base its tutorial around that, or should it assume that you’ve never even played Mario before?

it’s got me thinking about that Cuphead video again. you know the one. to anyone with a lot of experience with video games, especially 2D ones, we would naturally intuit that one part of the tutorial to require a jump and a dash at the same time.

but most people lack that experience and that learned intuition and might struggle with that, and that’s something a lot of people forget to consider.

it reminds me a bit of the “land of Punt” that I read about in this Tumblr post. Egypt had this big trading partner back in the day called Punt and they wrote down everything about it except where it was, because who doesn’t know where Punt is? and now, we have no idea where it was, because everyone in Egypt assumed everyone else knew.

take that same line of thinking with games: “who doesn’t know how to play a 2D platform game?” nobody takes in to consideration the fact that somebody might not know how to play a 2D game on a base level, because that style of gameplay is thoroughly ingrained in to the minds of the majority of gamers. and then the Cuphead situation happens.

the point of this post isn’t to make fun of anybody, but to ask everyone to step back for a second and consider that things that they might not normally consider. as weird as it is to think about for people that grew up playing video games, anyone who can pick up a controller with thirty buttons on it and not get intimidated is actually operating at an expert level. if you pick up a playstation or an Xbox controller and your thumbs naturally land on the face buttons and the analog stick and your index fingers naturally land on the trigger buttons, that is because you are an expert at operating a complex piece of machinery. you have a lifetime of experience using this piece of equipment, and assuming that your skill level is the base line is a problem.

that assumption is rapidly becoming a problem as games become more complex. it’s something that should be considered when talking about games going forward. games should be accessible, but it’s reaching a point where even Nintendo games are assuming certain levels of skill without teaching the player the absolute basics. basics like “what is an analog stick” and “where should my fingers even be on this controller right now.”

basically what i’m saying is that games are becoming too complex for new players to reasonably get in to and are starting to assume skill levels higher than what should be considered the base line. it’s becoming a legitimate problem that shouldn’t be laughed at and disregarded. it’s very easy to forget that thing things YOU know aren’t known by everyone and that idea should be taken in to consideration when talking about video games.

All of this. Basic game literacy is remarkably complicated. I grew up on the earliest ones and had high fluency up to around the Super Mario 64 era. I fell out of regular gameplay at that point and even from that baseline, I experience a really bewildering disconnect from what’s required to approach most games today.

I wonder if this is partly a gatekeeping thing, keeping games for G A M E R S by assuming the player already has an ‘expert’ level of literacy re: the game’s mechanics and lore, which provides both a way to keep out Others (read: non-gamers) from their game space & a way for players to rank themselves by how well they do/how much they know, setting up a hierarchy they constantly struggle to rise up in so they can look down on those who can do/know less.

I.e., a manifestation of the Curator Fandom vs. Creative/Transformative Fandom split.

Man, this so much. There’s also a strong disparity between what people think will be fun for someone and what is actually fun for them? The amount of women I’ve met who were “not into video games even though their boyfriends tried to get them into it” I’ve met is staggering. But the thing is, said boyfriends kept pushing FPS zombie games onto their girlfriends, which are games that a) require a lot of coordination and previous knowledge and b) are not that interesting. I understand the appeal of a FPS game, but you also have to understand that someone’s who’s never played one before will not enjoy being dumped into a world where they die constantly and only get to splatter brains onto concrete.

But I once got a friend whos bf had been trying to push video games onto unsuccessfully for years to spend three hours gleefully laughing and cursing at a screen with a controller in hand. You know what game I picked?

Journey.

Because Journey has a fairly low entry-level, you can’t actually die or loose progress, there is no time pressure, and the controls are relatively easy to learn. She still needed help getting through the tutorial, but the game is very forgiving and getting lost is enjoyable rather than frustrating, so it was a good experience for her. She didn’t know video games could be that fun.

I also got my father to play this game, someone who has never had a controller in his hands in his whole damn life.

But here again, something I’ve noticed a lot from people who try to get other people into video games, is that they lack the patience necessary to teach a complete, bloody noob how to play the game. Even easy, forgiving games like Journey, when people first start, they suck at controlling the camera, they cannot walk in a straight line, they don’t follow the obvious path because the cues are not obvious to them. And a lot of gamers (lots of them male) get really irritated and angry at people if they don’t intuitively use the controls correctly and end up angling the camera at their feet all the time, and a lot of newbies get very self-conscious, very fast when they can’t quickly get a hang of how the game works.

So I guess my piece of advice here is, if you want to get someone into games, there’s two main things to remember:

a) don’t pick your favorite FPS as their first game to try out. Pick something simple and forgiving, with few buttons and a straightforward game mechanic and something that won’t kill you and make you restart for every mistake.

b) be patient. The same kind of patient you have to be to teach your grandmother how to write an email. They’re not going to do it “right”, they will do weird things and roundabout things and maybe surprise you with weird, novel solutions because they won’t follow the patterns laid out for them. You’re gonna have to watch them spend fifteen minutes trying to nail a double jump. You’re gonna watch them poke everything except the really obvious glowing button to open the door to the next level. They are going to leave key items lying around because they didn’t realize it’s a key item. Be. Patient.

