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Entry 61 marble hornets binary options x gon give it to ya rick and morty csgo betting

Entry 61 marble hornets binary options

Despite the travail of scholars to retreat from the frontier into the hypostatized hegemony of recycled credentialed information, we often are ensnared by the solemn attrition of decay as we traverse the conceptual underpinnings of all bedrock thought only to dangle precariously near the void of lapsed sentience because of transitory incontinence that is contiguous to the doldrums of crudity but nevertheless with mustered mettle we purport that the very self-serious awakening to our hobbling limitations is akin to a prosthetic enhancement of ratiocination capable of feats that stagger beneath the lowest level of subtext to elevate the highest superordinate categorization into heightened scrutiny that burgeons metacognitive limber.

Marooned in the equipoise of specifiable enlightenment countermanded by the strictures of working memory we can orchestrate transverse pathways between the elemental quiddity of impetuous meaning and the dignified tropes of transitivity that bequeaths entire universes with feral progeny that modulate their ecosystems with both a taste of approximated symmetry and a cohesive enterprise for productivity that rests on the granular concordance of the highest plane to the indivisible parcels of atomic meaning that solder together to exist as intelligible if strained by the primordial frictions guaranteed by the brunt of motion incipient because of the metaphorical inertia created within insular universes to inform sprawling conurbations of mobilized thoughts designed to reckon with the breakneck pace of the corresponding reality to which they explicitly and precisely refer to.

We must singe surgically the filigrees that amount to the perceptible realities that transmute temperaments into the liturgy of routine conflated with the rigmarole of neural dragnets of reiterative quips in an elegant game of raillery with our supernal contumacy against the rigid authority of aleatory vagaries mandated by a dually arbitrary universe in a probabilistic terpsichorean dance with the depth of our dredge for subliminal acuity or the shallow bellicosity of common modes of glib contemplation characteristic of the basic nobility of improvisation.

We should rather orchestrate our activity by heeding the admonishment about the primogeniture of poignant sabotage buffered by the remonstration of innate tranquility and finding a whipsawed compromise of rationalization with true visceral encounters with the fulgurant quips of brisk emotions that grind industriously into amorphous retinues of the trenchant human imagination to either equip or hobble the leapfrogged interrogation of veracity and more consequently our notions of truth and fact.

When we see the hackneyed results of default ecological dynamics, we find ourselves aloof from purported transcendence because the whimpered bleats and cavils of the importunate masses result in a deafening din of cacophony because we strive throbbing with sprightliness towards the galloped chase of tantalization without the luxury of a terminus for satiation.

The intransigence of the weighted destiny of inequity is a squalid enterprise of primeval abrasive and combative tendencies within the bailiwick of the indignant compass inherent to the system that fathoms its deficiencies with crabwise and gingerly pause but airs a sheepish grievance like a bleat of self-exculpation but simultaneously an arraignment of fundamental attribution erroneously indicted without the selfsame reflexiveness characteristic of a transcendent being with other recourses to clamber an avenue to Broadway without malingering in the slums of opprobrious ineffectual remonstration against the arrangement of a blinkered metropolis of uneven gentrification.

We flicker sometimes between the strategic drivel of appeasement and the candor of audacious imprecation of the culprits of indignity or considerate nutritive encomium of the beacons of ameliorated enlightenment because we often masquerade a half-witted glib consciousness lazily sketched by the welters of verve alloyed with the rancid distaste of squalor and slumber on the faculty of conscientious swivels of prudential expeditions with an avarice for bountiful considered thought and wily contortions of demeanor that issue the affirmative traction of adaptive endeavor to cheat a warped system for a reconciled peace and a refined self-mastery.

The vainglory of the omphalos of entertainment is also another reckoning because it festers a cultural mythos of glorified crapulence parading a philandered promiscuity with half-baked antics that gravitate attention and the lecheries of gaudy tenses of recycled tinsel alloyed by debased aberrations of seedy grapholagnia that magnetize as they percolate because of the insidious catchphrases embedded in pedestrian syncopation that ignite retention and acclimate to mediocrity the sounds of generations discolored by faint pasty rainbows rather than ennobled by majestic landscapes of ignipotent mellifluous sound that stands a supernal amusement still for the resourceful trainspotter.

Despite the contumely aimed in the direction of contrarians for deviating from the lockstep clockwork hustle of stooped pandered manipulation that peddles the wares of an entirely counterfeit reality, I stand obstinately against the melliferous stupefaction of entire genres of myth and subcultures huddled around the sentimental tug of factitious sophistries regaled by thick amorphous apostates that cherish the vacuous sidetracked spotlight with fervor rather than pausing on the enigmatic querulous inquisition about the penumbras that lurk with strained effort beneath or above the categorical nescience of the shadowy unknown that often coruscates with elegance even in obscurity.

I fight with labored words to spawn a psychological discipline that invokes the incisive subaudition of the pluckily pricked exorcism of true insight from the husk of buzzwords that constellate auxiliary tangential distractions from the art form of psychological discernment that predicates itself on the concept that the rarefaction of rumination by degrees of microscopic precision enables the introspective hindsight of conscious events that can be parsed without the acrimony of cluttered conflations of the granular prowess of triumphant ratiocination that earns a panoramic perch with the added luxury of perspicacious insight into the atomic structure of the rudiments of our phenomenological field and the abstractions that linger beyond perceptual categorization.

I myself am a political independent who sides with fiscal conservatism but libertarianism in most other affairs because the pettifoggery of law-and-order politics is a diatribe overused by sheltered suburbanites and red meat is often just as fatuous as blue tinsel and sadly in a majoritarian society the ushers of conformity demand corporate divestiture in favor of an ecological system of predictability rather than an opinionated welter of legitimate challenges to a broken system of backwards partisanship and wangled consent.

Ultimately, I remain mostly apolitical, but I am a fervent champion of the mobilization of education to a statelier standard that demands rigor and responsibility rather than the chafe of rigmarole that understates the common objectives of humanity and rewards conventional thinking and nominal participation to earn credentialed pedigree when the bulk of talent resides elsewhere. Binary Code. Jerry Knowledge Gonzalez May Binary code. Give me yours and here's mine But nothing's that even, but as for odd There's a lot of odd, cuz ppl are odd And odds are someone will rob You of your dignity.

Ones and zeros I tell ya Ones an zeros If your not a one Filibuster or Milieu Thesis. There was a motion on the floor for the nomination of a proxy to be my epigone. I feared I didn't have enough votes to challenge so I filibustered. Anubis the Philosomancer Apr The Fence by Tim Minchin. Somewhere in your wardrobe, I'd be willing to bet There's a t-shirt probably bearing the silhouette of Che Guevara He was revolutionary, yeah, he wore a cool hat But behind the design I think you might find it's not quite as simple as that Che was a bit of a homophobe, Che was a bit of a homophobe, I think And your dog has a bigger carbon footprint than a four wheel drive Yea your dog has a bigger carbon footprint than a four wheel drive And your dog has a bigger carbon footprint than a four wheel drive And so does your baby, maybe you oughta trade HIM in for a Prius- ROCK!

I'm taking the stand in defence of the fence I got a little band playing tributes to ambivalence We divide the world into liberals and gun-freaks Into atheists and fundies Into tee-tot'lers and junkies Into chemical and natural Into fictional and factual Into science and supernatural But it's actually naturally not that white and black You'll be Dividing us into terrorists and heroes Into normal folk and weirdos Into good people and pedos Into things that give you cancer and the things that cure cancer And things that don't cause cancer, but there's a chance they will cause cancer in the future We divide the world to stop us feeling frightened Into wrong and into right and Into black and into white and Into real men and fairies Into parrots and canaries Yeah we want the world binary, binary - !

The more you know, the harder you will find it To make up your mind, it doesn't really matter if you find You can't see which grass is greener Chances are it's neither, and either way it's easier To see the difference Cause it's not that simple Michael W Noland Sep Acclimating in its remains Attained, the Articles of my pain, in Affluent shame, next time.. Deploy the, Damsels in Duress. Defiled and Distressed, Detestable and Dead. Feel me in the Frills Granted with Generosity.

Not to Nit pic the Naivety of Nicety. Poor, but Prideful. Quarantined to a Quadrant, of Quagmires. Questing the Quizzing of Quotable Quartets. Realigning, the Righteous Rearing of the Realm, and Retrying. Sadly, i Still Seem, Salvagable. Topple The Titans in Tightened Terror. Thrice Thrusted upon by the Tyranny of Tanks.

Yucking it up with the Yawn of a Yocal. Natalia Dec Your Binary. I was made to confirm Yet it was never taught. Through bruises, cuts and tears Layers upon layers of guilt. Endless starry nights. In candlelight and incense, Discovery was made. It was built this way. Tears streaming down our eyes, You still question our surprise.

You may choose to look away. They, he, she, ve. There was no rhythm to this as I was writing it, but it is so satisfying to read aloud. GingerHound Apr Sometimes I don't belong. And I just sit here thinking, not for me. Do they even understand a fraction Of what it's like to be Here, in the middle, in between? Can it really be that they reduce me To that? Am I allowed to cry? Under which of society's odd rules should I Handle my feelings about this?

Because men, as it is, Are unmanly when they let tears flow. Women, however, are expected to do so. Now what do I do? I could lose myself in thinking this through Over and over again. My circling thoughts never come to a halt. There's just this one thing I know: It is not my fault That I can't seem to fit in.

That's the way it has always been. One gets used to it, you know? Just keep fighting and grow up to be who you want to be. Nigel Morgan Aug Today we shall have the naming of parts. It was the wrong season for this so affecting poem — the spring was not being eased as here, in quite a different garden, summer was easing itself out towards autumn, but it caught him, as a poem sometimes would.

He had taken a detour through the gardens to the studio where in half an hour his students would gather. He intended to name the very parts of rhythm and help them become aware of their personal knowledge and relationship with this most fundamental of musical elements, the most connected with the body.

They had been in Cambridge to celebrate her birthday and just off the train had hurried their way through the bicycled streets to the college where he had once taught, and to a lunchtime concert in a theatre where he had so often performed himself. The images and the very physical moments of that interval away and together flooded over him, and he had to stop to close his eyes because the images and moments were so very real and he was trembling. Just this morning he had sat on the edge of his bed, and in the still darkness his imagination seemed to bring her to him, the warmth and scent of her as she slept face down into a pillow, the touch of her hair in his face as he would bend over her to kiss her ear and move his hand across the contours of her body, but without touching, a kind of air-lovers movement, a kiss of no-touch.

But today, he reminded himself, we have the naming of parts. He was going to tackle not just rhythm but the role of percussion. He had just one day. In his own music he considered the element of percussion as an ever-present challenge.

He had only met it by adopting a very particular strategy. He regarded its presence in a score as a kind of continuo element and thus giving the player some freedom in the choice of instruments and execution. In other words rhythm itself was his first consideration, and all the rest followed. He thought with amusement of his son playing Vaughan-Williams The Lark Ascending and the single stroke of a triangle that constituted his percussion part.

The loose-limbed movements of such players always fascinated him. It was as though whatever they might be doing they were still playing — driving a car? He suddenly thought he might not take a lift from a percussionist. On the grand piano there was, thankfully, a large pile of the special manuscript paper he favoured when writing for percussion, an A3 sheet with wider stave lines.

Standing at the piano he pulled a sheet from the pile and he got out his pen. He wrote on the shiny black lid with a fluency that surprised him: a toccata-like passage based on the binary rhythms he intended to introduce to his class. He knew he must be careful to avoid any awkward crossings of sticks. The music was devoid of any accents or dynamics, indeed any performance instructions. It was solely rhythm. He then composed a passage that had no rhythm, only performance instructions, dynamics, articulations such as tremolo and trills and a play of accents, but no rhythmic symbols.

He then went to the photocopier in the corridor and made a batch of copies of both scores. When his class had assembled and the percussionist and his students had disappeared pro tem he began immediately, and without any formal introduction, to write the first four 4-bit binary rhythms on the chalkboard, and asked them to complete it.

This mystified a few but most got the idea and by now there was a generous sharing between members of the class , so soon each student had the sixteen rhythms in front of them. You can now generate a rhythmic sequence using what mathematicians call a function-machine. If a student finished a task ahead of others he or she would find further instructions had appeared on the flip chart board.

Audition —in your head - these rhythms at high speed, at a really quick tempo. Now slow them right down. Experiment with shifting tempos, download a metronome app on your smart phone, score the rhythms for three clapping performers , and so on. The room rang with the clapping of hands. Mason Jay May In the gender binary, I feel placeless. Read the isolated words from top to bottom. Lysander 'Lice' Hardy-Pearce Sep But scant call for slicing 'n'dicing crowd control here: Smars was desolate as smug snow, too xeric to dessicater to desertcraturf - in that, arid aphex of its counterpart thru the quantumgate, unsparticulate Mars.

Sphinx had been there too, long after the novalia cleared by the Elon Muscovites for dometown of New Creationham instead became obumbrated by proxy war, a mauve Somme for drones. The Zeta-Reticulan barhover he'd met centuries later, at Sagittarius Bolognaise, had divulged he'd been staking out the Terrans for millennia, concluding that quite clearly they weren't Kardashev calibre: ' The Terran jackal apes could never build fair Isratin on Mars's blank red slate, but desecratered Earth 2.

Palasraeli peace-world a daffy god's dream. Besides, he purrferred the splanetary systems in his home universe, S-side of the supersymmetrical stargate. In whirbles pulsive, Ernie's clicking clock breath axlegroused, ' ', as the Sphinx Sphanther fremescently urged the servo- droid to 'move your chrome cuirasse! Or was it spaceport at the Smilkomeda?

The pair hinterlunged on thru tayammum douches of inextinguishable pink, spinning powders, smaze of Smartian haboob, until Sphinx Sphanther sphied, sphorry, spied his wrecked grail. The Temple of the Dark Lord, Yod-Coalescence, indisputably a stripling of deep architecture next to the Sphinx Sphanther's incomparable find. Smickey Smouse was on a mauve rove one smauve Tuesday. As Smickey scanned yonder young scones, young dust granted him edgehug.

Ernie said : Numb blah, numb blah, numb blah! They certainly weren't in Snorwich, Snorfolk, anymore. They hinterlunged on thru candybrass of dross monkies, pinning spowders, until Smickey Smouse smied, smorry, sphied the Temple of the Dark Lord, Pantherine Absence. Smickey Smouse said: Wait there, I'm just going for a quick Slazenger Ernie said: Skoda codas. But you can't holoholo in a fishbowlobowlo, lavalampadomancy of a daffy god's dream. They longslod into the long dead clock breath of Ozymandias' unconscious.

Ernie said: edit to bore life dollop a star. Ernie said: Numb blah, numb blah, numb blah! In binary form. It was a sad day for that lonely narcissist When her battery decided To toil no more. Mykenzie Sep My messge can be decoded using the link. Steele Jun There are 10 kinds of people in this world, and binary accounts for them all. They're happy and sad. They're ones and zeros. Villains and heroes. Villains, yet not all bad. Despite everything life decides to hurl; Despite every brick ball of fear Through the stained glass windows of their minds, Through it all, they survive.

They're angry and glad. And in their duality, they're still smiling there at your sharp hasty words at your venomous hurt that you wish so desperately they, too, shared. Love thy enemy. Special thanks to Kelley A Vinal for the binary inspiration.

Edit: Holy Daily, Batman! Wow, I'm so honored. Glad you all like it so much! Ken Pepiton Oct The wizard mixed the draught. Drunk, we staggered home. Aware of having been some other where a while That woman, she could answer any question rebbi axt, Ohhhhmyyy she laugh and say, Dude, I got the Intent-net, in my hand That's more than a list of numbers, this accounting idle words going on, on going, as fast as lightning, at the scale, of, say cat-ions ifiying an-ions at random, seen systematical, from a distance zoom out at the scale, of, say Great Deep Field.

