A Life Of Missed Opportunities Is Still A Life That Has Been Lived. And Nobody Can Tell Me That's Worthless

a life of missed opportunities is still a life that has been lived. And nobody can tell me that's worthless

It frightens and discourages me how pervasive "tribal" stereotypes and imagery are in the fantasy and adventure genres.

It's all over the place in classic literature. Crack open a Jules Verne novel and you're likely to find caricatures of brown people and cultures, even when the characters are sympathetic to the plight of the colonized peoples - incidentally, this is the biggest reason I can't recommend 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea to everyone, despite Captain Nemo being one of my favorite fictional characters of all time.

You can't escape it in modern cinema, either. You'll see white heroes venturing bravely into jungles and tombs to steal from natives who don't know how to use their resources "properly." You'll see them strung up in traps, riddled with sleeping darts, forced to flee and fight their way out. Hell, Pirates of the Caribbean, a remarkably inclusive franchise in many other ways, had an extended sequence of the white heroes escaping from a cannibal civilization in the second film.

And when fantasy RPGs want a humanoid enemy, the "bloodthirsty natives" are the first stock trope they jump to. World of Warcraft is one of the most egregious examples, with the trolls - blatant racist caricatures with faux-voodoo beliefs, cannibalistic diets, Jamaican accents, and a history of being killed in droves by (white) elves and humans - being raided and slaughtered in nearly every expansion.

It doesn't matter how vibrant and distinctive the real-world indigenous, Polynesian, Caribbean, and African cultures are. It doesn't matter how much potential these real civilizations offer for complex and sympathetic characterization. Anything that doesn't make sense to the white western mind is shoved under the same "savage" umbrella. They're different. They're strange. They're scary. They have to be escaped, subjugated, eliminated, ogled at from the safety of a museum.

Modern writers, directors, and developers don't even seem to realize how horrifying it is to present the indigenous inhabitants of a place as "obstacles" for non-native protagonists to overcome. "It's not racist," they say, "because these people aren't really people, you see." And if you dare to point out anything that hurts or offends you as a descendant of the bastardized culture, you're accused of being the real racist: "These aren't humans! They're monsters! Are you saying that these real societies are just like those disgusting monsters?"

No, they're not monsters. But you chose to design them as monsters, just as invaders have done for hundreds of years. Why would you do that? Why can you recognize any other caricature as evil and cruel, but not this?

This is how deep colonialism runs.

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Something to make up for all the text heavy posts lately lmao I've finally done what I've been threatening to do for half a year and made a nice reference pic for myself showing what goes on inside this guy

Pantera is very old - almost three centuries old, and one of the very first holy beasts ever constructed. His systems were upgraded many times over the decades to improve performance, efficiency, and reduce the number of crew needed, but the archaic original construction proved a barrier against true modernisation. Even still he was highly successful in his time and participated in over a hundred hunts. This schematic is accurate for the 15th rebuild of Pantera.

The bottom image shows the vital fuel lines as well as the typical crew count and communications systems between each occupied chamber. The throne room seats two, but can fit more apprentices around the seats if they all squeeze in tight.

Starting with the navigation platform - this is open to the air, beneath the curve of Pantera's helm. The navigator sends up the appropriate communication flags and maintains a collection of charts. There is a cluster of gravity-fed tubes which can convey messages to the throne chamber. The navigator's apprentice will use cords to pull up returning messages (i.e there's no suction tube, this is manual). For quicker communication, the navigator can direct using heading degrees using a pull-cord system, pointing the knight in the right direction.

The throne, heart, and furnace chambers are all densely interlinked and must be perfectly in sync to avoid disaster. The heart directs fuel to the 100+ engine cylinders in and around Pantera's hull (not pictured) using its own engine, which is powered by its own fuel tank independently from the larger tank in the pelvis. The heart cylinders are controlled manually by the enginesmith in the forward position - by constricting the action of the heart cylinders, fuel from the furnace can be rerouted to where the knight indicates more power is required. It requires a gentle touch as prolonged fuel starvation in a cylinder-driven pump can induce additional stress. Operating the heart is, visually, somewhat like playing the piano, with each key a separate cylinder governing a pump that sends fuel somewhere.

This fuel comes from the main tank, where it is stored in its unexcited state. The tank has a movable floor which ensures there is always sufficient pressure to feed the furnace. Smiths in the furnace chamber operate the valves that allow the gravity-fed furnace to fill. There are eight open wells which receive fuel, four on either side of the central walkway, and each can be excited independently as needed, depending on demand. The fuel is excited by dropping in a spark. On contact with the ignition source it enters its excited state, and turns from a thick, clear oil to an incandescent orange liquid which ignites when mixed with compressed air inside an engine cylinder, similar to common rail diesel engines. In this state it also powers the nerve cords that interface with the knight's dialogue, which is ultimately what lets the beast to move with lifelike rather than mechanical motions.

The knight does not quite feel the beast's body as their own but they do feel it as an extension of themselves. Their dialogue informs them where power is needed for their current manoeuvre, and in turn they pass that along to the heart workers and so on. There are several levers in the throne chamber, one of which is the fire handle that tells the heart workers to redirect fuel straight to the mouth. Two tanks can fill with incandescent fuel allowing for two subsequent flamethrower sprays before the tanks have to replenish. This is the most fuel-costly manoeuvre on board so aiming must be precise.

So, there's apparently research coming out now about microplastics being found in people's bloodstreams and the possible negative effects of that and I feel the need to get out ahead of the wave of corporate sponsored "be sure to recycle your bottles!" or "ban glitter!" campaigns and remind everyone: It's fishing nets. It's fishing nets. It is overwhelming fishing nets It always has been fishing nets. Unless regulations are changed, it will continue to be fishing nets. The plastic in the ocean in largely discarded nets from industrial fishing. The microplastics are the result of these nets breaking down. The "trash islands" are also, you guessed it. Mostly fishing nets and other discarded fishing industry equipment. Do not allow them to continue to twist the story. Do not come after disabled people who require single use plastics. Do not come after people using glitter in art projects and makeup. These things make up a negligible amount of the issue compared to corporate waste, specifically in the fishing industry. Do not let them shift the blame to the individual so they can continue to destroy the planet and our bodies without regulation.

A recent cartoon for New Scientist