Video games are an amazing and novel experience and can be a lot of fun and escapism and hobby, they can be beautiful art or compelling stories or just fun puzzles, but we stop a lot of people from getting into them by setting the entry bar really high and then mocking people for not getting it right the first time. The first time you played Super Mario you ran straight into the first Goomba you saw and died. Your first Pokemon team was made entirely out of cool looking Pokemon with high power moves and zero strategy. Give people a chance to learn.

this is an excellent response! my mom has been trying to get in to video games for a long time, but between work and the rapid progress of technology she simply hasn’t been able to keep up

Journey is also the game that I picked to show to her, for all of the reasons you mentioned. It’s simple, the game handles the camera for you, there’s basically no failure state, and the game will even hook you up with more experienced players to help you out. there’s no verbal communication to discourage newcomers and every helper you get is remarkably patient. everyone playing Journey wants to share Journey with as many people as possible and if that means toughing it out so a little kid or someone’s mom can experience it too, they’re willing to put in the effort.

I’m not terribly good at first person shooters; that said, exactly two people in my life have tried to teach me to play Halo.

My brother put us both in PVP, told me what all the controls do exactly once, and then ran around shooting/killing me repeatedly while I was still trying to figure out why I needed one joystick to move and the other to look at things.

My friend put us on co-op, discovered I liked sniping, would lead me to good places to snipe during a mission and would do the face-to-face fighting himself while I laid down covering fire, and would retrieve me once that part of the mission was done and lead me on to the next part.

I played with my brother for two minutes. I played with my friend for two hours.

Teach people. It’s better for everyone involved.

when i worked at a gamestop, i got plenty of moms/girlfriends/etc coming in with their sons/boyfriends/whatever who’d tell me they knew nothing about games and couldn’t figure out anything their guy in question tried to get them into.

my solution that worked for many of these people? telltale game of thrones. it’s a subject many of them were already interested in and would thus have more patience for, the actual gameplay is pretty simple and largely comes down to making choices, and the parts that require you to react quickly let you retry right away if you mess up and die. i had more than one newbie gamer come in after that to try another telltale game, or life is strange, or to ask me if i could recommend them something else.

so yes. if you wanna get people into gaming? think about their interests and ability rather than what you want them to play.

probably-voldemort:

probably-voldemort:

My family is not very religious most of the time. We pray at Christmas and Easter and Thanksgiving dinners, and my mom’s entire side of the family excluding her parents and siblings is hardcore religious so whenever we do anything with them it’s kind of religious.

But the point is, most of the time we aren’t, but every year at Christmas time, a church in the next town over puts on a Bethlehem and it’s kind of a tradition to go. They go all out. The building is massive, and they’ve got it all decked out. There’s animals and stalls and everyone is in costume and in character. When you get there, they give you some pennies and you can go and barter for cool little trinkets, and there’s other more expensive things you can buy with your own money. And they have the best apple cider. All in all, it’s pretty cool.

But anyway. We go every year, bundled up in hats and scarves and mittens, and have a good time. We’ve been doing it for as long as I can remember, and my mom talks about going when she was a kid.

I’m going to mention again that everyone is massively in character, especially the really super hardcore religious adults. Because this is an important fact.

Every year since I was about thirteen or so, there’s been this one lady who worked at a stall selling ponchos (I have, like, three. They’re really cool). She was probably there before that, but I was thirteen when she started trying to barter for me to marry her son, who was also about thirteen.

“What a pretty little thing. I think you’d make a very good wife for my son. These are your parents? I’ll give you six goats for your daughter’s marriage to my son.”

Her son, meanwhile, is in the “shop” behind her looking absolutely mortified and like he’d rather be anywhere else than there, and I’m pretty sure I probably looked just as embarrassed.

My parents gave her some sort of excuse, like it wasn’t enough goats or they weren’t ready to marry me off yet or something, and we moved on.

The next year we’re back again, and come up near to the same stall.

“Ah! You’re back again! Have you married your daughter off yet? I can up my offer to nine goats and three chickens for your daughter to marry my son.”

Somehow she remembered the exact people she’d tried to buy their daughter off of for an entire year? So my parents are refusing her offers again and me and the son are trading embarrassed looks and we go on our way.

And then it happens again. And again. And again. Each and every one of the last six years this lady has tried to buy me in goats to be her son’s wife.

A couple years ago when we were waiting in line to get inside my mom jokingly said that they should accept this year and see what she’d do and I completely refused because it was mortifying enough as it was.

One year we brought my friend with us and we’re waiting outside and my sister was like “Are you gonna sell Kee this year?” and my dad was like “Maybe if there’s enough goats” and my friend was confused as heck and I was like “This lady tries to buy me to marry her son every year. I told you that” and she’s like “Yeah but I didn’t think this was a thing that actually happened” and she was still skeptical and by the time my parents had finished refusing the lady’s offer, she’s killing herself laughing and then spent the next few months telling me I couldn’t look at guys because I already had a fiancée.

Anyway, it happened again this Christmas and the son has somehow gotten almost ridiculously attractive since last year. The speech this year had something to do with how I was far too old to not have a husband yet, and the son and I just rolled our eyes at each other as his mom tried to barter with my parents for me.

This year’s offer was twenty six goats and nine chickens. My sister looked up how much goats are worth, and was mad our parents didn’t sell me so she could have sold the goats and gotten $2000-$8000 for them. My dad says they’re waiting out on an offer of a camel. My brother thinks they should have it more than once a year so he can get more apple cider.

Now I’m back at uni, and in my first psych class of the semester the guy sitting beside me looked really familiar.

As in his-mom-tries-to-buy-me-with-goats-every-Christmas familiar.