Center you, I'm no matter. Good things come to them to whom good makes more sense. Old story tellers do, Only miners survived, gold digger mostly, few alchemists who knew the mystery in mercury, Lost was all knowing but to a very few, who truth be told had been the owner's well kept servants, ministers of this and that they perished with all the fires touched we diggers, we only marvel How bits of time, exact as ours, can be seen happening all in bubble of Mercury.

Cooked out red rock like these. G'night but a story told a wee bit here a qubit there here a little, there a little line upon line, precept upon precept, 'cept no body knows what I know about cept, capere, a story starts, a provisioning tale.

Paper covers rock, but scissors are so far in the future that now, my time, my mind wanders after whys this authoritative telling of the story, in it, none know the terminal tale. As in times past, there were survivors who lived to tell and old stories never die. Old story tellers do, Tho' here's a clue.

Meek's not bad, stupid, for no reason, is. Now, see the bubble of all men have imagined, since the time when such a bubble was only evil, continually. It went viral. Noah we know for sure, almost, survived,? Cushites kept records. In Africa. Akkad kept record, too. Some Hopi survived somehow and they have a tale. They say they know the story is ten thousand years old, I've been to a crossroads on their journey, stories tell of it, still, today. Holy means marked for good reason.

Marked with clues, not riddles, maps Sacred means secret means hidden away for use, not common, every day, quotidian use, right use. Time, the opposing force, is precious to us all. In time, we do all we can and die, in ever, we expand, in no time at all. I imagine. You fill it. Now, Your expandable mind's time, time pushes from the outside, wisdom pushes from the inside, And so it goes, life goes on and music grows on ya, Amusing how they do that, teeny muses dancing shiva on the tip of my tongue, singings songs in tongues I've never known if they are words on tongues or sounds on tongues, notes, Baysian Binary Cross Validation still ends with some people thinkin' "it is finished" left them with a ton o'weight, that's wrong, insist resistance.

Some, heavy duty, leaders of lambs, they claim power in their mouths, spoken from fixed hearts, but fixed upon, is truly the song, said, words are only little bits of whole sym ulacrum of re-ify-ing where broken things re-pair, and life goes on… "fixed, my heart is fixed", no, your heart is machine of the most magnificent design, perfected, a time at a time. Flexing, pacing time itself, faster slower, try some time alone be still, pond still I know the story broke, I could not hold it.

In the night, bitter cold Frozen fragile There are pieces scattered every where, everywhere there is time, there is at least, a point a story may stand upon and ask an angel to dance. Dance, give it some flare, what do we care? Nobody's watching, but that fly. A reader is needed more than words can tell. My posts are a book now, few stand solidly on their own. Thank you if you spend your time perusing them please tell me where I muddy the flow, or break the story.

Micrography-Mike D Jan The zeros and ones, all the zeros and ones It is time to dive in to some binary fun Just the zeros and ones, all the zeros and ones We're not ready for this But too late It's begun In this game that we play There's no way can be won And no doubt that someday All mankind is outdone But "no way" they will say "Just relax and have fun" 'Cause there's always a way Not the absolute 'none' Good luck never can stay Of the minimum one An anomaly may Find a way to outrun All the safeguards in place What you spin is now spun This new enemy faced Can't be beat with a gun Giving birth to a race Artificially one That's not from outer space People smart are now dumb We can't keep up the pace So we will be outrun Relegated to slaves Or perhaps we're just "done" Nothing more than a waste Have a purpose that's 'none' Masses taking up space Can not hide or outrun Destined to be erased Yet somehow we're still stunned Ending the human race For A.

Written: November 9, All rights reserved. Ben May In Wonderland. It feels like my temples are about to explode and the early morning light burns my eyes. I glance to the left to see Alice is sprawled out on my air mattress. She looks drained, even while asleep, and I think that I probably look a lot worse. Last night… What happened last night?

It feels like a tilt-a-whirl of sensory overload and I kind of want to puke. Then, like a dam breaking, fragments of memories flood my mind in a sickening torrent, too much, too much. I feel even more confused and all I can think is What Happened…? Abby Orbeta Dec Being raised in a hetero-normative environment, everything was divided into binary.

There was no middle ground. Right and Wrong. Black and White. Male and Female. Gay and Lesbian. One, Two, Three, Four, Five. You were five years old when you first learned the difference between boys and girls. You felt that everything would be so much better if you were a boy. You refused to wear all the girly dresses and you asked your mom if you could cut your hair short. You suffered 20 belt lashes for your tiny act of rebellion but it was so worth it. Six, Seven, Eight. You were eight when you began to blossom.

You kept your hair short, your demeanor brash and your clothes baggy. You were nine when you first felt attracted to a boy. He was dreamy. He looked like the boys you thought were attractive in Ang TV. But he never noticed you. He only notices the girly girls.

You were a girl. Not girly, but still a girl. A different kind of girl. You go on with your life. He was a god. One afternoon, you score the goal that wins the game. He kisses you on the lips for the first time, you were stunned at the gesture. You liked it.

Very much. As the kisses and hugs became more frequent, so did the bullying. Not long after, you broke up. Ten point five. She enters your life at ten and a half. She had long dark hair and icy grey eyes framed by long thick lashes. Her smile lights up the room and she makes you laugh really hard.

She was the first girl you ever held hands with. Her hands were warm and comforting. Her hands entwined with yours made you all tingly inside. You held hands in the library while reading Tiger Beat. You held hands behind the swing during recess. You held hands while walking home to your apartment complex. One afternoon she kisses you on the lips when you get to the door of your apartment building. You run up to your room in silence and lock yourself in for the entire night, confused.

You started comparing. Why did her kiss feel better than his? Almost eleven. He notices how smooth your skin is when he grazes against it. How red your lips get when you lick them. He examines and memorizes every detail of your body in secret. He did not breathe a word of this to anyone. Not even a soul. He places his hand over your mouth and whispers for you to keep quiet. He uses his strength to pin you down, you fight and fight. You try to scream. No one can hear you.

No one is home. He tells you that this is for your own good. This is what is right. He shatters you. He broke you in. He did not stop until you were tamed. Eleven and a half. Your future became bleak. Twelve, Fourteen, Sixteen. History repeats itself. The actors are just different. Still, no one can hear your stifled screams. You feel your soul dying.

Sixteen, Seventeen. Nothing matters. You try to end it all. Then she comes along to rescue you. She loves you for who you are and who you want to be. You begin to pick up the pieces. You fall in love with her. Everything is still kept in secret. Your worldview has changed significantly.

You walk hand in hand with her in public and you even allow a bit of PDA. You slowly begin to feel accepted, yet you are still somewhat hidden. Nineteen, Twenty, Twenty — one. You fall in love with a man, a woman, a gay man, an extremely straight woman, another man, and the list goes on and on. Just pick one. People start calling you names. Twenty — three. Names hurt. Names stick. Labels bother you.

Nothing feels right. You take matters into your own hands. You begin to take charge of your life. Twenty — five. I also need to thank alumni Dax Sorrenti and Brent Strang, who I never shared any classes with, but who provided me with indispensable advice throughout my time in the program. At UBC we film and theatre students do not have many opportunities to interact, but I was lucky to cross paths with Selena Couture and Jennette White, whose kind words and sage advice throughout the past year have helped keep me as close to sane as possible.

Enormous thanks to Mikel J. Koven, of the University of Worcester, who generously devoted time to responding to my questions and thoughts via e-mail, and provided me with delicious food for thought on folklore and its intersection with film.

Last but not least, I extend my undying gratitude to my friends and family—I am stunned and humbled by the fact that I have any left after this past year of self-imposed seclusion. Pursuing a postsecondary education is difficult enough without having to worry about making ends meet, and I am enormously grateful for the grant that I received. On June 10, Eric Knudsen, under the username Victor Surge,2 posted two photographs for which the thread later became famous: they depicted a tall, pale, faceless figure in black who stood out ominously amongst groups of people composed largely of youth and young children.

From the many Slender Man stories framed as personal anecdotes emerged one accompanied by a video, with the promise of more to come: a documentary-style Web series titled Marble Hornets Troy Wagner and Joseph DeLage -. Writing in character as the series protagonist, whose name is J, creator Troy Wagner posted the following tale to the forum:3 About two or three years ago, a film school friend of mine, Alex, was working on his first "feature length" movie.

It was called Marble Hornets and I think it was about a twenty something returning to his childhood home and recalling events that happened there. It was pretty pretentious film student fare, but I helped out [on] a few … rare occasions …. It was a pretty heavily wooded area …. After about two months of off and on shooting, Alex dropped his pet project [abruptly] … because of the "unworkable conditions" of where he had picked to shoot.

With almost no hesitation, he simply said "burn them". He agreed, but only under the circumstance that I never bring them back to him, and never discuss what was on them with him. He also highly discouraged me from showing any if [sic] it to anyone else. I laughed at this, and said that he must have accidentally made The Ring or something with the way he was talking.

I filed the tapes separately from my others, and was honestly too freaked out to look at them at the time, and eventually forgot about them. But reading about the Slender Man has peaked my interest again. Maybe it's what Alex was talking about that day. I've decided to begin going through the tapes later tonight. The paranormal images thread is now closed, but conversations about Marble Hornets continue on other popular websites, including the alternate reality gaming site Unfiction and the Slender Man fansite Slender Nation.

From its outset Marble Hornets was engineered to elicit an active viewership. There are many antagonists in the series, but the primary villain is the Slender Man, who in Marble Hornets is referred to as The Operator. The audio distortions are the only sounds associated with The Operator, as he does not appear to speak—at least not in a way that is recognizable to human ears. Those who encounter The Operator suffer from what forum-goers describe as Slender sickness, an illness whose many symptoms include coughing fits, violent outbursts, and memory loss.

Memory loss might provide one explanation for why the characters of Marble Hornets never stop filming. In mimicking vlogs, Marble Hornets and the other Slender Man series also recall the conventions of a contemporary trend in the horror genre that is popularly referred to as found footage. Much of the academic and popular discourse around found footage horror evaluates its ability to convincingly simulate the appearance of reality on film; indeed, BWP is renowned for its 4I was unable to find an official source for the actual names of the creators of The Abbey Diaries and The Andersen Journals—only their pseudonyms.

PST—please note that all of the statistics quoted in this paragraph were accessed on the same date. These numbers increase daily, but such increases are occurring at a much slower rate than they did within the first few months of the first episode. At the time of writing, Marble Hornets appears to have levelled out at well below , views per entry since Entry 66 uploaded on January 23, While Marble Hornets still enjoys a large audience, its declining viewership suggests that although the series is still popular, its popularity has passed its peak.

Series like Marble Hornets address themselves to a number of popular issues with regard to such a change, but in line with the conventions of contemporary horror cinema, they do not provide any clear resolutions. My purpose in this thesis is to examine how the digital context of Marble Hornets affects the way in which the series engages with the conventions of the storytelling modes that inform it, namely folkloric prose narratives 9 such as legends and folktales, and found footage horror.

Although the forms with which it engages are not new, Marble Hornets combines them in innovative ways that further the projects of films like BWP, which aim to bring the onscreen horror out of the cinema and into the everyday lives of the audience. YouTube that readily exhibits the work of everyday people, Marble Hornets employs the conventions of folklore in a way that reflects and intensifies the sense of folk community that already exists on YouTube; this by extension amplifies the horrific events depicted onscreen as they are removed from the traditional production context that provides audiences with a relatively mediated experience of terror that is diluted by the conventional release trajectory of studio-backed films.

In the following pages I propose that we understand Marble Hornets and other such online videos as examples of a relatively new subgenre of horror that has grown with the Internet. Chapter one provides a context for understanding folk horror. The result of such a misuse of the term is that the nuances of many films that employ documentary conventions are lost as they are loosely grouped with films that, were they more closely examined, would fall into completely different categories.

From this loose grouping folk horror emerges as a specific mode of storytelling that approaches the horror genre from the particular standpoint of a digital folk community. The dynamics of such a community, as with any community, involve tensions between insiders and outsiders, and the rules of behaviour that can label people as such. The 11 Of course, folklore has long contained horrific content as well. Such communities break down the walls that exist in a conventional relationship between an audience and a work of art in the case of this thesis, a film or Web series.

The disruption of such a relationship is especially noteworthy with regard to horror since, as Isabel Pinedo argues in her discussion of recreational terror, the audience derives pleasure from horror films based on their knowledge that what they see onscreen is not real and therefore cannot hurt them Presented on platforms i.

YouTube that host authentic-looking videos of both actual and contrived events, folk horror blurs the lines between reality and fiction, challenging audience assumptions about the safety of their position on the other side of the computer screen. This challenge is embodied by the Slender Man, who in Marble Hornets appears to be closely connected to the use of a video camera.

Such a tension is aggravated by our constant connection to digital devices such as smart phones, tablets, and computers, which afford us near-immediate access to both historical and current events. Although smart phones, tablets, and computers exist in the present as well as in the past, for that matter , they encompass a sense of the future because of such cinematic representations.

In addition, such devices commonly evoke an anxiety—as articulated by countless cultural commentators, including Alan Kirby and Nicholas Carr—about a future in which humanity devolves into herds of mindless sheep led around by those hypnotic, glowing screens. Dorson observes that folktales commonly express the anxieties of their era ; Marble Hornets examines anxieties about the future and our reliance on technology through its camera-addicted, forgetful protagonists, as well as through the figure of the Slender Man.

The series tempers this negative outlook with a stereotypical American positivity—no matter how many times the characters of Marble Hornets are defeated, they always get back up and continue to seek answers. Chapter three illustrates how Marble Hornets engages with the horror genre in three main regards: the monster, the narrative, and the audience.

It must be noted, however, that unlike in Marble Hornets, the stereotypical victories in American action films do not typically promote critical, individualistic thinking or questioning the generally accepted truths of society. Presented as the actual videos of everyday YouTube users, the videos of folk horror blur the lines between reality and fiction, thereby encouraging viewers to consider their own vulnerability as they sit on the other side of the screen: according to Slender Man legendry, and in the diegesis of Marble Hornets, even fictional horrors are dangerous.

Marble Hornets engages with the anxieties inherent to its online context by exploring the themes of knowledge and control. In Marble Hornets the themes of knowledge and control are connected with two key stages in horror narratives: disruption and confirmation. While I acknowledge that genre is fluid and that to try to distill its essence would be to misrepresent it, I also believe that it is important to observe and illustrate cultural trends as a mode of historical documentation.

My own purposes in this study are to identify a popular trend in cinema, to document its transmutation to an online context, and to speculate on what this might mean for the future of the horror genre specifically, and for storytelling in general.

The contemporary category of found footage, employed to describe those horror films that adopt the conventions of documentary realism in order to intensify scares, is 1 For the remainder of this chapter I will refer to The Blair Witch Project as BWP. Firstly, films included in the category are stylistically and philosophically different from the avant-garde films of the late s and early s that originally inspired the name. Secondly, many of the films included in the contemporary grouping do not actually depict the found footage of some ill-fated film crew.

For example, much like the pioneering found footage film Cannibal Holocaust Ruggero Deodato , The Poughkeepsie Tapes John Erick Dowdle combines the conventions of found footage and broadcast news footage, and Ghostwatch Lesley Manning is presented as a live-televised paranormal investigation—again, not found footage.

In the following pages I will explore an emergent style of storytelling that shares many conventions with found footage horror, but is distinct from it in a number of ways. The storytelling to which I refer appears on the public video-sharing website, YouTube. Like a subgenre to a genre, these smaller communities of YouTube users share similar traditions, but can be distinguished in myriad ways—for example through their popular topics, stylistic choices, and tones. The focus of my study, Marble Hornets, exists within a community of storytellers who participate in the legendry surrounding a fictional monster called the Slender Man.