That kind of familiar.

We introduced ourselves before class started and I sat there for a couple minutes readying to make a total fool of myself in case I was wrong before turning to him again.

“This is going to sound really weird if you aren’t who I think you are, but by any chance does your mom try to buy you a wife with goats every Christmas?”

His friend gives me a weird look as he walks past me to sit on the other side of him, but he’s definitely putting the pieces together.

“That’s you? Bethlehem in [city name], right? God, my mom is so mortifying.”

And we both kinda laugh and meanwhile his friend is giving us both weird looks now because apparently he didn’t know that his friend’s mom was trying to buy him a wife using livestock.

So he turns to his friend and is like

“Oh, I forgot to introduce you. Danny, this is my fiancée, Kee.”

And I kinda rolled my eyes and was like

“I’m not actually your fiancée. Your mom hasn’t offered my parents enough goats yet. But apparently my dad will sell me for a camel.”

And he laughed and shook his head like

“I am not telling my mom that. I don’t want to see what she has planned for if your parents ever accept.”

So yeah. His friend was really confused by that point and we explained it to him and it turns out he’s pretty cool and we’re Facebook friends now and hang out in psych classes. Apparently his mom only ever tries to buy me for him and she and my mom had gone to the same church growing up which is why she can always pick us out.

So yeah. That’s the story of how some lady tries to use goats to buy me to be her ridiculously attractive son’s wife every Christmas, and how he’s in my class and we’re friends now.

It was the 23rd of December, 2017, and my sister had convinced her friend to come with us this year.

“And that’s where Kee’s fiancé usually is,” Sam explained as we stood in the line waiting to get inside. Her friend gave her the same sceptical look she’d apparently been giving since Sam had first told her.

“He’s not my fiancé,” I pointed out, trying to rub some feeling back into my hands. The Goat Guy had been texting me updates since that morning. The organizers had discussed it at length, but apparently temperatures of negative eighteen, thirteen inches of snow, and a blizzard warning weren’t quite enough to have Bethlehem cancelled (or for my parents to decide to skip it this year). Hashtag Canada.

The line was long this year, and we’d already been standing out in the cold for the better part of half an hour. My brother was loudly lamenting the fact that we couldn’t get to the hot apple cider until we’d made it inside.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I braved taking off a glove to check it.

“Who do you keep texting?” my mom asked, not-so-subtly trying to peer over my shoulder at my phone.

“Gregory from psychology,” I told her, sending off a text informing him that we were still in line. It wasn’t technically a lie, since, you know, that was his actual name and he was in my psychology classes. It wasn’t my fault that my family only knew him as the Goat Guy.

“Ooo,” Sam teased, elbowing me in the ribs, her bony elbows hurting less than usual through all our layers. “I’m going to tell your fiancé he has competition, and then maybe they’ll offer us something useful. Like a car or a trip to Hawaii or something.”

I snorted again. “One, he’s still not my fiancé. Two, he doesn’t have competition, because I’m not interested in him or in Gregory. And, three, this isn’t a game show. If anything, his mom will just offer maybe a horse or something.”

“Can I have the horse?”

I rolled my eyes, glancing at my phone as another text came in. Hurry up. “Sure, Cole.”

My brother pumped his fist in the air. “Nice.”

It took another ten minutes or so to make it to the front of the line, and my family had placed their bets on the amount of farm animals that would be offered this year. My dad reminded me that he was selling me if they offered a camel, and I rolled my eyes, trying to act as reluctant to get to that part of the night as I usually was. Apparently I didn’t do as good a job as I thought I did, since Mom questioned me.

I shrugged, feeling my phone go off again. “I guess I’ve just decided to go with it.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “She thinks he’s hot,” she told her friend. Which, well, it wasn’t exactly untrue. Objectively the Goat Guy was ridiculously attractive, but that doesn’t mean I want to (or have time to) date him.

We’d reached the entrance by that point, and were given our little pouches of pennies to buy small trinkets and ducked into the (compared to outside, at least) warmth of Bethlehem.

Roman soldiers milled amongst the people, asking for taxes and wanting to see our papers. We didn’t have papers, obviously, but the soldier who checked us took an extra penny as a bribe.

“Wait,” Sam’s friend said, stopping in her tracks. “There’s a petting zoo?”

There was, in fact, a petting zoo. The petting zoo and the apple cider were there to keep us pacified as we waited for the soldiers to allow us entrance into Bethlehem, and Cole and our parents went off to get us something to drink while I followed Sam and her friend to see the animals.

“What is this?” Sam asked, frowning. “Where are all the animals?”

There were significantly less animals than usual. Two whole pens were empty, and I could see a few soldiers and townspeople whispering to each other in a panic.

“Maybe they were too cold,” I suggested, reaching out to pat a pig’s head. It snorted and turned away.

My parents and brother returned with our drinks, and I sighed into the bliss that is Bethlehem hot apple cider, and, by the time we made it to the gates to listen as the soldiers reminded us of laws that I don’t remember, I actually had a bit of feeling back in my fingers and face.

I pulled off a glove, typing up a quick text. We’re in.

The stalls were as neat as they always were. I bought a wooden hammer to add to my collection for a couple pennies. My mom dug out her wallet to buy a carved wooden bowl. Sam and her friend took selfies with a girl from their soccer team who was working in a bakery and she snuck them a free scone. Cole found another apple cider vendor and took three cups for himself.