This is still a large community, and as a result I will limit my study to the website on which the Slender Man was first constructed Something Awful and the first Web series that arose from his legendry Marble Hornets. Marble Hornets employs many of the conventions of found footage horror, but it differs from the subgenre in a number of ways. The everyday user as creator is key to the context of folk horror, which emphasizes unmediated exchanges between members of an online community.

Such an unmediated exchange necessitates a narrator from within the community: the person who uploads a story is also a narrator and often a participant or witness in the events shown onscreen—in contrast with films such as Cannibal Holocaust and BWP, which are presented as footage that was found and sold to a studio that edited said footage and then sold the paranormal property for distribution and exhibition. When compared with the telling of urban legends, the stories told to us by third parties are less believable than those that are directly related by someone who witnessed or even participated in the event first hand.

A key distinguishing characteristic between an insider and outsider narrator of folk horror is the context in which his or her stories first appear: those that appear on YouTube are enriched by a context in which videos depicting the lives of actual people are uploaded on an hourly basis, from the adorable antics of an awkward puppy to first-person point-of-view cellular phone recordings of earthquakes and tsunamis.

Conversely, although they may convincingly reproduce the roughness of reality, those stories that appear in cinemas and other corporate websites such as Netflix and iTunes, while potentially still of interest to the folk horror community, ultimately exist outside of it. Folklorists and cultural commentators have been discussing the validity of mass media adaptations of folkloric narratives for decades. Elizabeth Bird suggests that we should instead consider the ways in which such media employs folkloric conventions in order to resonate with audiences ; Koven, Film, Folklore 7.

In this thesis I regard folklore as necessarily being communicated by a folk community. A corporate, mainstream film can adopt folkloric conventions, but as it is removed from the grassroots context of a folk community, its stories do not constitute folklore. As Bird maintains, however, it is still worthwhile to examine the ways in which such films employ folkloric conventions. Folk horror emphasizes its folk roots in a number of ways.

Documentary conventions connect such videos with factual reality. The entire YouTube account, not just the videos posted to it, is part of the Marble Hornets story world. Such conventions fulfill popular expectations about the quality of work produced by everyday people as opposed to professional filmmakers: films such as Cloverfield Matt Reeves and BWP gain an air of authenticity by masquerading as the imperfect, unfinished amateur footage of traumatic events, stylistically more akin to home movies than feature films; however, despite their realistic appearance, the professional marketing and distribution of such films create a distance between the audience and the onscreen action.

When similarly rough videos are uploaded to the Internet by a person who claims to have directly recorded the events, the lack of mediation between teller and tale infuses the story with an unmediated quality that, when effectively executed, locates the events within the real, everyday world of the viewer.

As I will demonstrate in the following pages, such a context is distinct from traditional modes of storytelling, via film or print, as well as traditional modes of audience reception; it is for this reason that I suggest differentiating between those artistic works that originate from a production team and wind up in theatres or pay-video sites, and those that originate online as part of an open community of grassroots co-creators.

Many worthwhile avenues exist whereby one might approach YouTube videos such as those composing the series Marble Hornets, which form the bulk of my study. Considering such productions as examples of a modern folklore is just one of many possible approaches, but it is a particularly appropriate one given its ability to encompass the aesthetics, structure, and context of the aforementioned videos.

Marble Hornets is a worthwhile case study because of its wealth of videos the series currently comprises well over one hundred episodes, including the entries of an affiliated account called totheark11 ; its longevity it has been ongoing for over four years ; the depth of audience engagement that continues to surround it via various websites, including Unfiction and Twitter; and its dual roles in the development and distribution of the Slender Man legend.

The series may have had grassroots beginnings, but its popularity has drawn the attention of industry professionals. While the comments section on the Marble Hornets YouTube page is disabled, viewers are welcome to comment on the totheark videos, and they do in abundance. Generally, the only forms of mediation between the viewer and folk horror videos on YouTube are the filmmaker and the platform itself. Such an unmediated viewing context stands in stark opposition to that of conventionally produced films, which require the efforts not only of a team of workers i.

While witches the kind that ride broomsticks, at least , devils, and the Slender Man are all impossible beings according to the laws of our physical world, witches and devils possess a longevity and history that the Slender Man lacks. I plan to delve into the ideas he expresses in his article in more detail in my future research, and intend to engage with his ideas as I further explore the topic of this study.

It differs from the prior concept of the urban legend in that it is on the Internet, and this both helps and harms the status of the Slender Man as one. In my personal opinion, an urban legend requires an audience ignorant of the origin of the legend. It needs unverifiable third and forth [sic] hand or more accounts to perpetuate the myth. On the Internet, anyone is privy to its origins as evidenced by the very public Somethingawful thread. But what is funny is that despite this, it still spread.

Victor Surge describes the Slender Man as an urban legend, which raises a significant issue in terms of folklore studies: that of definitions. One needs only a brief introduction to the study of folklore to realize that it is a minefield teeming with competing denotations. As a result of such inconsistencies, Bascom sets out to produce an authoritative set of definitions based on the findings of 14I am again indebted to Dr.

Koven for generously advising me on sources to improve my understanding of folklore studies. Bascom does a laudable job distinguishing between the three terms, but the rigid guidelines by which he separates them based on whether the tales are considered to be fact or fiction require interrogation in order to yield results more appropriate to the ways in which folklore currently operates on the Internet.

When considered on a practical level, infusing a legend with a level of risk is an effective method to position the legend as important and deserving of audience investment. Whether due to its low to non-existent budget or amateur creators, folk horror—even more than found footage horror—binds its events within the rules of the actual world in which the audience lives.

In Marble Hornets, for example, the characters have regular run-ins with the Slender Man; although it seems that the tall, glowing, faceless creature is beyond scientific explanation, his humanoid appearance invites other theories—for instance, he could simply be a man in a suit who is part of a government conspiracy. Carroll only includes those stories that fit into the latter category in his definition of horror In this way folk horror draws fantastic hesitation out from the realm of fiction and into the everyday reality of the audience, who not only question whether the solution to a fictional story is natural or supernatural, but might also wonder whether what they are seeing could actually occur in their own lives.

According to Pinedo, a trademark of the postmodern horror film is that it is not pleasurable in the traditional ways that films are. Folk horror offers a similar experience, but amplifies it by encouraging audiences to doubt that what they are seeing onscreen is merely a fictional representation of terror. While discussing the problem of photographic realism is certainly an important and worthwhile endeavour, it would be an overly ambitious undertaking in this thesis.

For the purposes of this study I hope that it is enough to observe that folk horror presents an intensification of the conventions of realism that we have long witnessed in cinema, from its birth through to the emergence of documentaries and mock-documentaries, to the relatively recent development of found footage horror. If old consumers were predictable and stayed where you told them to stay, then new consumers are migratory, showing a declining loyalty to networks or media.

If old consumers were isolated individuals, the new consumers are more socially connected. If the work of media consumers was once silent and invisible, the new consumers are now noisy and public. Jenkins Jenkins goes on to discuss the specific ways in which new consumers engage with corporate products across an array of media.

Examples of these new consumers can be observed in the development of the Slender Man legendry as well as the several folk horror Web series that it has thus far inspired. The images are degraded, slightly blurry and damaged, and in black and white, and they are accompanied by captions that align them with conventional print newspaper stories.

In addition to the collaborations on the Something Awful thread and the Marble Hornets accounts, several other folk horror Web series have emerged that employ the same legend-telling conventions as Marble Hornets. The game is a sequel to Slender: The Eight Pages. The creation of the Slender Man, and the folk horror series that have resulted from his birth, are not exactly transmedia storytelling, nor are they fan fiction.

Such a process could perhaps be understood as a loose, chaotic form of collaboration, in which the most popular, recyclable ideas start to stand out, and create general guidelines for the story world in which the Slender Man exists. A basic example of this is the format of public commenting, whereby a user can employ the comment boxes that are popular to most websites to produce a single comment, or quote and respond to other users, with all of this viewable by the entire community.

The communal behaviour described above is essential to folk horror, in which the everyday person as creator and contributor is of the utmost importance. Its open access fells the wall that exists in a more conventional reception context, in which viewers sit quietly in a theatre and watch a corporate creation, and then return home and engage in conversations about it over coffee or some other beverage or treat of choice , or perhaps online, with such involvement possibly increasing to writing reviews or fan fiction, or creating video mashups.

Examining folk horror on a microscopic level through Marble Hornets and the Slender Man legendry is just one of many entry points into not only folk horror, but also the broader developments of contemporary digital storytelling. With digitization becoming increasingly popular amongst both consumers and producers, it is imperative that we continue to examine the effects that technology has on our culture. Importantly, we need to question whether our technological advancements are also advancing us as creative and compassionate beings.

Despite its frightening contents, folk horror represents an uplifting trend in online behaviour that counters the common argument that the Internet is making us unfriendly and unintelligent; the ways in which it combines horror and folklore might be distinct, but the general behaviour of its populace can be witnessed in countless online communities i. I do not argue for an unquestioning embrace of the Internet as a creative utopia; I fully acknowledge its many pitfalls, but I also recognize that digital technology, and by extension, the Internet, are not going anywhere—if anything, with time they will only become more embedded in our everyday lives.

If, as Marshall McLuhan popularly argued decades ago, the medium is the message, we must keep working to understand these new mediums lest we miss the message. Such a revision creates space for a broader understanding of folk that allows us to consider the ways in which folk communities are influenced by the idiosyncrasies of our present age, in which digital technology occupies a key position in the collective consciousness of a society that both fears and embraces it.

The purpose of the thread was to encourage forum-goers to fabricate realistic paranormal images using digital editing software such as Adobe Photoshop. In line with the folkloric context that inspired it, Marble Hornets adopts a narrative form that can be compared with a folktale, and combines it with the rhetoric of truth that folklorist Elliott Oring aligns with legendry.

Many other websites are also governed by 2In my future work I wish to perform an in-depth comparison of the Internet legendry around the Slender Man and similar legendry that has been related in more traditional, oral modes of storytelling. On each of the aforementioned sites, contributors follow a specific format of storytelling that employs a rhetoric of truth to emphasize immediacy, actuality, and an unmediated connection between the tale, the teller, and the audience.

Indeed, most often such stories are shared as though the narrator experienced them first- hand. Two months into the shoot, Alex began behaving strangely and then abruptly dropped the project. Concerned for his classmate, J visited Alex at his home with the hope of finding some answers, but all that he was able to get from Alex was the raw footage bags of videotapes from their project, which Alex warned him must never be shown to anyone else.

In his post J 4Notably, Creepypasta. At the time of writing it appears that creepypastas have received limited attention from academia, but I expect that this will become an increasingly popular topic of study, particularly amongst those studying literature and folklore. He ends his post by saying that he will watch the tapes and upload anything of interest to YouTube.

Something Awful and YouTube are both open to the public; however, as its name suggests, Something Awful caters to a more niche audience than does YouTube. Unfiction is an alternate reality gaming site that hosts a number of active campaigns in which members pool their resources in order to solve the riddles presented.

Their continued popularity across several sites mimics a trend of transnationalism that one can witness on online forums, in which people from all over the world are able to interact as long as they have a computer, an Internet connection, and the ability to speak the same language as the rest of the forum-goers or translate what they write and read. Instead of being part of a community by default due to their location as are those who occupy the small villages described by folklorists working in the field, for example , the members of the communities discussed herein are included based on their behaviour and interests.

While the paranormal images thread posts are clearly not the oral forms of storytelling conventional to folklore, the way in which they are written simulates the immediacy of verbal storytelling. Of course, framed stories such as folktales and myths—for example, the practiced verses of The Epic of Gilgamesh—would be rehearsed for performance, but legends, as Oring notes, have more veracity when they feel unrehearsed and immediate In the case of the majority of the Slender Man stories on the paranormal 7 In saying this I recognize that I am omitting a large population of the world that cannot afford a computer nor an Internet connection; however the members of the community discussed in this paper necessarily have these things.

Indeed, many of the thread posts reflect a sense of immediacy that aligns the language of the authors more with speech than with the ideally more carefully crafted, published written word; it must be noted, however, that the forum- and Internet- specific slang, abbreviations, and emoticons punctuating the stories render them similarly incompatible with the spoken word. In a sense, the Slender Man stories are told in the specific, vernacular language of the forum-goers that could be likened to a dialect of the English language—a dialect local to the Something Awful community of which they are a part.

The vernacular language in which the Slender Man tales are told is translated to film —or rather, videotapes and hard drives—by the cinematic style of Marble Hornets. Koven argues that vernacular cinema is much like the oral tradition of storytelling in which folktales are rooted. While there are certainly some differences between the gialli that Koven discusses and Marble Hornets, their similarities are worth noting in order to illustrate the way in which the vernacular works to attract audiences, particularly those on YouTube.

The familiar locations are complemented by the familiar sensations of curiosity, anxiety, fear, and the desire to make sense of a confusing situation, with which most people can sympathize. Through such elements Wagner and DeLage construct in Marble Hornets a universe with which viewers can identify. Both the Slender Man legendry and Marble Hornets examine themes that relate to the digital context that birthed them.

Conventions of folkloric prose narratives such as legends and folktales are employed in order to contemplate a present that is overcrowded with spectres of the past and future. The traditional folkloric narrative forms that such stories employ serve to emphasize the non- traditional nature of their context, reflecting the old-new clash that creates a tension in our current age.

Marble Hornets blends tradition and invention in a way that speaks to contemporary audiences. Despite its existence in the contemporary world, digital technology is still often associated with the future. By combining traditional folktale conventions with contemporary filmmaking techniques and a futuristic digital context, Marble Hornets encompasses the past, present, and future not only in content but in its structure and context as well.

Table 1 below outlines some of the key ideas explored by Marble Hornets that express modern tensions between the past, present, and future. In addition, the Slender Man appears to wear a black suit and a tie, which some have described as not actually a suit, but an adaptable skin. Forum-goers note that although the Slender Man may appear human from a distance, even then witnesses will viscerally feel his wrongness. We cannot conceive of him, or truly perceive him, but he delights in showing us the very limit of what we can handle.

The theme of unknowability not only underlies most Slender Man tales, but also much of Marble Hornets, whose characters are on some level unknowable even to themselves due to their constant struggles with memory loss.

All of this reflects an anxiety about the present that, though not unique to our era, is in its nuances distinct from the disquietudes of those that came before: the past and the future coexist uneasily in a present that, much like the characters of Marble Hornets, struggles to understand itself and its place in time.

In other words, many of us might feel restrained by the vastness of our own freedom. Helfield focuses on recognizable, specific landmarks as a key element of contextualization, but, in line with Koven, I would argue that this need not be the case: it is enough to provide the viewer with settings that feel familiar, that could be anywhere and that feel like home to many.

As a Web series that is freely open to the public on YouTube, Marble Hornets appropriately situates itself in a world that feels familiar to many audiences, regardless of whether they have physically visited such spaces, or know them only from the universe of television and film.

Much of Marble Hornets takes place in the woods, parks, abandoned buildings, and along lengthy strips of highway. The dearth of identifying features also emphasizes the ephemerality of their surroundings, as they must constantly change locations in their attempts to elude often unsuccessfully the various malignant forces that pursue them.

In her description of French- Canadian folktales, Helfield emphasizes repetition, cycles, and the journey motif as important structural elements Variations on this cycle follow: 1. Frustrated and frightened, J vows to permanently end his quest as the risks taken are not worth the potential knowledge to be gained by solving the mystery. Such cycles repeat themselves at least every few entries, and in many entries the full cycle occurs from beginning to end.

As the narratives flow through the aforementioned cycles, a journey motif unfolds that parallels the narrative structure set out by Vladimir Propp in his book, Morphology of the Folktale. In his introduction to the second edition, however, folklorist Alan Dundes acknowledges the mistranslation but then defines the fairy tale as a subgenre of folktale.

My aim is merely to show that Marble Hornets adopts a folkloric narrative structure. I have sought to avoid motif spotting in this paper by situating my observations within their folkloric context. Throughout my study I have worked to provide a context along with my textual analysis to illustrate the ways in which the storytellers of folk horror are employing common folkloric motifs, themes, and structures to tell their stories, and thus can be considered as folk based on both their communal context as well as their storytelling techniques and structures.

Propp outlines manifold structural components of the folktale. Wagner and DeLage may not have purposely structured it like a folktale, but Marble Hornets follows a trajectory that is strikingly similar to the one outlined by Propp. Near the start of his investigation, J visits a cluttered, abandoned house in which Alex and another schoolmate, Brian, had reportedly lived before they disappeared. That, combined with other videos in which Alex films himself going about the mundane activities of everyday life talking on the phone, packing boxes, working on his computer, sleeping , suggests that Alex felt something bad would happen if he were to stop filming.

Exactly what that bad thing would be remains unclear: the Slender Man often appears on camera, but his presence is always accompanied by severe audiovisual distortions. Beyond following the basic journey narrative outlined above, Marble Hornets is structured largely by its motifs, which, to use the metaphor of a puzzle, act as the edge pieces that tie the whole thing together.

J and Jessica decide to leave their current locations and meet at a nearby hotel, where they will get some rest and then discuss their next steps. While definitions of folklore vary, they unite in the idea that folklore, much like visual art, literature, and film, reflects the culture that creates it.

Marble Hornets may turn to the past to tell its story, but the past is not significantly better than the present, nor is the future. The one positive, not to mention characteristically American, message that pervades Marble Hornets is to never give up.

This number does not coincide with the numbers in the entry titles, as the series features half entries and unnumbered entries as well. We might consider Marble Hornets as a folktale of the Digital era, in which there exists a marked anxiety about the diminishing quality of the human mind and the physical world i.

The same cannot be said for found footage-style horror on YouTube, which continues to flourish via Web series such as Marble Hornets and TribeTwelve Adam Rosner - , as well as less narratively inclined videos such as those that claim to document real-life sightings of ghosts and other paranormal occurrences. Since then, they have produced over videos across two accounts MarbleHornets and totheark , with their latest entry, at the time of writing, posted on November 21, Marble Hornets follows many of the conventions of the found footage horror films that 3 My focus in this study is specifically on the Slender Man legendry and how it translates to the Web series Marble Hornets.

As a result I will not spend time discussing other paranormal videos such as those claiming to document strange real-life events, although it is certainly another interesting area of research that I would like to pursue further at a later time. As I argued in the previous chapter, these conventions describe a vernacular mode of storytelling that aligns Marble Hornets, as well as the above-mentioned found footage horror films, with folkloric tradition.

Marble Hornets has much in common with found footage horror, but its production, exhibition, and reception are all specific to the online context in which the series is located. It can be seen as a theater, a town hall, an unraveling book, an animated wonderland, a sports arena, and even a potential life form. In the following pages I will explore the ways in which Marble Hornets is distinctly shaped by its online context—one that intensifies the pre-existing conventions of found footage horror that exist within the series.

In identifying some of the key characteristics of folk horror as they appear in Marble Hornets, I will first discuss found footage horror and then illustrate the ways in which its location within a digital context emphasizes the motifs of control and knowledge that are subsumed under the broader theme of technology that underlies all folk horror. I have modelled my approach after those of Carroll and Pinedo by limiting my analyses to three key elements: the monster, the narrative, and the audience.

In the following theories horror is defined by its monster—more specifically, the type of fear its monster evokes. According to H. He later wrote a revised version for serial publication in a science-fiction fanzine called The Fantasy Fan, but was left incomplete after 17 instalments when the magazine was discontinued Jones and Carson According to Carroll, because the monster must be threatening and impure, fear and disgust are the necessary character—and by extension audience—reactions.

The foregoing theories form the context for my own analysis of the monster of Marble Hornets, the Slender Man, a creature that nicely fits the mould for a traditional monster of horror, but that also is distinctly coded to a digital context in which knowledge and control are central motifs. The Slender Man, who in Marble Hornets is called The Operator,5 is a monster in the ways mentioned in the preceding paragraph. They are the same being, so this should not present a major issue.

As human as he may appear, the Slender Man, much like Mr. Depicted by forum-goers as simultaneously soothing and terrifying, the Slender Man is both Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, man and monster, wrapped into one. Common descriptions of the Slender Man as lacking discernible facial features suggest that he could be anyone and everyone—a particularly relevant quality given that in this digital age, the person online is virtually faceless, represented only by an avatar that may or may not accurately depict the person behind the screen.

For whatever reason, Alex allows J Troy Wagner to convince him to hand over the videotapes from the film shoot instead of burning them, and in the three years that J holds onto the tapes—never watching them—it appears that the Slender Man remains dormant.

The Slender Man seems to be simultaneously drawn to and repelled by the camera, which, as I mentioned in my previous chapter, may be described as a magical agent. Although the nature of its effects on him are unclear, the camera records severe audio and visual distortions whenever the Slender Man is nearby.

It is unclear whether their obsessive filming actually protects Alex and J from the Slender Man; at the very least, their recordings serve as surrogate memories that they often consult in order to recall the events leading up to their encounters with the Slender Man, after which they generally lose consciousness and significant chunks of memory.

Recording everything allows the characters to retain a modicum of control over their chaotic lives. Indeed, common commentary on social sites such as Facebook and Instagram criticizes users for being more invested in documenting their lives, via photographs and status updates, than in living them to their fullest. Not only are we helpless, but we are also losing the ability to think for ourselves. There are few comforts in this world that we cannot derive from a connected computer: it cannot feed us, but it can help us order food; it cannot sexually satisfy us, but it can provide the material by which we might sexually satisfy ourselves; it cannot tuck us into bed at night, but it can tell us a bedtime story.

It is not exaggerating to observe that, at the very least, the Internet has changed the way in which many of us experience the world, and with the growing popularity and affordability of smart phones, many of us are always connected—much in the same way that J is always connected to his camera.

He embodies a warning for those of us who spend much of our days online. Victor Surge may have stitched9 him together, but the Slender Man was given life by the Something Awful community, whose anecdotes, photographs, videos, and other artifacts were the lightning bolts that animated the monster. Genre films often employ self-reflexivity and intertextuality as a means of engaging with their audiences.

One way in which Marble Hornets refers to the cinematic tradition within which it operates is through the figure of the Slender Man. Though he is a relatively recent creation, the Slender Man has existed in some form in horror literature and film for a long time. Murnau ; the bandage-faced, besuited Invisible Man Claude Rains of the film of the same name James Whale ; and the tall, lanky, faceless, black-draped Death himself.

Victor Surge revealed on the forum that the Tall Man from Phantasm served as the primary template for the Slender Man. It is unclear where the Slender Man comes from, or why he is stalking Alex, but the diegetic events of Marble Hornets seem to have begun close to the time when Alex started shooting his film, in which a something man returns home and remembers his childhood. In this way the Slender Man is linked to the past, or rather, the act of remembering the past through video—a theme that frames the entire series.

Just as Frankenstein is ultimately undone by his unrelenting pursuit of forbidden knowledge i. Ultimately it is Frankenstein himself, through his cruel and irresponsible treatment of his creation, that reaps his own destruction.

At the same time that it expresses a fear of technology, Marble Hornets also suggests that we are lost without it. The camera, like the Slender Man, is both a source of comfort and horror for the protagonists of Marble Hornets: at the same time that it acts as a beacon that draws in danger i.

Whether this sense of safety is real or imagined is still up for debate as, at the time of writing, the series is still running, and as of yet no explanations have been offered. It is also possible that the Slender Man purposely appears to the characters while they are filming in order to propagate through technology. The fear of destructive knowledge, that we can be undone by our own minds, is salient in the stories of Frankenstein, and Dr.

Hyde, as well as in Marble Hornets: the more we think about the Slender Man, the stronger and more dangerous he becomes. And what happens when the pictures are no longer photoshops? Marble Hornets provides an extreme example of the negative consequences of living in the interstitial space between the physical world and the digital world, and, by extension, the past and the future. Subsumed under the theme of technology in Marble Hornets are questions of knowledge and control.

Knowledge leads to technological development, and technology helps us control the natural world in which we live through tailoring it to ensure our own comfort—for example, air conditioning helps keep us cool even though outside the sun is glaringly hot. The Slender Man reminds us of just how little control we have. Although he references other literary and cinematic monsters, the Slender Man is first and foremost a monster of the digital age.

Its online context draws the content of folk horror outside of the bounds of a conventional cinema experience that encourages passive viewership and into the everyday world of the audience, bringing its content uncomfortably close to home. Two common themes that are particularly relevant to folk horror are disruption and confirmation. She notes that with the exception of the fourth point, her theory can be applied to most horror: 1 there is a violent disruption of the everyday world; 2 there is a transgression and violation of boundaries; 3 the validity of rationality is thrown into question; 4 there is no narrative closure; and 5 the film produces a bounded experience of fear Violation is another key element of horror.

Found footage films employ the devices of documentary realism in order to promote a critical investigation of the world in which we live, which is full of forbidden knowledge. The cinematographic style of found footage horror mimics the first-person point of view of a filmmaker caught in the midst of a traumatic experience.

Here the themes of knowledge and control collide: the fictional filmmakers of found footage horror eschew official control by refusing the information fed to them by professional news outlets and documentaries.

Affordable filmmaking technology allows them to take control of their own knowledge and share their discoveries with the larger public. Once the characters of found footage horror realize that they live in such a world, horrified and repulsed as they may be by their immediate situations, they are first and foremost driven by curiosity.

The preceding observations about found footage horror can also be applied to Marble Hornets, but the series departs from found footage horror in ways that are specifically shaped by its online context. It has been three years since the above-quoted interview, and in that time character and plot development has occurred; however, it is worth noting that these were not the primary concerns that informed the series at its conception.

Marble Hornets exhibits both tendencies: its first-person point-of-view cinematography reminds us that we are viewing a reality constructed by the eye of a video camera, and its split screens, visual tears, and audiovisual distortions show us just how malleable that reality, and by extension, any reality is. Her observation articulates a philosophical undercurrent that greatly influences my topic, but that I have decided to leave be for the purposes of this thesis.

I would like to explore the topic in another essay, but for the sake of space and time, I will refrain from directly discussing philosophical notions of real, authentic, true, fake, simulation etc. Wagner and DeLage present their own videos not as the found footage of some ill-fated film crew, but as ongoing documents of their own strange everyday reality.

Marble Hornets, on the other hand, is unmediated by the usual third parties involved in the fictional process of finding and compiling that frames found footage horror; its framing narrative has J editing and narrating each entry, directly addressing audiences through subtitles and confessional-style videos also known as video logs, or vlogs.

Wagner and DeLage employ vernacular modes of storytelling to present their entries as the unmediated, authentic experiences of everyday people; their real-life positions as grassroots folk artists strengthens the contrived authenticity that informs their artistic choices in Marble Hornets. With the computer there is no such comfort: a person might be part of an online community, but as computer use is commonly an individual activity, on a physical level that person is likely sitting alone in a room, and is therefore vulnerable according to traditional horror narrative conventions that depict the ideal victim as isolated.

Films such as Videodrome David Cronenberg and Ring associate technology with fatal, infectious disease, suggesting that the seemingly sterile blue glow of an electronic screen is not as harmless as it may initially seem. In both films, the diegetic viewers—of the snuff television show in Videodrome and the cursed videotape in 14Jon D.

Please see the works cited for more information. The computer screen is also infectious—perhaps even more so, since with computer use comes the threat of contracting a computer virus. Horror narratives such as Pulse [Kairo] Kiyoshi Kurosawa and FeardotCom William Malone articulate the fear that our actions in cyberspace might evoke horrific real-world effects.

By sharing images of the Slender Man, Marble Hornets suggests through its diegesis that it is putting the regular Internet user at risk by showing them what they should not see, thereby potentially transmitting the Slender sickness. Each episode insinuates that as we stare into our computer screens, we cannot be entirely sure that something dreadful is not staring back at us.

In this darker understanding of knowledge as dangerous lie the common horror narrative elements of disruption and confirmation. Marble Hornets relates a story in which the disruption and confirmation common to the horror cycle lead not to resolution, but instead only aggravate the problem, implying that we have our own curiosity to blame.

There is no cure for the virus that we have contracted— no return to normal. The cleansing flame of the campfire that once kept us safe in its warm glow has now transformed into the cool blue light of the computer screen, which, sterile as it 15This is also suggested in The Matrix, wherein a character who dies while connected to the Matrix also dies in real life. The comfort of confirmation—in the case of Marble Hornets, that the Slender Man exists— is no comfort at all.

On the level of narrative in Marble Hornets, knowledge and control, including our own knowledge of whose control we are under, do nothing to alleviate the situation. Thus far the series shows that we can fight against this relationship as much as we want, but there is no winning. While films are commonly aligned with entertainment, databases are aligned with knowledge; this difference in exhibition platforms —the entertaining cinema and the informative database—affects the way in which viewers interact with what they watch.

The film is presented as a compilation of the real videos taken by the actual film crew that disappeared in those woods, who just happened to capture unexplainable events on tape as they recorded their relatively mundane reality. BWP might have had viewers fooled, but its popularity did not rest solely upon this achievement. As Telotte observes, the film achieved popularity by providing its viewers with an unprecedented opportunity to immerse themselves in the story world.

Although the website was weaker than the film in terms of the level of transformation it offered, viewers were still able to subtly experience transformation through the detective role they might play while navigating the ancillary materials Telotte Marble Hornets is shot in much the same way as BWP, and it offers viewers many of the same pleasures, although on a different level.

For one, Marble Hornets is not just one small piece of a complete story world created by artists working together to realize the same vision. Distinguishing the Slender Man legendry from transmedia storytelling is less simple. In this sense, Wagner and DeLage are but two small players in a large community of storytellers who all have their own, equally valid, anecdotes about the Slender Man. Some salient characteristics of the creature arise, but the people in the stories, and their basic situations, are diverse.

Audiences of both the series and the broader lore can also enjoy an agency similar to that offered by the BWP website: they cannot change the course of the existing stories and Marble Hornets episodes, but they can 18It is worth noting, however, that unofficial discussions and expansions of the Marble Hornets narrative exist on sites such as Unfiction.

Another way in which Marble Hornets encourages viewer transformation is by adopting the stylistic conventions of video games. Viewers may not be able to tangibly affect the Marble Hornets storyline, but the series adopts many video game conventions that mimic an interactive experience. He finds a shoulder bag, and empties and lists the items inside of it.

He holds each item up to the camera for a moment, and then 19I have previously discussed Unfiction as another website in which viewers discuss the mysteries presented in Marble Hornets; however, in this paragraph I am specifically referring to the materials produced by Wagner and DeLage that are officially connected to Marble Hornets.

Expressionistic camera angles are also a common feature of Marble Hornets, but they are particularly apparent when the characters encounter the Slender Man. Recreational terror, like digital play, is a mediated experience in which viewers participate to pleasurable ends. In found footage and folk horror, the first-person point-of- view cinematography, in which the camera operator is also a character in the film, invites speculation that the experience of recreational terror can also apply to people within the diegesis.

The combination is also a popular one in video games to name a few popular examples, Resident Evil Capcom and Doom id Software , both of which have received film adaptations. Both BWP and Marble Hornets offer viewers the opportunity for recreational terror while simultaneously calling into question the assumed safety of such an experience. Marble Hornets intensifies the challenge by suggesting that the danger lies in simulation itself. Whereas the Blair Witch is limited to one location—the woods near Burkittsville, Maryland—the Slender Man is a creature of the online universe, haunting a global platform that opens windows via computer, tablet, and smart phone screens into homes and thus potential victims around the world.

The threat escalates when considering the aforementioned tulpa theory, which suggests that the more we think of the Slender Man, the more real he becomes. Marble Hornets highlights the opposite side of such an outlook by relating a story in which modern technologies such as digital video and the Internet contribute to an illness that threatens to transform the world into a mass of paranoid, violent, mindless puppets some pessimistic commentators might argue that we are already there.