“Look,” Sam said, grinning wickedly as she wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “There it is.”

And there it was. The Goat Guy’s mom was standing outside her shop, heckling with a couple over the price of a rug.

“That is a poncho,” I agreed, glancing at one hanging on the side of the shop and deciding I was going to buy it after this whole thing was over.

Sam rolled her eyes. “You know that’s not what I mean,” she pointed out, craning her neck. “I don’t see your fiancé, though.”

“That’s because I don’t have one,” I pointed out, stopping to look at the smithery so I didn’t look too eager to get there.

No one bought that I actually wanted to see some guy pound metal with a hammer (there wasn’t an actual fire or anything, so he was really just sitting there hitting it), so they dragged me across the hall, grins on their faces.

The Goat Guy’s mom, who we will henceforth refer to as the Goat Mom for sake of ease, perked up as she saw us heading towards them, finishing up her bartering and holding her arms out in greeting.

“Ah,” she called, grinning at us. “Back again, I see. Surely you must have found a suitable husband for your daughter by now.”

“Nope,” my mom said, giving me a pointed look. “She’s still single.”

(And, yeah, I was, and still am, but she doesn’t have to be so judgy about it)

The Goat Mom gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “My dear, you’re far too old to be without a husband,” she cried, causing people to stop to watch. I could feel my face heating up, and glanced around wondering where the Goat Guy was at. We had agreed months ago that this was always far more embarrassing for me than it was for him, so why was he taking so long?

“You won’t be young forever,” the Goat Mom was continuing, grabbing my hands and forcing my to look at her. “You’re running out of time.” She glanced past me to my parents, a smug look on her face that said she got just as much enjoyment out of this as my family did. “My son is still in need of a wife. I’ll tell you what, I will give you thirty goats and ten chickens for your daughter. She—”

“Aww, Mom. You started negotiations without me? How are they supposed to know I’d be the perfect husband for Kee if they can’t see how hot I am?”

The Goat Mom froze for a moment, her grip on my hands loosening enough for me to pull away. I followed the shocked gazes of my family and his mom to the Goat Guy.

He was leaning casually against the shop, somehow managing to look good in clothes that were 2000 years out of fashion, a smirk on his face and a half dozen goats and a llama surrounding him.

“That’s Kee’s fiancé,” Sam whispered to her friend, as if there was any doubt about his identity.

His mom blinked out of her shock, narrowing her eyes at him. “Are you drunk?”

The Goat Guy looked offended, raising a hand to his chest. “What? No!”

Cole started cackling. I don’t think he had any more idea what was going on than the rest of them, but fifteen year old boys are weird.

His mom glanced back at us for a moment, and I had to look away to keep the grin off my face, and noticed quite the crowd had gathered.

She took a deep breath as she turned back to her son, pressing her fingers to her temples. “Then why do you have goats?”

I couldn’t keep myself from snorting then, but, thankfully, everyone seemed too distracted to notice.

The Goat Guy rolled his eyes, relaxing back against the shop once more. “I mean, you’ve been failing at bartering me a wife for eight years, Mom,” he pointed out. “I think they just don’t believe we really have as many goats as you say we have. So I brought goats!” He waved the ropes in his hands, and sent me a wink. “And a llama! Girls like llamas.”

“I think that’s actually an alpaca,” my brother helpfully pointed out, and the Goat Guy grinned.

“You’re probably right, my man,” he agreed and turned back to me. “I’m adding this alpaca onto the list of whatever my mom’s already offered. We can ride off on it into the sunset. What do you say?”

“I say it probably wouldn’t hold us.” I was grinning now, too, no longer able to hold it in.

The Goat Guy just shrugged and stayed silent, letting our families stew for a moment.

“Are you sure you aren’t drunk?” his mom finally asked, glancing between us in confusion. “Maybe you’ve been spending a little too much time at the, uh, tavern.” She glanced at the goats and the llama (alpaca?), realization dawning on her face. “Gregory, you had better not be the reason everyone is panicking about the animals going missing from the petting—trading post.”

“Not drunk,” he insisted, ignoring the part about him stealing the animals from the petting zoo as he thrust the leads of the animals into her hands before she had a chance to protest. “I’m just excited to see my future wife.” He crossed the distance between us, my family stepping back, still mostly in shock, and wrapped me up in his arms. “How’s it going, Kee?”

I laughed, hugging him back quickly before pulling away. “Hey, Gregory,” I echoed loudly, my grin growing at the gasp that came from someone in my family. “How’d you find the psych final?”

He groaned, burying his face in my neck. “Ugh, don’t even get me started,” he whined, an arm wrapping back around my shoulders. “I didn’t fail, but that’s about all I can say.”

I hummed in sympathy, watching our families try to piece together what was going on and the crowd that was wondering if this was supposed to be happening. His mom’s mouth was opening to say something as I caught sight of a couple of soldiers pushing through the crowd, and nudged him.

“You!” one yelled, and the Goat Guy’s head snapped of my shoulder, staring at the soldier in shock. “He stole the king’s animals!” One of the others came forward, pulling him away from me.

“You, uh, have the right to remain silent,” he started, fixing his grip on the Goat Guy’s arm. The soldier who grabbed his other arm rolled his eyes.

“He doesn’t have any rights.”

“Oh, right.” The second soldier nodded and turned back to the Goat Guy. “You don’t have the right to remain silent,” he amended.