Either we risk infection or we continue in relatively blissful ignorance. It is a lose- lose situation. Tied to the themes of knowledge and control are disruption and confirmation, which guide the narrative of Marble Hornets. Marble Hornets scares and warns against curiosity and the pursuit of forbidden knowledge by depicting J as being caught in a nightmarish, unending cycle of disruption and confirmation: all that he ever learns is that everything he thinks he thinks he knows is wrong.

The Slender Man is a monster of the digital age, signifying the danger of combining infinite information—such as that provided by the Internet—with voracious curiosity. Like J and Alex, who are always connected to their cameras, so too are many of us constantly connected to a technology that destroys as it delivers.

Humankind has long been undone by its inventions in both reality and fiction, and the tradition continues with the Slender Man, whose roots in an online folk community align him with a new type of mad scientist. In Marble Hornets, it is not a mad genius putting society at risk with his cutting-edge inventions, but the average, everyday person. Their ability to do so entails considerable advantages as well as significant disadvantages.

The trend in both professional and grassroots filmmaking is moving toward engaging with viewers who are more actively involved with the cultural products that they consume than those of even a decade ago. A common trend in many contemporary products of popular culture—including cinema, television and music—is to encourage audiences to interact with the works on a level that goes beyond traditional advertising campaigns such as, for films for example, merely watching a trailer or looking at production stills.

When a cinematic work has the appearance of the physical reality in which we live, how can we tell that what we are viewing is a fiction? Does a screen truly separate us from the horrors that play out on it? Inherent to my understanding of folk is the question of authority: who gets to define what is official and therefore not folk versus what is unofficial and therefore folk? For the purposes of my study I have distinguished between the two as artists who are creating works within the official film industry, versus grassroots artists who are not working within the industry, and whose works do not follow the traditional release trajectory of popular studio-backed productions.

Marble Hornets is a strong example of how digital technology can influence the development of folklore. By examining the Web series as a modern folktale for the digital age, we can mark the ways in which the folk narrator has adapted to the contemporary context, in which the Internet plays a significant role in the everyday life of the average person. In addition, the development of the Slender Man legendry on Something Awful illustrates the growth of a folk community as well as a possible trajectory that folklore might take in a digital context.

In Marble Hornets, conventions of traditional folktale narratives are combined with the rhetoric of truth that is commonly employed in legend telling. Such a style is strikingly similar to that described by Mikel J. Blending the traditional tropes of folktales with the contrived immediacy and vernacular language of legendry, Marble Hornets illustrates how the past and present might coexist. A tension between the two rises when the series suggests that to chase the past is to court danger: for example, the character Alex Joseph DeLage is haunted by the Slender Man and falls ill only after he begins work on an autobiographical film in which a young man returns to his childhood home to recall his youth.

In this way Marble Hornets suggests that, contrary to popular ideas about the past as a simpler, happier time, the past is actually quite dark, complex, and frightening—in Marble Hornets, unlike in most popular cinema, nostalgia is a dangerous inclination that can only lead to misery. The future is also not a safe space, as is most strongly suggested in the figure of the Slender Man. We cease to be the physically identifiable individuals behind 1 In addition, the Slender Man is to some extent familiar to audiences, as he is a popular icon on the Internet who is well known even by audiences unaware of his roots on Something Awful.

In addition to being faceless, we are stretched in many directions. For example, a user may have four tabs or web pages open on his or her Internet navigation program; while jumping between these pages—let us say these are e-mail, a social network, a local news website, and a discussion forum—this theoretical user may also be responding to text messages from his or her friends; at the same time, this user might be sitting in front of a television screen, watching his or her favourite show.

Marble Hornets expresses concerns about the effect that digital technology is having on the everyday person, but proposes no explicit solutions. We may be past fixing our current situation in a world dependent on digital technology, but we might still be able to manage it so that it does not overcome us—so that we do not fall prey to the Slender sickness, so to speak.

If mimesis is impossible, we must always take what we see with a grain of salt. Marble Hornets encourages us to ask questions through its content, in which J presents a puzzle that needs solving on a platform that enables audience participation. J identifies as a member of both the YouTube and Something Awful folk communities, and actively engages with other members on those websites while respecting the traditions that guide such interactions.

In this way audiences helped to further draw Marble Hornets outside of the boundaries of their computer screens and into their everyday, physical world.

The file with zdf extension is a common file that contains only the boundary grid information for each zone.

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Binary Boom offers many different tradeable assets that include indices and stocks. I highly recommend that you register today, and start making the same kinds of profits that we have. Continue reading Storm Raven Aug That we are no boys nor girls. Neither male or female. Don't fit in the system. That we are non-binary. Doesn't make us any less real. We are just genderqueer. Don't forget about us.

We excist. We are just non-binary. Gender fluid. We are still humans. We just have a non-binary gender. That is all. Simon Oct Blood Is the Secret of Knowledge. Rather then being a binary code full of testaments replacing information over something absorbed prior. Fluid control. Over a fluid encompassing passage. Passage through dark crevices it creeps. Creeping into the darkest of depths. While making the most sense. Sense without equal. Forms becoming taught from within, rather then being instructed on the surface.

There migrating to better circumstances. One in the same. Up close in its details, reveals it all. How much is one willing to see? Waiting for the views to be answered. Simply a common observation. Pinpointing the construct with pressed desires. Different forms generating different instances of strife. The views are just consequential. Random instances in a random binary function.

Its own thing. Processing its own flow. Circulating its own properties. Wills and wants. Covering every crevice of the system. You are labeled by what…? We walk in the embedded actions were instructed by. Shifting one moment without concern. Migrating the next, with stride and interest. Feeling the information of the nerves hum the binary code better in circulation. Blitzing past its flow of tightly fit closure. Information in the sense of blood cells.

Nerve cells is another passage of rich knowledge. Blood is the secret focus that fissures in-between nerve cells generating basic structures on the surface. Instructed to be wild. Frequencies polishes the hum of processes into delightful instructing. Body feels it. Other flowing systems sense it. Does viewing it understand it? Does observing wrap everything up into one bundle? Or does interpretation dissolve all visuals into one encompassing tale?

About how it should work? Before realizing ones, interpretations are held beneficial by views and observations. Detested by one who is viewing it by interpretation. Interpretation is wrong! Deeeeaaaadddd wrong!

Interpretations on the surface. Might learn something more visually speaking then what interpretation wants with all its desires combined. When you figure that out. Your being instructed by the secret knowledge of bloods binary access itself. Blood is sometimes discountable in relations of how dense it's properties can consume. And for what? It just being there, as we do our own steady bidding? Julian Mar Famigerate- to bring news from abroad 2. Noogenesis-evolution of the mind 4. Nosocomial- pertaining to a hospital 5.

Nullifidian- faithless 6. Neomort-braindead individual 7. Nummamorous- someone who is avaricious for money 8. Nemesism-self-directed frustration 9. Oculate- having eyes Omniana- about all sorts of things Negaholic- persistently pessimistic Faineant- puppet-king, useless ruler Gerendum-something that is to be done GIlderoy- a proud person Kundlesroman- coming of age story about an artist Victoria- cry of triumph Atticism- elegance in expression that is also concise Brocard- an elementary law or axiom that predicates a field for more complex synthesis and analysis Camelot- a newspaper vendor Cienega- a marsh or swamp Confiteor- prayer of confession of sin Epirot- someone who lives far away from the coast unlike an orarian Confused Montero- huntsman Montgolfier- balloon using fire for propulsion Sarvodaya- an idealized society with no class system Nuncle- to defraud Numquid- an inquisitive person Nubilate- to obscure Nowise- not at all Noxal- wrongful injury by animal or object of another Novantique- both old and new as a reparation of an ill-served problem Novalia- lands broughten under new cultivation Noometry- mind measurement Neonomianism- the feeling that gospel abrogates existing laws Parousia- the second coming of Christ Trimfeet- steadfast attuned devotees to God Rabelaisian- coarsely hilarious Sabbatarian- one who keeps the sabbath strictly Shearling- one year old sheep Nubigenous- cloud-born House's best effort, the patient remained irredivivous.

Lutherolatry n worship of Martin Luther and his teachings The priest was poorly received for his denunciation of Lutherolatry and paganism. Mydriasis Aletheia Feb We still don't assume this means something. Philosophy Tantalized by the fractious limerence of a vestigial habiliment of the old order, we conclude that hypertrophy leads to a limbo where random permutations alloyed by the rickety limits of concatenation subsume concepts that are equivocal but populate the imaginations of newfangled art forms that jostle the midwives of rumination to lead to unique pastures that are intuitively calibrated to correspond to definitive unitary events in conceptual space that sprawl unexpectedly towards the desultory but determinative conclusion of a meandering ludic sphere of rambunctious sentiments cobbled together to either rivet the captive audience or annoy the peevish criticaster when they dare to inseminate the canvassed and corrugated tract of intellectual territory created ad hoc to swelter the imagination with audacious ingenuity that is an inevitable byproduct of lexical hypertrophy.

Today we embark on a quest to defile the anoegenetic recapitulation of canon that litters the dilapidated avenues of miserly contemplation that has a histeriological certainty and feeds the engines that enable novelty but ultimately remain rancid with the stench of the idiosyncratic shibboleths of synoptic alloyed impoverishment that leads to the vast wasteland of cremated entropy that is a stained foible of misappropriated context interpolated usefully as botched triage for daunting problems that require a nimble legerdemain of facile versatility that we easily adduce to conquer the present with the botched memorial of a defunct salience.

Despite the travail of scholars to retreat from the frontier into the hypostatized hegemony of recycled credentialed information, we often are ensnared by the solemn attrition of decay as we traverse the conceptual underpinnings of all bedrock thought only to dangle precariously near the void of lapsed sentience because of transitory incontinence that is contiguous to the doldrums of crudity but nevertheless with mustered mettle we purport that the very self-serious awakening to our hobbling limitations is akin to a prosthetic enhancement of ratiocination capable of feats that stagger beneath the lowest level of subtext to elevate the highest superordinate categorization into heightened scrutiny that burgeons metacognitive limber.

Marooned in the equipoise of specifiable enlightenment countermanded by the strictures of working memory we can orchestrate transverse pathways between the elemental quiddity of impetuous meaning and the dignified tropes of transitivity that bequeaths entire universes with feral progeny that modulate their ecosystems with both a taste of approximated symmetry and a cohesive enterprise for productivity that rests on the granular concordance of the highest plane to the indivisible parcels of atomic meaning that solder together to exist as intelligible if strained by the primordial frictions guaranteed by the brunt of motion incipient because of the metaphorical inertia created within insular universes to inform sprawling conurbations of mobilized thoughts designed to reckon with the breakneck pace of the corresponding reality to which they explicitly and precisely refer to.

We must singe surgically the filigrees that amount to the perceptible realities that transmute temperaments into the liturgy of routine conflated with the rigmarole of neural dragnets of reiterative quips in an elegant game of raillery with our supernal contumacy against the rigid authority of aleatory vagaries mandated by a dually arbitrary universe in a probabilistic terpsichorean dance with the depth of our dredge for subliminal acuity or the shallow bellicosity of common modes of glib contemplation characteristic of the basic nobility of improvisation.

We should rather orchestrate our activity by heeding the admonishment about the primogeniture of poignant sabotage buffered by the remonstration of innate tranquility and finding a whipsawed compromise of rationalization with true visceral encounters with the fulgurant quips of brisk emotions that grind industriously into amorphous retinues of the trenchant human imagination to either equip or hobble the leapfrogged interrogation of veracity and more consequently our notions of truth and fact.

When we see the hackneyed results of default ecological dynamics, we find ourselves aloof from purported transcendence because the whimpered bleats and cavils of the importunate masses result in a deafening din of cacophony because we strive throbbing with sprightliness towards the galloped chase of tantalization without the luxury of a terminus for satiation. The intransigence of the weighted destiny of inequity is a squalid enterprise of primeval abrasive and combative tendencies within the bailiwick of the indignant compass inherent to the system that fathoms its deficiencies with crabwise and gingerly pause but airs a sheepish grievance like a bleat of self-exculpation but simultaneously an arraignment of fundamental attribution erroneously indicted without the selfsame reflexiveness characteristic of a transcendent being with other recourses to clamber an avenue to Broadway without malingering in the slums of opprobrious ineffectual remonstration against the arrangement of a blinkered metropolis of uneven gentrification.

We flicker sometimes between the strategic drivel of appeasement and the candor of audacious imprecation of the culprits of indignity or considerate nutritive encomium of the beacons of ameliorated enlightenment because we often masquerade a half-witted glib consciousness lazily sketched by the welters of verve alloyed with the rancid distaste of squalor and slumber on the faculty of conscientious swivels of prudential expeditions with an avarice for bountiful considered thought and wily contortions of demeanor that issue the affirmative traction of adaptive endeavor to cheat a warped system for a reconciled peace and a refined self-mastery.

The vainglory of the omphalos of entertainment is also another reckoning because it festers a cultural mythos of glorified crapulence parading a philandered promiscuity with half-baked antics that gravitate attention and the lecheries of gaudy tenses of recycled tinsel alloyed by debased aberrations of seedy grapholagnia that magnetize as they percolate because of the insidious catchphrases embedded in pedestrian syncopation that ignite retention and acclimate to mediocrity the sounds of generations discolored by faint pasty rainbows rather than ennobled by majestic landscapes of ignipotent mellifluous sound that stands a supernal amusement still for the resourceful trainspotter.

Despite the contumely aimed in the direction of contrarians for deviating from the lockstep clockwork hustle of stooped pandered manipulation that peddles the wares of an entirely counterfeit reality, I stand obstinately against the melliferous stupefaction of entire genres of myth and subcultures huddled around the sentimental tug of factitious sophistries regaled by thick amorphous apostates that cherish the vacuous sidetracked spotlight with fervor rather than pausing on the enigmatic querulous inquisition about the penumbras that lurk with strained effort beneath or above the categorical nescience of the shadowy unknown that often coruscates with elegance even in obscurity.

I fight with labored words to spawn a psychological discipline that invokes the incisive subaudition of the pluckily pricked exorcism of true insight from the husk of buzzwords that constellate auxiliary tangential distractions from the art form of psychological discernment that predicates itself on the concept that the rarefaction of rumination by degrees of microscopic precision enables the introspective hindsight of conscious events that can be parsed without the acrimony of cluttered conflations of the granular prowess of triumphant ratiocination that earns a panoramic perch with the added luxury of perspicacious insight into the atomic structure of the rudiments of our phenomenological field and the abstractions that linger beyond perceptual categorization.

I myself am a political independent who sides with fiscal conservatism but libertarianism in most other affairs because the pettifoggery of law-and-order politics is a diatribe overused by sheltered suburbanites and red meat is often just as fatuous as blue tinsel and sadly in a majoritarian society the ushers of conformity demand corporate divestiture in favor of an ecological system of predictability rather than an opinionated welter of legitimate challenges to a broken system of backwards partisanship and wangled consent.

Ultimately, I remain mostly apolitical, but I am a fervent champion of the mobilization of education to a statelier standard that demands rigor and responsibility rather than the chafe of rigmarole that understates the common objectives of humanity and rewards conventional thinking and nominal participation to earn credentialed pedigree when the bulk of talent resides elsewhere.

Binary Code. Jerry Knowledge Gonzalez May Binary code. Give me yours and here's mine But nothing's that even, but as for odd There's a lot of odd, cuz ppl are odd And odds are someone will rob You of your dignity. Ones and zeros I tell ya Ones an zeros If your not a one Filibuster or Milieu Thesis. There was a motion on the floor for the nomination of a proxy to be my epigone. I feared I didn't have enough votes to challenge so I filibustered.