“Take him to the king,” the first soldier ordered, taking the leads from the Goat Mom. “He should be tried at once.”

The Goat Guy regained his wits and started to struggle against their hold.

“Wait for me, Kee!” he cried as they dragged him back through the parted crowd. “I’ll come back for you!”

By the time he’d disappeared and the crowd had filled in their path, I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe. It’d gone better than either of us could’ve hoped.

I calmed down after a moment, and the Goat Mom was still staring in confusion in the direction her son had disappeared in. I stepped past her to the shop, pulling the poncho I’d noticed earlier off the wall.

“I’d like to buy this, please,” I said, and her eyes snapped back to me. I grinned and handed her the money, and she pocketed it without bartering, and I walked away, the crowd parting for me as I wandered towards the next stall.

My family joined me a few moments later, as I was browsing some blown glass ornaments and ignoring the fact that the shopkeepers were whispering about me.

“What was that?” my mom demanded.

I shrugged. “That was her bartering for me to marry the Goat Guy like every year.”

“Yeah, that was not like every year.” Sam snorted and I could practically hear her rolling her eyes. “Since when do you know the Goat Guy?”

“Since January?” I tried to look confused, but I’m pretty sure I was still grinning. “You knew that.”

“No?”

“Yeah?” I countered. “Gregory from psychology?”

The stared at me for a long moment before any of them spoke. Sam’s friend was the only one who seemed more entertained than confused.

“That was Gregory from psychology?” my mom asked, and I shrugged, grinning wider. “You planned this, didn’t you? That’s why you kept texting him outside?”

I shrugged. “I mean, we didn’t plan him getting arrested,” I admitted. “But, yeah, we planned the rest.”

“How’d he steal the goats and the alpaca?” Cole wondered.

“He knows a guy.”

“Like that’s what’s important here.” Sam rolled her eyes.

“Why?” my dad asked, and I shrugged again.

“Seven years’ worth of revenge.”

“That’s not what’s important either,” Sam interjected, huffing loudly. “Kee’s totally dating the Goat Guy. I called it.”

“We’re not dating.” I rolled my eyes, pushing past them to continue through Bethlehem. There should’ve been another apple cider vendor coming up soon, and I’d lost all the heat from the last one.

My family did not drop it through the rest of Bethlehem, and neither did any of the vendors who, apparently, knew exactly who I was (my toque was kind of distinctive, so I guess I’ll give them that) and let me know how sorry they were to hear that my man had been locked up just for trying to provide for his family.

We also saw the Goat Guy again, who had been locked up with the prisoners in a large cage, guarded by a handful of soldiers.

He grinned as he saw us approaching, calling out for me and sticking his arms through the bars.

“Can I borrow your notes later?” he asked. “I’m in here for nineteen years, so I’ll be missing a bit of class.”

Sam and her friend posed for selfies with him, and then she made me pose for one with him that will definitely be used for blackmail at a later date.

And that was Bethlehem. No one shut up on the entire drive home, or for the rest of Christmas break, for that matter, about the fact that I’d been keeping my knowing the Goat Guy a secret for almost a year—which I hadn’t, as I pointed out multiple times. They all knew about Gregory from psychology, and he was literally in my phone as The Goat Guy. It wasn’t my fault they hadn’t put the pieces together.

My family is convinced the Goat Guy and I are meant to be and still not entirely convinced that we aren’t currently dating, and I’m kind of dreading what that might mean for Bethlehem 2k18. Honestly, I’d rather not have to deal with the fallout of my parents actually giving in and getting me a bartered husband, no matter how hot he might be. But I feel like they’re going to accept one year, especially after what we did this year.

The Goat Guy says his mom isn’t any better, and is already planning for next year but won’t let him know anything. Maybe I can convince my parents that I never have to go back ever again.

Two weeks later, I caught the Goat Guy’s eye from across the psychology lecture hall, waving him over.

“Hey,” I said, grinning at him as he slipped into the seat beside me. I turned to my friends. “Guys, this is Gregory the Goat Guy.”

“Her fiancé,” he added, and I snorted at my friends’ incredulous looks and punched him gently in the shoulder.

“Not my fiancé,” I corrected, and turned back to him. “The llama was impressive, but you know my dad’s expecting a camel.”

“Darn,” he said, laughing. “I could have sworn you said llama. I guess I’ll have to find a camel by next year if we ever want to get engaged.” He paused, raising an eyebrow. “But you know, I did get arrested before your parents had a chance to decline the offer this time. Maybe they were going to say yes to the llama.”

“Wait,” my friend said, leaning around me to give the Goat Guy a once over. “That story was real? The Goat Guy actually exists?”

shedoesnotcomprehend:

Once upon a time there was a city called Omelas, where everyone lived good and happy and fulfilling lives.

And in time it came to pass that a young man by the name of Outis came of age in that city; and, as with all who lived in that city, he was taken to a secret place where a wise elder showed him a small cold dirty room. And in that room there was a small cold dirty child, naked and hurt and starving, who had never known the least human kindness.

And the wise elder said to Outis, “In our city, everything is good and no one suffers. But it all depends on this child. If the least kindness is shown to him, our city will become like all other cities. There must always be such a child in Omelas.” …

…And Outis said to the elder, “If our city becomes like all other cities, many children will suffer.” And so he became a citizen of Omelas. And Outis led a good and happy and fulfilling life; and the child continued to suffer.