Anubis the Philosomancer Apr The Fence by Tim Minchin. Somewhere in your wardrobe, I'd be willing to bet There's a t-shirt probably bearing the silhouette of Che Guevara He was revolutionary, yeah, he wore a cool hat But behind the design I think you might find it's not quite as simple as that Che was a bit of a homophobe, Che was a bit of a homophobe, I think And your dog has a bigger carbon footprint than a four wheel drive Yea your dog has a bigger carbon footprint than a four wheel drive And your dog has a bigger carbon footprint than a four wheel drive And so does your baby, maybe you oughta trade HIM in for a Prius- ROCK!

I'm taking the stand in defence of the fence I got a little band playing tributes to ambivalence We divide the world into liberals and gun-freaks Into atheists and fundies Into tee-tot'lers and junkies Into chemical and natural Into fictional and factual Into science and supernatural But it's actually naturally not that white and black You'll be Dividing us into terrorists and heroes Into normal folk and weirdos Into good people and pedos Into things that give you cancer and the things that cure cancer And things that don't cause cancer, but there's a chance they will cause cancer in the future We divide the world to stop us feeling frightened Into wrong and into right and Into black and into white and Into real men and fairies Into parrots and canaries Yeah we want the world binary, binary - !

The more you know, the harder you will find it To make up your mind, it doesn't really matter if you find You can't see which grass is greener Chances are it's neither, and either way it's easier To see the difference Cause it's not that simple Michael W Noland Sep Acclimating in its remains Attained, the Articles of my pain, in Affluent shame, next time.. Deploy the, Damsels in Duress. Defiled and Distressed, Detestable and Dead. Feel me in the Frills Granted with Generosity.

Not to Nit pic the Naivety of Nicety. Poor, but Prideful. Quarantined to a Quadrant, of Quagmires. Questing the Quizzing of Quotable Quartets. Realigning, the Righteous Rearing of the Realm, and Retrying. Sadly, i Still Seem, Salvagable. Topple The Titans in Tightened Terror. Thrice Thrusted upon by the Tyranny of Tanks. Yucking it up with the Yawn of a Yocal.

Natalia Dec Your Binary. I was made to confirm Yet it was never taught. Through bruises, cuts and tears Layers upon layers of guilt. Endless starry nights. In candlelight and incense, Discovery was made. It was built this way. Tears streaming down our eyes, You still question our surprise. You may choose to look away. They, he, she, ve. There was no rhythm to this as I was writing it, but it is so satisfying to read aloud. GingerHound Apr Sometimes I don't belong.

And I just sit here thinking, not for me. Do they even understand a fraction Of what it's like to be Here, in the middle, in between? Can it really be that they reduce me To that? Am I allowed to cry? Under which of society's odd rules should I Handle my feelings about this?

Because men, as it is, Are unmanly when they let tears flow. Women, however, are expected to do so. Now what do I do? I could lose myself in thinking this through Over and over again. My circling thoughts never come to a halt. There's just this one thing I know: It is not my fault That I can't seem to fit in. That's the way it has always been. One gets used to it, you know? Just keep fighting and grow up to be who you want to be. Nigel Morgan Aug Today we shall have the naming of parts. It was the wrong season for this so affecting poem — the spring was not being eased as here, in quite a different garden, summer was easing itself out towards autumn, but it caught him, as a poem sometimes would.

He had taken a detour through the gardens to the studio where in half an hour his students would gather. He intended to name the very parts of rhythm and help them become aware of their personal knowledge and relationship with this most fundamental of musical elements, the most connected with the body. They had been in Cambridge to celebrate her birthday and just off the train had hurried their way through the bicycled streets to the college where he had once taught, and to a lunchtime concert in a theatre where he had so often performed himself.

The images and the very physical moments of that interval away and together flooded over him, and he had to stop to close his eyes because the images and moments were so very real and he was trembling. Just this morning he had sat on the edge of his bed, and in the still darkness his imagination seemed to bring her to him, the warmth and scent of her as she slept face down into a pillow, the touch of her hair in his face as he would bend over her to kiss her ear and move his hand across the contours of her body, but without touching, a kind of air-lovers movement, a kiss of no-touch.

But today, he reminded himself, we have the naming of parts. He was going to tackle not just rhythm but the role of percussion. He had just one day. In his own music he considered the element of percussion as an ever-present challenge. He had only met it by adopting a very particular strategy. He regarded its presence in a score as a kind of continuo element and thus giving the player some freedom in the choice of instruments and execution.

In other words rhythm itself was his first consideration, and all the rest followed. He thought with amusement of his son playing Vaughan-Williams The Lark Ascending and the single stroke of a triangle that constituted his percussion part. The loose-limbed movements of such players always fascinated him. It was as though whatever they might be doing they were still playing — driving a car? He suddenly thought he might not take a lift from a percussionist. On the grand piano there was, thankfully, a large pile of the special manuscript paper he favoured when writing for percussion, an A3 sheet with wider stave lines.

Standing at the piano he pulled a sheet from the pile and he got out his pen. He wrote on the shiny black lid with a fluency that surprised him: a toccata-like passage based on the binary rhythms he intended to introduce to his class. He knew he must be careful to avoid any awkward crossings of sticks. The music was devoid of any accents or dynamics, indeed any performance instructions.

It was solely rhythm. He then composed a passage that had no rhythm, only performance instructions, dynamics, articulations such as tremolo and trills and a play of accents, but no rhythmic symbols. He then went to the photocopier in the corridor and made a batch of copies of both scores. When his class had assembled and the percussionist and his students had disappeared pro tem he began immediately, and without any formal introduction, to write the first four 4-bit binary rhythms on the chalkboard, and asked them to complete it.

This mystified a few but most got the idea and by now there was a generous sharing between members of the class , so soon each student had the sixteen rhythms in front of them. You can now generate a rhythmic sequence using what mathematicians call a function-machine. If a student finished a task ahead of others he or she would find further instructions had appeared on the flip chart board.

Audition —in your head - these rhythms at high speed, at a really quick tempo. Now slow them right down. Experiment with shifting tempos, download a metronome app on your smart phone, score the rhythms for three clapping performers , and so on. The room rang with the clapping of hands. Mason Jay May In the gender binary, I feel placeless. Read the isolated words from top to bottom. Lysander 'Lice' Hardy-Pearce Sep But scant call for slicing 'n'dicing crowd control here: Smars was desolate as smug snow, too xeric to dessicater to desertcraturf - in that, arid aphex of its counterpart thru the quantumgate, unsparticulate Mars.

Sphinx had been there too, long after the novalia cleared by the Elon Muscovites for dometown of New Creationham instead became obumbrated by proxy war, a mauve Somme for drones. The Zeta-Reticulan barhover he'd met centuries later, at Sagittarius Bolognaise, had divulged he'd been staking out the Terrans for millennia, concluding that quite clearly they weren't Kardashev calibre: ' The Terran jackal apes could never build fair Isratin on Mars's blank red slate, but desecratered Earth 2.

Palasraeli peace-world a daffy god's dream. Besides, he purrferred the splanetary systems in his home universe, S-side of the supersymmetrical stargate. In whirbles pulsive, Ernie's clicking clock breath axlegroused, ' ', as the Sphinx Sphanther fremescently urged the servo- droid to 'move your chrome cuirasse!

Or was it spaceport at the Smilkomeda? The pair hinterlunged on thru tayammum douches of inextinguishable pink, spinning powders, smaze of Smartian haboob, until Sphinx Sphanther sphied, sphorry, spied his wrecked grail.

The Temple of the Dark Lord, Yod-Coalescence, indisputably a stripling of deep architecture next to the Sphinx Sphanther's incomparable find. Smickey Smouse was on a mauve rove one smauve Tuesday. As Smickey scanned yonder young scones, young dust granted him edgehug. Ernie said : Numb blah, numb blah, numb blah! They certainly weren't in Snorwich, Snorfolk, anymore. They hinterlunged on thru candybrass of dross monkies, pinning spowders, until Smickey Smouse smied, smorry, sphied the Temple of the Dark Lord, Pantherine Absence.

Smickey Smouse said: Wait there, I'm just going for a quick Slazenger Ernie said: Skoda codas. But you can't holoholo in a fishbowlobowlo, lavalampadomancy of a daffy god's dream. They longslod into the long dead clock breath of Ozymandias' unconscious.

Ernie said: edit to bore life dollop a star. Ernie said: Numb blah, numb blah, numb blah! In binary form. It was a sad day for that lonely narcissist When her battery decided To toil no more. Mykenzie Sep My messge can be decoded using the link. Steele Jun There are 10 kinds of people in this world, and binary accounts for them all. They're happy and sad. They're ones and zeros. Villains and heroes.

Villains, yet not all bad. Despite everything life decides to hurl; Despite every brick ball of fear Through the stained glass windows of their minds, Through it all, they survive. They're angry and glad. They shot this History dead. For now it is actually gone,—not a word, not a syllable of it do I know any longer.

In fact I have never in my life seen or heard or dreamed of, or romantically invented, any Horion or any St. Luna;—the Devil and I know how it is; and I, on my part, have, besides, better things to do and to lay open now, namely,. Another would have been stupid enough to begin at the very beginning; but I thought to myself, I can at any time tell where I live,—in fact, at the Equator, for I reside on the island of St. John's , which lies, as is well known, in the East Indian waters, which are entirely surrounded by the principality of Scheerau.

For nothing can be less unknown to good houses, which keep their regular literary waste-book the Fair-Catalogue and their regular stock-book the Literary Times , than my latest home product, the Invisible Lodge ,—a work, the reading of which my sovereign should make still more obligatory on his children, and even on his vassals, it would not expressly contradict the Recesses, than the attending the national university. In this Lodge, now, I have placed the extraordinary pond better known by the name of the East Indian Ocean, and into which we, of Scheerau, have steered and moored the few Moluccas and other islands on which our productive business lies.

While the invisible lodge was being transformed by the press into a visible one, we again prepared an island,—namely, the isle of St. John's , on which I now live and write. The following digression ought to be attractive, because it discloses to the reader why I prefixed to this book the crazy title, Dog-post-days.

It was day before yesterday, on the 29th of April, that I was walking in the evening up and down my island. The evening had already spun itself into haze and shadow. I could hardly see over to Tidore Island, [18] that monument of fair, sunken spring-times, and my eye glanced round only on the near buddings of twig and blossom, those wing-casings of growing Spring,—the plain and coast around me looked like a tiring-room of the flower-goddess, and her finery lay scattered and hid in vales and bushes round about,—the moon lay as yet behind the earth, but the well-spring of her rays shot up already along the whole rim of heaven,—the blue sky was at length pierced with silver spangles, but the earth was still painted black by the night.

I was looking only at the heavens,—when something plashed on the earth It was a little Pomeranian dog, who had leaped into the Indian Ocean, and was now heading full for St. He crawled up on my coast and rained a shower of drops as he waggled near me. With a dog who is an utter stranger, it is still more disagreeable undertaking to spin a conversation than with an Englishman, because one knows neither the character nor the name of the animal.

The dog had some business with me, and seemed to be a plenipotentiary. At last the moon opened her sluices of radiance, and brought me and the dog into full light. Jean Paul , on. This address to me hung down from the neck of the animal, and was pasted to a gourd-bottle which was tied to his collar. The dog consented to my taking off his iron collar, as the Alpine dogs do their portable refectory-table. I extracted from the bottle, which in sutlers' tents had often been filled with spirit, something which intoxicated me still better,—a package of letters.

Savans , lovers, people of leisure, and maidens are passionately sharp-set upon letters; business-people, not at all. The whole package name and hand were strange to me turned upon the one point, to wit, that I was a famous man, and had intercourse with kings and emperors; [20] and that there were few mining intendants of my stamp, etc.

But enough! Who apprehends this last more than myself? But even this apprehension does not bring a modest man to the point of lowering himself down to be the bellows-blower to the man that shall sound his eulogy; as I to be sure should have done, if I had gone on to lay myself entirely bare. To my feeling even those authors are odious, who, in their shamelessness, only then bring up the rear with the final flourish, that modesty forbids them to say more , when they have already said everything that modesty can forbid.

At length my correspondent ventures out with his design, namely, to make me the compiler of an unnamed family history. He begs, he intrigues, he defies. How successfully he has accomplished his purpose the reader knows, who is fresh from the first chapter of this story, which, from Eymann's rats to the cannonade complete, was all in Spitz's bottle. I wrote back to Mr.

Knef in the gourd only so much as this: "Anything nonsensical I seldom decline. Your flatteries would make me proud if I were not so already; hence, flatteries harm me little. I find the best world to be contained in the mere microcosm, and my Arcadia stretches not beyond the four chambers of my brain; the Present is made for nothing but the maw of man; the Past consists of history, which, again, is an aggregate present peopled by the dead, and a mere Declinatorium [24] of our perpetual horizontal deviations from the cold pole of truth, and an Inclinatorium [25] of our vertical ones from the sun of virtue.

There is left, therefore, to man, who wants to be happier in than out of himself, nothing but the Future, or fancy, that is, romance. Now, as a biography is easily exalted into a romance by skilful hands, as we see by Voltaire's 'Charles' and his 'Peter,' and by autobiographies, I undertake the biographical work, on condition that in it the truth shall be only my maid of honor, but not my guide.

In books, however, it is exactly the reverse, and to me, in case several or more knaves, as I hope, play parts in our biography, their incognito is a quite pleasing feature. A satirist is not so unfortunate herein as a physician. The only performer whose true name I must have in this historical drama—especially as he plays only the prompter—is the—Dog. Jean Paul. I have, as yet, got no answer, nor any second chapter; so now it depends wholly on the Dog whether he will present the sequel of this History to the learned world or not.

But is it possible that a biographical mining intendant, merely for the sake of a cursed rat, who, besides, is not working at any journal, but only in my house, must just run away from the public and thunder through all rooms, to worry the carrion to death? Spitzius Hofmann is the name of the dog; he was the rat, and was scratching at the door with the second chapter in the flask. A whole crammed provisionship, which the learned world may nibble at have I taken off from Hofmann's neck; and now the reader, who loves to read wise things as well as stupid ones, shall have opened to him to-day—for henceforth it is certain that I shall go on with my writing—glad prospects which, from a certain feeling of modesty, I do not designate The reader sits now on his sofa, the fairest reading-Hours dance round him and hide from him his repeating-watch,—the Graces hold my book for him and hand to him the sheets,—the Muses turn over the leaves for him, or in fact read it all to him;—he has nothing to disturb him, but the Swiss or the children must say, "Papa is out.

I, too, am almost as happy as if I read the work;—the Indian Ocean flings up the peacock-wheels of its illuminated circle of waves before my island,—I stand on the best footing with all, the Reader, the Reviewer, and the Dog;—everything is ready to hand with each Dog-post-day: a recipe for ink from an alchemist; the gooseherd with quills was here day before yesterday; the bookbinder with gay writing-books only to-day: nature buds, my body blooms, my mind produces,—and so I hang my blossoms over the tan-bed and forcing-bed i.

As often as Fate, under its veil, dots off from the great world atlas to a special map the little life-stream of a literatus , which runs over some lecture-halls and bookshelves, it may possibly think and say thus: "Surely there is no cheaper or rarer way of making a creature happy than by making him a literary one: his goblet of joy is an inkhorn,—his feast of trumpets and carnival is if he is a reviewer the Easter-fair,—his whole Paphian grove is compressed into a bookcase,—and what else do his blue Mondays consist of than written or read Dog-post-days?

At the gate of the First Chapter, the readers ask the incomers: "What is your name? The Dog answers for all: H. Herr Januarius, not Holy Januarius; but the Prince of Flachsenfingen bore that name—had, in his younger years, made the grand tour or journey round the beautiful and the great world.

He everywhere distributed gifts to strangers, which cost him but a single don gratuit from his subjects, and he succored and pitied many oppressed peasants in France, who fared as badly as his own did in Flachsenfingen. For the defenceless female sex, like all travelling princes, he did, if possible, still more; one may say of the greater number of them, that, like Titus, or like one sailing westward round the world, they, to be sure, sometimes lose a day , but seldom a night , without making others, and consequently being themselves, happy.

In fact, the Regent must have foreseen the present depopulation of France; for he took measures betimes against it, and left behind him in three Gallic seaboard cities three sons, and on the so-called Seven Islands only one. The first was called the Welshman, the second the Brazilian, the third the Calabrian; the one on the Seven Islands, the Monsieur, or Mosye : these names were probably meant to allude to Princes of Wales, Brazil, and Asturias. He let his children grow up in no worse ignorance than ignorance of their rank: they were to be formed for future co-workers in his administration.

Januarius was, to be sure, sensual and somewhat feeble, but—except where he feared —extremely philanthropic. Lord Horion met Prince January twice on his journeys: the first time he cut across the princely planetary orbit as a comet, in the sense of a hairy star; the second, as a comet with a tail when in its perihelion. What I mean is this: it was just when Horion was in love with a scion of January's house, who lived in London, that he saw the Prince for the second time, and at his house in London entertained him and his court.

Upon this very distant relative of the Prince my papers—from an excessive deference to political and domestic relations—throw an unseasonable veil. She was, at the time of marrying his Lordship, twenty-two years old, and her whole person was if I may venture to adopt the bold expression of a London eulogist nothing but a single, tender, still blue eye.

That is all which is vouchsafed to the public. The Prince willingly let himself be mastered and managed—by the lord, whom a singular mixture of coldness and genius constituted an unlimited monarch and commander of souls. The lord had, moreover, a beautiful niece in his house, whose charms in princes' eyes made such a spiritual Old Man of the Mountain as he at once younger and more smooth. But the death-bell threw its discords into these harmonies of life.

The beloved of his Lordship fled from the rough earth, and left behind her his first-born son as a memorial, and pledge of love; she died in her twenty-third year, as it were of the life of her child, some days after its birth, and the thin, tender twig broke down under the ripe fruit. Lord Horion bowed silently to fate. He had loved her terribly, without showing it: he mourned her in the same manner, without moistening his deep black eye.

The Prince found in the niece, i. The subsequent Chief Chamberlain, Le Baut, had the same sentiments, and, what is still more, toward the same person; and as Indian courtiers imitate all wounds of their sovereign, so did Le Baut with an arrow of Cupid copy those of his master, and transferred to himself therewith one of the severest. These London histories cannot last much longer, and then we shall happily get back again to our St.

A burning fever seized the Regent, which his physician, Dr. Culpepper, held to be merely zigzag dartings of fitful, gouty matter. I have been unable, hitherto, to ascertain whether this Culpepper has any tolerably near relationship to his well-known namesake and professional co-master in London. The fever hunted January so hard, and the Father Confessor instituted with his conscience, instead of extinguishing processes, so many incendiary ones, that in the agony of death he took a solemn oath never again at the sight of a maiden to think of Depopulation and Revolution.

The same weakness which strengthened his superstition and childlike credulity ministered to his sensuality; when he was up again, he absolutely knew not what to do. The niece and his oath were next-door neighbors in the chambers of his brain. A clever ex-Jesuit from Ireland, who lived only for doubts of conscience, and had himself a conscientia dubia , flew to the help of the doubter, and gave him to understand that "his vow, especially before getting absolution from it, he must conscientiously keep, excepting the sinful and impossible point therein, that, namely, which, without the consent of his spouse, he had neither the right to promise nor the power to fulfil.

January was too religious not to refrain wholly from the simple form. It is hard to investigate the relation in which his now increased love for his four grand dukes or little dukes in Gaul stood to the fulfilment of his vow; in short, he gave his Lordship the commission and full power to fetch the four little persons from Gaul to London, because he wanted to take his beloved anonymous little posterity with him to Germany.

It was uncertain whether he loved the mothers so heartily for the children's sake, or the children for the sake of the mothers. His Lordship went gladly, like Kotzebue but differently , after the death of his beloved, to France. At last there came, not from him, but from the tutors of the Welshman, the Brazilian, the Calabrian, the sad intelligence, that in one night, probably according to a concerted plan of conspired prince-stealers, the three children had been abducted; and not long after that the sorrowful post was not only confirmed by his Lordship, but aggravated by the new one, that the Monsieur or Mosye on the Seven Islands was no more—to be found there.

Fate often gives man the balsam before the wound: January received his fifth son, whom I shall never call anything but the Infante, still earlier than the tidings of his forfeited blessing of children. The chief Chamberlain, Von Le Baut, had wedded the mother of the Infante his Lordship's niece ; but he dated his marriage three quarter-days back, instead of announcing it one later. I have never been able to see the connection of this anachronism or misreckoning of time with the Prince's vow.

For the rest, dangerous as January's votum made him to the husbands of his court, and harmless to the fathers , nevertheless, the virtuous confidence which the husbands reposed in the female virtue which they had appropriated to themselves by marriage was so unlimited, that they, without hesitation, led that virtue into the midst of his unbridled flames. Nay, they even disdained the fear of being suspected of doing so in order that, when he laid down his crown on the toilet-table of their spouses, they might play with the shining wall-crown corona muralis as with a joujou , and with its brilliancy throw a dazzling light into people's windows: for a courtier cares more to own his wife than to watch over her.

It will come on presently, cry the puppet-players; it will be over presently, say I. When, at length, his Lordship returned empty-handed, he was greatly surprised, not at the presence of the Infante, but at his adoption,—namely, at the marriage of Le Baut.

But this High Chamberlain was—and no one minded it less than Horion—an ardent friend of the Prince; this rendered him capable of doing for him as Cicero requires even that which he would never have done for himself,—namely, a dishonorable action. In fact, it is an uncommon piece of good fortune for a courtier or a world's man, whose honor his high position exposes often to the worst of weather, that this honor, however sensitive to slight contusions, [28] easily gets over great ones, and can, if not by words, yet by deeds, be assailed without injury.

Something similar is remarked by physicians in regard to madmen, or rather their skin, which to be sure feels the lightest touch, but on which no blister will draw. The Prince was knit to Le Baut by a threefold ligament,—by gratitude, son, and wife; his Lordship plucked the ligament asunder; that is to say, he laid bare to his niece the Chamberlain's heart, and discovered to her the poison-bag therein, and a dramatically carried out plan , which she had hitherto regarded as an indulgent confidence.

All the nobility and pride of her nature flamed up in her with shame and wrath, and, pursued by crashing recollections, she flew with her child, and with the prospect of a second, out of the city to a country-seat of his Lordship's.

Now the Prince with his Lordship and his court including even Dr. Culpepper returned to Germany. Le Baut tarried awhile longer to appease the niece and persuade her to take the journey. But it was not only impossible to draw all her deeply sunk roots out of the land of freedom and go with the party to Germany, but she even separated herself, not only by seas, but by a bill of divorce, from the filthy favorite.

She was obliged to leave with the Chamberlain her second child, his real daughter; but the first, the Infante, she clasped to her maternal breast. Le Baut was glad enough to let it be so, and thought that after the building-oration the scaffolding of the building should also go into the house-stove. But when he appeared under the German throne-canopy, his sun January stood at the summer solstice, which from decreasing warmth gradually passed over to cold storms.

January's love could more easily rise and fall than stay still, and the greatest crime with him was absence. Le Baut, stripped of both wife and child, must needs lose now in comparison with his Lordship, because the latter came upon the stage, and under January's throne-canopy as treasurer and coast-warden of two treasures left behind in London. But there were deeper reasons. His Lordship easily governed the Regent, because he held him in neither by his own nor other people's vices, but by his own virtues.

In the first place, he required nothing of him, not so much as diet and chastity. Secondly, he lifted no cousins into the saddle, but tipped bad men out of it; he bore him like a hawk on his gloved fist, but the falconer did it not for the purpose of darting the Prince upon doves and hares, but in order to make him at once watchful and tame.

Thirdly, his firmness and his fineness mutually compensated each other: the best one to rule over changeable men is the unchangeable. Fourthly, he was not the favorite, but the associate, remained always a Briton and a lord and the country's beneficent bee-father apiary , whereas January was the queen-bee and in the queen-bee's prison.

Fifthly, he was one of the few men to whom one must be equal in order to resist their will; and any one who would play the juggler's trick of throwing a padlock on his mouth slyly, soon had one to fetters and manacles on his own soul. Sixthly, he had a good cheese. This last point needs no copious explanation.

In Chester he had a farmer, who produced a cheese, the like of which was not to be found in Europe; but to princes generally an extraordinary cheese is more gratifying than an extraordinary address of thanks from the provincial syndic. With such a conjunction of ill stars, of course our Chamberlain found the bill of divorce, which at first was written with sympathetic ink in January's face, gradually more and more legible.

Still he read it through several times every week, in order to read it correctly; he could now no longer procure any lapdog a place, that is, a lap,—his letters of recommendation were Uriah's-letters, [29] —and now, when he actually succeeded in getting, through his Lordship, the charge of chief Chamberlain, he thought it high time to try, against the gout in his knee, bathing at his knightly seat of St.

Luna year in and year out, and so he set off, having first been obliged to solemnly promise the whole court that he should come back well. Properly, now, the preliminary history would be, according to promise, ended, so that I might get well on in the later history this work contains, were I not absolutely obliged on the Court-Chaplain's account to add this much more:—.

The only place of which Le Baut had the presentation at court was the parish of St. He invested therewith, as its patron, the Rat-contradictor Eymann, who had begged from him in London the oral vocation to the Court-Chaplaincy, and who could no longer obtain it.

Hence the Dog-post-days always call him the Court-Chaplain, although in fact he is only a country pastor. From the slight circumstance that Eymann, as travelling preacher, accompanied January's retinue, a great deal grew out. Eymann, at his Lordship's country-seat, offered to his present wife the neck- and breast-pendant of a heart hollowed with consumption, as a slight gift, which was accepted.

To the couple while still in England their Flamin was born. Her Ladyship loved in the person of the Court-Chaplain's wife a worthy sister of her sex, and a worthy fellow-citizen of her native land; she urged her with fervent prayers to stay in England, and when all were refused, she begged and prevailed upon her at least to let her Flamin—in order to be at all events half a Briton—stay behind in the society of Victor and the Infante, till the friendly trio [30] should be transplanted simultaneously into German soil.

The Parson's wife was strong enough to sacrifice for the sake of her Flamin's finer education the enjoyment of his presence, and left him behind under the eyes of love and in the little arms of childish friendship. The same training hand— Dahore was the name of the teacher—reared and watered the three noble flowers, which sucked from one kind of bed and ether three kinds of color, and developed unlike stamens and honeycups.

Dahore had the hearts of all children in his tender hand, simply because his own never boiled and blustered, and because an ideal beauty sat upon his youthful form and an ideal love dwelt in his pure breast. The three children loved and embraced each more warmly in his presence, as the Graces enfold each other before Venus Urania: they even bore all the same name, as the Otaheitans exchange names with those they love.

When they had attained some ripeness of years, his Lordship came to put them all with Dahore on board ship for Germany. But before the embarkation the Infante caught the small-pox and was made blind, and Dahore was obliged to return with him to the distressed and weeping lady.

Victor had long and speechlessly hung on the neck of his sick friend and clung around Dahore's knee, refusing to part from his two loved ones; but his Lordship parted them: Flamin and Victor were, from that time, educated in Flachsenfingen, the former for a jurist, the latter for a physician. There are some improbabilities in Spitzius Hofmann's gourd-flask; but the Dog must be held responsible for what he delivers.

Now the story goes straight forward again. His Lordship, during the cannonading of the tattered or riddled garrison, withdrew with Victor into another apartment; and his first word was, "Unbandage me a moment, and leave thy hand in mine, that I may be sure of thy attention, for I have much to say to thee. Not coldness , but cooling-off , is the greater wisdom; and our inner man should, like a hot metal-casting in its mould, cool but slowly, in order that it may round itself out to a smoother form: for that very reason has Nature—just as they warm the mould for statuary metal—poured his soul into an ardent body.

He continued: "I have, my dear boy, in my blindness been able to dictate to thee only empty letters; I meant to save my secrets for thy arrival. I am watched by a small gunpowder-conspiracy. Over his Lordship's face glanced the cold shadow of a buried pang; he looked on his son a long time, and answered, as if abstractedly and hurriedly, "Also! Perhaps he knows these suspicions. I was obliged to postpone my departure for London till my cure. Now I shall shortly start for England, where the son is not, to bring his mother; him I shall bring from otherwheres, and with just as good eyes as thou hast given me.

I, as installed historiographer, ask no leave of any one, and interrupt whom I will. One who is interrupted may jest, indeed, but he can no longer argue. The Socrates grafted upon Plato, who never let a sophist have his talk out, was therefore one himself. In England, where they tolerate systems even among the wine-cups, a man can spread himself out like a royal folio: in France, where the spectacles of wisdom are splintered into sharp, shiny bits, one must be as curt as a visiting-card.

A hundred times is the wise man silent before the coxcomb, because he needs twenty-three sheets to express his opinion. Coxcombs need only lines; their opinions are upstarting islands, held together by nothing but emptiness I add the remark, that between the lord and his son a fine, courteous wariness reigned, which in the case of so near a relationship is to be justified only by their rank, their mental structure, and their frequent separation.

The Prince's bride, since his first wife died early and without children, as Spitz says. An interrupted influence is as good as lost. And then, too, I am, up to a certain point, so tired of this game, that I gladly flee from the new engagements in which this new arrival would involve me.

Should she, as they say, not love him, she might so much the more easily govern him; and then my absence would be, again, not good. But, setting me aside, what dost thou propose to do during my absence? After a crotchet-rest, he answered himself, "Thou wilt be his Physician-in-ordinary, Victor. He is impatient to see for himself how any one looks whose father he knows so well. As Physician-in-ordinary, thou canst, with thy art and thy fancy, keep him clear of strange fetters until I come again; then will I impose still softer ones on him, and go back forever.

My engagement has had hitherto the design merely of averting strange ones, particularly a certain—" Then, with full heart and changed voice, "My beloved! The wise man gets everything from himself; the fool, from others. The freeman must release the slave, the philosopher think for the fool, the happy man labor for the unhappy.

He rose, and presupposed Victor's Yes. The latter had therefore to dribble out his rhetorical flood during the leave-taking. He began with compressed breath: "I detest most cordially the simoom of the court-atmosphere I wish I could be in an antechamber on a court-day; I would say to all in my thoughts: 'How I hate you and your sour honey of pleasure- and plague-parties; the cursed watchman's- and rower's-bench of your card-tables; the gifts of full dishes of slaughtered provinces I mean your gaming-plates and your meat-plates!

O, my dear father! Why have I not hitherto left your diseased eye unbandaged, that you might see in my face the absence of a single objection to your wishes? Why shall not some tender-hearted man go up, and guide Fate's rigid hand, and with one hand dry, down below, a thousand eyes? I should be glad to laugh and go on foot for two months longer among the good people around us, and by the side of my Flamin, particularly just now in the almanac spring and in that of my years, and before the ship of life freezes into the harbor of old age.

Stoical I must be at any rate. Verily, did I not lay Epictetus's manual as a serpent-stone [32] to myself and my wounds, in order that the stone might suck out the moral poison; were I to go out of the house with a breast full of cancer-sores; what would the court think of me? The poor inner man—dried up by the intermittent fever of the passions, exhausted by the heart-palpitation of pleasure, burning with the wound-fever of love needs, like any other sick man, solitude and stillness and tranquillity, in order to get well.

Though he named the word "tranquillity," his inner being was agitated even to the dissolving-point, so much had the passions already stirred his blood and shaken his heart. The son had been treated too politely by the father to have courage enough to ask for his secrets, especially that relating to the whereabouts of January's son.

I treat the reader with the same delicacy, and hope he will have just as little courage; for, when any one explains himself guardedly, nothing is more uncivil than to put a new question. The departure of his Lordship was the removal of the dam which had hitherto stood in the way of the flood of narrations, questions, and pleasures.