…And Outis said to the elder, “I will have no part in this evil thing.” And he walked away from Omelas. And Outis led a cold and short and brutish life; and the child continued to suffer.

…And Outis said to the elder, “I will have no part in this evil thing.” And he took the child and bathed him and cared for his wounds. And the city of Omelas became like all other cities; and many children suffered there.

…And Outis said to the elder, “I will have no part in this evil thing.” And he took the child and bathed him and cared for his wounds. And the city of Omelas carried on as it always had; and from that day forth no child suffered there.

…And Outis said to the elder, “I will have no part in this evil thing.” And he took the child and bathed him and cared for his wounds. And the city of Omelas became like all other cities; and many children suffered there.

But Outis, who would leave no child to suffer, worked tirelessly to save each one of them, and to build with his own hands a city in which everyone lived a good and happy and fulfilling life; and so in time it came to pass that the latter days of Omelas were greater than the former. And for ten trillion years Omelas carried on, and no child ever suffered there again.

…And Outis said to the elder, “Nevertheless, this child is my son, and I will not leave him to suffer.” And he took the child and bathed him and cared for his wounds. And the city of Omelas became like all other cities; and many children suffered there. But Outis did not care, because he valued the well-being of his son over all of them.

…And Outis asked the elder, “Why?” And the elder showed him to a library filled with books. And Outis studied the books for many years. And when he was an old man with a gray beard, Outis went out of the library and returned to the child and took the child out of the room, and in the child’s place he put a stone. And the stone was naked and dirty and cold; and the child Outis took and bathed and cared for. And Omelas carried on as it always had; and from that day forth no child suffered there.

Once upon a time there was a city called Omelas, where everyone lived good and happy and fulfilling lives; except for one child, who suffered so that the city might prosper. And all who lived there knew of this…

…And each citizen of Omelas, having looked into himself and seen that he would stand by while a child suffered in abject misery, found in himself a new willingness to do dark and evil deeds. And in time, all those who lived in Omelas suffered.

…And each citizen of Omelas lived with the gnawing guilt of his complicity, and the abiding terror that his own child would be chosen as the next to suffer. And in time it seemed to them that they could take no joy in any of the glories of Omelas.

…And one night, the child rose up and went out of his room and killed all the people of Omelas in their sleep.

Once upon a time there was a city called Omelas, where everyone lived good and happy and fulfilling lives. And each morning, each citizen of Omelas was taken to a small cold dirty room, and shown a small cold dirty child, and told that the child must suffer so that his day might be filled with all good things.

And all in Omelas agreed that it was better that one child should suffer than many; and none of them ever asked if it was the same child they saw each morning. And after all, one small cold dirty child looks much like another.

Once upon a time there was a city called Omelas, where everyone lived good and happy and fulfilling lives; except for ten thousand children, who suffered so that the city might prosper. And all who lived there knew of this…

…but none of them were ever taken to see the children in person, so none of them ever did anything about it.

…and whenever anyone saw such a child and “shouldn’t we rescue that suffering child?”, the other citizens of Omelas laughed and replied to them, “Naïve fool! Don’t you know that a child must always suffer in Omelas, so that the city may prosper? Otherwise it would become like all other cities, and many children would suffer.”

And everyone nodded wisely and went along with their days; and so ten thousand children continued to suffer where it might have been only one.

Once upon a time there was a city called Omelas, where everyone lived good and happy and fulfilling lives.

And
in time it came to pass that a young man by the name of Outis came of
age in that city; and, as with all who lived in that city, he was taken
to a secret place where a wise elder showed him a small cold dirty room.
And in that room there was a small cold dirty child, naked and hurt and
starving, who had never known the least human kindness.

And the
wise elder said to Outis, “In our city, everything is good and no one
suffers. But it all depends on this child. If the least kindness is
shown to him…”

“…the city will continue on as it always has, only your internet will be slightly slower.”

And Outis went back up into the city, and on that day he became a citizen of Omelas; and the child continued to suffer.

“…the best predictions of our scientists suggest that there will be a slight average decrease in various hard-to-measure kinds of happiness, which nevertheless in total adds up to more suffering than this child experiences.”

And Outis said to the elder, “I will have no part in this evil thing.” And he took the child and bathed him and cared for his wounds. And the average happiness increased in some ways and decreased in others, and the net effect might have been negative, but the best results on the matter had p > 0.05, so the scientists of Omelas could not rule out the null hypothesis.

Once upon a time there was a city called Omelas, where everyone lived good and happy and fulfilling lives.

And in Omelas there was a naked dirty child in a small dirty room; because the child was agoraphobic and was making mudpies.

Once upon a time there was a city called Omelas, where everyone lived good and happy and fulfilling lives.

Very few people told stories about Omelas, but it was a very nice place to live in.

So fascinating thing about being “different” is watching how different you are “allowed” to be by the people in your life.

I’m pan (sexual and romantic) poly for the most part (because labels, while nice, are not always all encompassing). Pan (I use Bi around my family because that is somewhat easier for them to grasp as terminology) was somewhat difficult for my family to understand. This was partially because I wasn’t straight, but I wasn’t quite gay. So no one save for my Bi-sexual aunt understood what my identity meant; fortunately she was decent at explaining it.

For the most part, save for my sister-in-law, everyone came to understand who I was and my relationship with my now wife. Apparently, based on hearsay alone, even my sister-in-law has started to understand my “way of life” and work into a place close to comfortable (but not quite).

Cool, so with the Pan part out of the way I decided to be “difficult” and throw another wrench into things: Polyamory.

Recently (within the last year) I’ve been dating a very nice guy that I will just refer to in this post as “boyfriend”. Boyfriend did not initially identify as poly but was still interested in dating me. Boyfriend was also insistent early on that he meet my now wife and hopeful to make a good impression on her. I agreed, mainly because my wife and I have a rule regarding meeting the other’s potential partners to make sure they’re really good people (because love blindness is a thing and we don’t want to see the other one get hurt).

Now, boyfriend, wife and myself are a triad (more or less, don’t think about it too much it’s a tad complicated) and we’re reasonably happy. We each still have personal hangups that affect the relationships, but we are all working through those as best as we can. We support each other, promote each other’s well being, comfort each other, and generally enjoy spending time together.

It works out great for us, but it apparently confuses my family.

Apparently the deciding factor in ones comfort is not always “whom” one is seeing romantically, but how many someones one is seeing romantically. To a degree, I can understand this. Society by this point has pushed the nuclear, single couple family so far everyone has deemed it to be some sort of natural law; as though the universe organizes everything into these little units and there is no breaking from it.

But one size does not fit all. The Universe is vast and ever expanding. There is much we do not yet know and some we will never come to know.

But, of course, as no one has the courage to be frank and honest with me and sit down for an adult discussion of “I’m uncomfortable but I also recognize you are not trying to hurt anyone so let’s work this thing out,” I’m left to hear of my “difficulty” second hand.

Cue Thanksgiving.

My mother, in an attempt to have all of her children (2 of her own, 2 step children she loves dearly) and their families under one roof, held a Thanksgiving Dinner. With this being a family affair, my brother brought his wife and their two children. I brought my wife and my boyfriend. We had, what I had believed to be, a nice dinner. We hung out for a little bit. We joked. Sister-in-law and I finally found “political” topics that we could agree on (specifically, that if you treat drug users as victims of mental illness attempting to self-medicate you could do more than we currently do treating them like criminals). We had dessert. Eventually the end of the night rolled around and the three of us went home.

The night had gone well; I thought.

No, as it turns out, the night had not gone well. Everyone outside of boyfriend, wife, and myself had felt awkward and uncomfortable. However, rather than confronting me about it they acted as though nothing was wrong. They lied to me. Whats worse, they made my mother feel bad; like she has to choose sides between her children.

Which, bless my mother.

My mom wants a few things: her kids to be happy and healthy, my brother and I to be close, to see her grandkids. She has supported me my entire life, as well as she could. She knew I was queer before I did and she was always reassuring that that was alright. She’s not perfect. She’s overprotective, and that has led to some boundary issues and some hurtful things said about aspects of my life that she didn’t quite understand at first. But she goes out of her way to do research on what she doesn’t understand. She asks questions and seeks out resources and tries to talk to me about things.

“As long as they’re not hurting themselves or anyone else, leave them alone.” – My mom; advice on when to “tattle” on others.

In an effort to broaden her understanding, she reached out to my Lesbian Aunt and her Wife (the Bisexual Aunt) but found that they’re response was roughly the same: uncomfortable. “I would be pissed if X had another partner.” “We’re gay, but we’re devoted to each other.” Same song, different lyrics. But she sees that I’m happy, she just can’t figure out how to explain my situation to everyone who is uncomfortable.

But it’s not her job to explain. It’s their job to do what she does: research.

I’m not religious, not in a practiced sense. I believe religion and spirituality are personal things and that your personal connection with whatever you believe in is more important than a series of rituals that become a dull routine that disconnects you from the true meaning of what you believe in. That’s not saying I think church is bad, if it works for you then great; I’m happy for you. I hope you feel fulfilled and enriched by your organized experience; but please understand that I will not be attending a building of organized religion in the near future and the idea of group practice makes me uneasy.

But I do, occasionally, research things regarding my Sister-In-Law’s religion.

It’s important to her, that practice, that system of beliefs. It’s a part of who she is and, in general, I don’t think that’s a terrible thing? Christianity overall has many positive messages about love and forgiveness and understanding. It claims there is something or somethings out there that love all of us. It’s about giving and looking out for one another. I can’t really quote the bible without help, but I know some old testament stories. I also know there are some nice websites for looking up verses and things when they’re brought up.

I also, you know, ask when I’m confused. I have a friend who knows a lot about Christianity. He’s a great resource for that kind of thing. He’s great at clarifying the things I don’t understand.

So…I guess what I’m really getting at here is that I’m upset that everyone would rather lie to me than tell me they have a problem. I’m mad that they’re not willing to put time into researching what the heck is going on in my life.

And I’m mad they think that my “lifestyle” is going to “confuse” their children or “contradict what they’re being taught”

And…I’m kind of….more mad that my LGBT family members feel about as far away and negative as my “normal” ones do.

Everyone draws the line in the sand. I just thought theirs would have been further away from where I settled down.

A neural network invents some pies

hellfarer:

lewisandquark:

(Pie -> cat courtesy of https://affinelayer.com/pixsrv/ )

I work with neural networks, which are a type of machine learning computer program that learn by looking at examples. They’re used for all sorts of serious applications, like facial recognition and ad targeting and language translation. I, however, give them silly datasets and ask them to do their best.

So, for my latest experiment, I collected the titles of 2237 sweet and savory pie recipes from a variety of sources including Wikipedia and David Shields. I simply gave them to a neural network with no explanation (I never give it an explanation) and asked it to try to generate more.

Its very first attempt left something to be desired, but it had figured out that "P”, “i”, and “e” were important somehow.

e Piee i m t iee ic
ic Pa ePeeetae a e
eee ema iPPeaia eieer
i i
i ie
e eciie
Pe eaei a

Second checkpoint. Progress: Pie.

Pie Pee Pie
Pimi Pie Pim Cue Pie Pie (er Wie
Pae Pim Piu Pie Pim Piea Cre
Pia Pie Pim Pim
Pie Pie Piee Pie Piee

This is expected, since the word “pie” is both simple and by far the most common word in the dataset. It stays in the stage above for rather a while, able to spell only “Pie” and nothing else. It’s like evolution trying to get past the single-celled organism stage. After 4x more time has elapsed, it finally adds a few more words: “apple”, “cream”, and “tart”. Then, at the sixth checkpoint, “pecan”.

Seventh checkpoint: These are definitely pies. We are still working on spelling “strawberry”, however.

Boatin Batan Pie
Shrawberry Pie With An Cream Pie Cream Pie
Sweesh Pie Ipple Pie
Wrasle Cream Pie
Swrawberry Pie Cream Pie
Sae Fart Tart
Cheem Pie Sprawberry Cream Pie Cream Pie

10th checkpoint. Still working.

Coscard Pie
Tluste Trenss Pie Wot
Flustickann
Fart
Oag’s Apple Pie
Daush Flumberry O
Cheesaliane
Rutter Chocklnd Apple Rhupperry pie
Flonberry Peran Pie
Blumbberry Cream Pie
Futters Whabarb Wottiry Rasty Pasty Kamphible Idponsible Swarlot Cream Cream Cront

16th checkpoint. Showing some signs of improvement? Maybe. It thinks Qtrupberscotch is a thing.

Buttermitk Tlreed whonkie Pie
Spiatake Bog Pastry
Taco Custard Pie
Apple Pie With Pharf Calamed apple Freech Fodge
Cranberry Rars
Farb Fart
Feep-Lisf Pie With Qpecisn-3rnemerry Fluit Turd
Turbyy Raisin Pie
Forp Damelnut Pie
Flazed Berry Pie
Figi’s Chicken Sugar Pie
Sauce and Butterm’s Spustacian Pie Fill Pie With Boubber Pie Bok Pie
Booble Rurble Shepherd’s Parfate
Ner with Cocoatu Vnd Pie Iiakiay Coconate Meringue Pie With Spiced Qtrupberscotch Apple Pie
Bustard Chiffon Pie

Finally we arrive at what, according to the neural network, is Peak Pie. It tracks its own progress by testing itself against the original dataset and scoring itself, and here is where it thinks it did the best.

It did in fact come up with some that might actually work, in a ridiculously-decadent sort of way.

Baked Cream Puff Cake
Four Cream Pie
Reese’s Pecan Pie
Fried Cream Pies
Eggnog Peach Pie #2
Fried Pumpkin Pie
Whopper pie
Rice Krispie-Chiffon Pie
Apple Pie With Fudge Treats
Marshmallow Squash Pie
Pumpkin Pie with Caramelized Pie
Butter Pie

But these don’t sound very good actually.

Strawberry Ham Pie
Vegetable Pecan Pie
Turd Apple Pie Fillings
Pin Truffle Pie
Fail Crunch Pie Crust
Turf Crust
Pot Beep Pies Crust
Florid Pumpkin Pie
Meat-de-Topping
Parades Or Meat Pies Or Cake #1
Milk Harvest Apple Pie
Ice Finger Sugar Pie
Amazon Apple Pie
Prize Wool Pie
Snood Pie
Turkey Cinnamon
Almond-Pumpkin Pie With Fingermilk
Pumpkin Pie With Cheddar Cookie
Fish Strawberry Pie
Butterscotch Bean Pie
Impossible Maple Spinach Apple Pie
Strawberry-Onions Marshmallow Cracker Pie Filling
Caribou Meringue Pie

And I have no what these are:

Stramberiy Cheese Pie
The pon Pie
Dississippi Mish
Boopie Crust
Liger Strudel
Free pie
Sneak Pie
Tear pie
Basic France Pie
Baked Trance pie
Shepherd’s Finger Tart
Buster’s Fib Lemon Pie
Worf Butterscotch Pie
Scent Whoopie
Grand Prize Winning I*iple
Cromberry Yas
Law-Ox Strudel
Surf Pie, Blue Ulter Pie – Pitzon’s
Flangerson’s Blusty Tart
Fresh Pour Pie
Mur’s Tartless Tart

More of the neural network’s attempts to understand what humans like to eat:

Perhaps my favorite: Small Sandwiches

All my other neural network recipe experiments here.

Want more than that? I’ve got a bunch more recipes that I couldn’t fit in this post. Enter your email here and I’ll send you 38 more selected recipes.

Want to help with neural network experiments? For NaNoWriMo I’m crowdsourcing a dataset of novel first lines, after the neural network had trouble with a too-small dataset. Go to this form (no email necessary) and enter the first line of your novel, or your favorite novel, or of every novel on your bookshelf. You can enter as many as you like. At the end of the month, I’ll hopefully have enough sentences to give this another try.

Law-Ox Strudel sounds like something from Fallen London.