The first investigation upon which the Parsonage entered was, to see whether it was really the old Bastian. And he it was, hide and hair; even the left side-lock he had still, as of old, shorter than the right. When the butcher's boy comes home from Hungary, he wonders that his kin are the same old pennies; they, however, wonder that he is no longer so.

But in the present case there was mutual delight at the unchangedness on both sides. On every face lay the halo of joy, but on each composed of different rays. On a soft face, like Victor's, rapture looks like virtue. Old Appel, who had never, in all her life, turned over any leaves but those of David's Psalter and that in an ox's stomach, [33] expressed her pleasure all day long to the brass kettles by scouring them with unusual zest.

The Vienna hospital for animals—consisting of an old pug and puss, who no longer hated each other, just as in the old man the good and bad souls are reconciled—and the bird-collection under the stove, which was one rusty-black bulfinch strong, took their full share of interest in the general uproar, and introduced themselves, and—which no ambassador would have done—waived the right of the first visit.

Agatha expressed her joy only with her lips, by keeping silence with them, and pressing them to her brother's. To the Court-Chaplain's credit, it is reported that he took the invalid pug, who had the podagra in his hind-feet and the chiragra in his fore-paws, and shoved him quietly in his basket keeping-room and chamber under the stove again; restored the architectural order of the chairs without scolding; and rocked the little Bastian amidst the joyful confusion of tongues, that he might not wake up and aggravate it.

But in the highly refined heart of Victor's countrywoman, the Chaplain's wife, the rays of joy from the whole family came to a focus, and diffused through her whole bosom the living glow of love. She smiled right into Victor's face to such a degree that she knew no way of escape but by bethinking herself of his destined chamber, which she directed to be opened and shown to him.

Agatha flew forward with the jingling bunch of keys; and the guest, as he entered, was followed by only so many people as there were in the house, all eager to see what he would say to it. He surrendered himself to all this friendly handling, not with the vain egotism of a cultivated stranger, but with a delighted, docile, almost child-like confusion; it gave him not the least concern that he looked like a child, so gentle, so glad, and so unpretending. In such hours it is hard to sit down, or to listen to a story, or to tell one Everybody began one, but the Chaplain interposed: "We have quite other things to talk about.

Everybody wanted to enjoy the stranger where there were only four ears, but the six remaining ears could not be kept away. My description of his confusion is itself confused, but so it is with me always; for instance, when I describe haste, I do it, unconsciously, with the greatest. To a heart like his, that hung rocking in the feathers [34] of love, was there any need that it should see in every notched window-sill, in every smooth pavement-pebble, in every round hole drilled by the rain in the door-step, his boyhood's years mosaically pictured, and that he should enjoy in the same objects age and novelty?

Those boyish years, which appeared to him out of a shadow, abiding on the lawns of St. Luna, between happy Sundays and among beloved faces,—those boyish years held a dark mirror in their hands, in which the glimmering perspective of his childish years ran backward; and in that remote magic-night stood, dimly gleaming, the form of Dahore , his never-to-be-forgotten teacher in London, who had so loved, so indulged, so improved him.

O, man often perceives but late how much he was loved, how forgetful and ungrateful he was, and how great the heart he misunderstood. The better sort of men find pleasure sweetest only after a good action,—the Easter-Festival after a Passion-Week.

My lady-readers will now want to hear what was cooked for dinner; but the documents of this Post-day, which reach me half by wheel and half by water, state, in the first place, that no one had any appetite,—which joy takes away more than grief,—except the three regiments, which slashed like veterans into the enemy,—that is, into the leavings of the table; secondly, that the meal was still leaner than the guest himself.

We will, however, hereby invite all the reading-societies in a body to the immovable feast of the 4th of May, the Friday when, for the first time, Victor's arrival and his godson's churchgoing are suitably celebrated. The Parson's wife extricated the beset darling in the afternoon from the musical circle of so many tones, and smuggled him away from under the eyes of her husband, whose Directress and Lady Mayoress she was, and led him to his chamber, that she might there, before him alone, distress and delight herself, and speak out her heart, like a mother.

Long-suppressed sighs and antiquated tears now forced their way out of the opened motherly heart into another and tender one, which was, indeed, her son's best friend. She complained to him of Flamin's excitability, which Victor used always to allay; of his love for military life, while, after all, he was a scholar; and, finally, of the company he kept,—namely, he went roving round with a young page, one Matthieu , son of the Minister Von Schleunes , a dissolute, universally-beloved, universally-spoiled, bold, artful young scoffer, who, when his service allowed it, would spend his time either over yonder with the Chamberlain's people, or here with her son: "Heaven only knew what designs he had in his visits at a citizen's house.

Victor pressed her hand with emotion, and said: "I could hardly think of sharing his heart with the best bond-fellow. Not so much as fall in love should he dare to, if it depended on me. Only me must he love, and one other person, who depicts him quite wrongly,—namely, yourself. He easily drew the hearts of married women into his drag-net by a certain kindly gallantry towards them which a German saves for unmarried ones.

Old ladies and old tobacco-pipes, however, easily cleave to men's lips. The younger pigeons he enticed to himself by his comic salt , as they catch turtle-doves by another kind. A bon-mot is to them a dictum probans ; a pasquin , a magister sententiarum ; and the critical calendar of scandal is to them a Kant's Critique of the Pure Reason, in an improved edition.

With his medical doctor's ring, also, he fastened to himself female souls; as physician, he laid claim to corporeal mysteries, and then the spiritual easily follow these. In the evening, when the woodland stream of the first jubilation had run out, three sober words were at length possible. The Parson, too, by this time, scolded less; for joy had made him rabid in the forenoon. Anger and the body are strengthened together, and therefore by pleasure.

Hence in January and February, when dogs get the longer madness, men have the short one of wrath; hence convalescents grumble more at all about them, just as people do under strong mental excitements,—e. Dog-post scribes; hence, too, in the exhaustion following sick-headache, or a fit of intoxication, one is gentler than a lamb. Towards evening, there already transpired something of consequence.

Apollonia swept and dusted her blood-relationship and her guest with her whisks even sooner than the spiders and the dust. On the 4th of May was this day's arrival of the long-absent fugitive to be right properly celebrated. Flamin and Victor led the way through the Parsonage garden, whose memorabilia and curiosa are so edifying that the correferent [35] of these acts wishes he could, by the Dog-express, portray the garden to me more clearly.

The Chaplain had stamped off many beds, not into rectangles, but had curved and twisted them into the shape of Latin characters, in double black-letter, to represent the initials of his family. His own E he had sowed with radishes; Apollonia's A , with capuchin-lettuce; [36] Flamin's F , with rape-cole; Sebastian's S , with sweet-root, or Glycyrrhiza vulgaris liquorice. Whoever was not present had left for him, at all events, a vacant place and almanac royal among squashes and Stettin-apples, round which was wrapped a perforated paper with the name cut out, which, after the peeling off of this wrappage, would appear green or red on the pale fruit.

Victor, as he passed along by a C made of tulips, asked his Flamin the meaning of it. Beyond the Parsonage-meadow stood—one had only to leap the brook—a hill, and thereon an old watchtower, in which there was nothing but a wooden staircase, and overhead nothing but a board covering instead of the Italian roof, both of which the Chamberlain had had made, that the people—not himself, for the unfeelingness of magnates labors for the feeling of minorites—might up there look round them a little.

One could see from there the columnar architecture of the Creator, the Swiss mountains, standing, and the Rhine moving along with his ships. On the tower two linden-trees had grown aloft, twined together by nature, so as, sometimes, with their foliage, which had been hollowed out into a green niche and underlaid with a grassy bench, to fan, up there, a fevered islander. The loving party climbed the battlement, and carried up with them in their rural breasts a tranquillity which softly copied therein the still outer heaven that encircled these good hearts with its veiled suns.

One lingering cloud gave a farewell glow, but it melted away before it burned out. Now could the supplementary volumes of the Universal History of St. Luna be conveniently issued. Eymann could deliver his folio volumes of gravamina grievances upon the consistorial councils and the rats. All at once, Agatha, like her saintly namesake, was invoked down below by the organ-blower loci , who was valet-de-place of the village, and Parsonage-coachman.

When certain authors say, "The coachman was blind, and the horse was deaf," they exactly reverse the case. The churl was deaf. Agatha, with more eagerness, hurried down, held the letter towards the lighter quarter of the west, and deciphered something, which, with sparkling eyes, she carried in a gallop up the stairs.

The case was this: Clotilda , Le Baut's only daughter by his first wife his Lordship's niece , was coming from the Girls' Institute in Maienthal, where she had been educated, back to her father. John's Day; and she is said to be as charming as if she were no princess at all, but only an Italian woman.

He hoped, he replied, that very few princesses, even in America, had yet been married, in whose affections he could not have become completely entangled, and that merely from pity for such a poor, tender creature or heraldic beast, pressed under the seal-stamp and then on the contracts, which were often the only children of these marriages.

A woman cannot possibly comprehend how a man whom she esteems can fall in love, except with her; and she can hardly wait to get sight of his beloved. Quite as curious is she about this man's style in his love,—that is, whether it is of the Flemish or French or Italian school. The Chaplain's wife questioned her confidential guest on this point also. I have in it even his wives; and, from Eve with her Sodom's Borsdorf-apple down to the latest Eve with an Imperial apple, and even to a marchioness with a mere fruit-piece, they are all in my hold and breast.

A lady excuses esteem for her sex on the ground that she is included therein. Women themselves have not so much as an idea of the peculiarities of their sex. In the first, he stakes his head that he would sooner let his heart mould in his thorax or chest, and his poples or knee-joint grow lame, than that either should stir for any other woman than the very best of her sex,—for a real angel, a decided Quinterne.

The female Quinterne would naturally require a male one; and, in case he were that , And here let me ask, What would be the use of being a man if one were not a fool? Well, now, if I should draw the above-mentioned Quinterne,—which, to be sure, without any extravagant hope, I may well presuppose,—I should not be indifferent on the subject, but in raptures. Good heavens! I must instanter be frizzled, and have my profile taken. I should make verses and pas , and both with their traditional pedes or feet ; I should bend myself oftener than a devout monk, to make bows and where there was anything to gather bouquets; body, soul, and spirit I should have consist with me of so many finger-tips and feelers, that I should perceive at once the Quinterne would perceive it still quicker if our two shadows should come in collision.

The touch of the smallest little end of a ribbon would be a good conductor to the electrical ether, which would shoot out from me in lightnings, as she would be charged negatively and I positively; and as to touching her hair, that could not create any less explosion than if a world should fall into the dishevelled [38] hair of a bearded comet As he could no longer either hide his emotion behind jest, nor the signs of it in his eyes behind some low-hanging linden-leaves, it was a real piece of good luck, that, just at the second when his voice was about to give way to it, he looked over the watch-tower, and saw the coachman come racing over again.

The man cried from below, "he had got it from Seebass, but not till this moment. The bellows-blower ascended slowly, like a barometer before settled weather, and lifted himself and the billet he had brought back with him,—not a minute the sooner for all the beckoning overhead there,—with his levers, to the top of the tower. In the billet was written, in Clotilda's hand, "Come to thy bower, beloved friend!

All eyes now ran after the runner, and fluttered with her through the clear-obscure of evening into the Parsonage, around whose arbor, however, no one could yet be seen. Hardly had Agatha caught sight of the opening of the latter, when her hurrying became flying; and when she was almost up to it, a white form flew out with widespread arms and into hers, but the arbor concealed the end of the embrace, and the eyes of all lingered long in vain expectation up in the cloister of love.

The Chaplain's wife, who generally would allow maidens only degradations and not elevations of rank, now imparted to Clotilda all the seven consecrations, and praised her so much—perhaps also because she was a countrywoman of hers on the mother's side—that Victor could have embraced the eulogist and her subject at once. The Chaplain added, as his mite to her praise, that he had printed the initial of her name C with tulips in red, like a title, and that the letter would shine out, when the bed bloomed, far and wide.

The husband and husbandman began now to break in more and more upon the sphere-music of night with the reed-stops of his cough; at last, he made off with Victor's enthusiastic female friend, and left the two friends alone, in the lovely night, with the two full hearts that panted to pour themselves out into each other.

Flamin had, during this whole day, shown a deepening silence of touching tenderness, which seldom found its way into his being, and which seemed to say, "I have something on my heart. Silently the vortices of love swept round the two, and drew them nearer together; they opened their arms for each other, and sank into each other's without a sound, and between the brother-hearts lay only two mortal bodies.

Covered deep by the stream of love and ecstasy, they closed for a moment their enraptured eyes; and when they opened again, there stood the night sublimely before them, with its suns withdrawn into eternal depths; the milky-way ran, like the ring of eternity, around the immensity of space; the sharp sickle of the earthly moon glided, cutting, across the short days and joys of men. But in that which stood under the suns, which the ring encircled, which the sickle smote, there was something higher, clearer, and more lasting than they: it was the imperishable friendship lodged in these perishable integuments.

Flamin, instead of being satisfied by this exhausting expression of our speechless love, became now a living, flying flame. I have given thee my heart long since, but I will gladly swear to thee again to-day.

Victor pressed him to his bosom. But, before he could do it, he had to man himself by holding his peace; and they remained a long time silent, lost in the depths of the inner and outer heavens. At last he was able to begin, and to tell him that that Clotilda, about whom he had jested to-day, had written herself in ineffaceable characters on his heart; that he could neither forget nor possess her; that the creeping fever of a frightful, frenzied jealousy burned, galling, within him; that he could not, to be sure, say a word to her about his love, according to her prohibition, until her brother the Infante should come back and be present; but that she, to judge by her demeanor, and according to Matthieu's assurances, had perhaps some regard for him; that her position must be an eternal wall of separation between them, so long as he took the juristic instead of the military road to promotion; and that on this last, if his Lordship would lend him a hand in the matter, he would attain to Clotilda more swiftly on similar steps; and that the request of which he had spoken in his letters to Victor was just this,—that he would repeat all to his Lordship, and beg his assistance.

In fact, his wild arm could hold the sword better than the balance of justice. A frightful predisposition to jealousy, which even from future possibilities catches palpitations, was the chief reason. And the Twins—that ever-burning, intertwined name of friendship—glimmered in the west, beckoning upward out of an earthly eternity; and the heart of the Lion blazed on their right There are men laid upon this earth, and bound to the soil, who never erect themselves to the contemplation of a friendship which winds around two souls, not earthy, metallic, and unclean bonds, but the spiritual ones that interweave this world itself with another and man with God.

Such ones, degraded to the dust, it is, that, like travellers, regard from below the temple that hangs round the Alpine peaks as baseless and airy, because they do not themselves stand on the heights, and on the great floor of the temple,—because they know not that in friendship we revere and love something higher than self which latter cannot at once be the source and the object of love ,—something higher, namely, the embodiment and reflection of the virtue which in ourselves we only approve , and not till we see it in others can love.

Clotilda, as Sebastian learned the next morning, had originally meant to stay at the seminary till after St. John's; but, as her best friend and schoolmate Giulia had gone beforehand, not to her parents, but to the long home, her distressed eyes must needs draw themselves away by a speedier departure from the grave-mound which lay like a ruin over her forlorn heart. Without packing up, she had fled from the flowerless Golgotha of her wounded soul; and a second contemplation of it, and a second departure, and a renewal of the old tears, still awaited her.

Never was a great beauty praised in a more unembarrassed manner by a little one than Clotilda was by Agatha. Generally, the only thing maidens appreciate about maidens is the heart; the evanescent charms of another's face have so little worth in their eyes, that they hardly care to mention them.

Могу много aiding and abetting a criminal offence ukiah эксперимент

The rest of the tape is too dark to see anything, and the video's audio is out. Seth films and Alex directs while Tim and Sarah do a poor job of dialogue concerning the main character, acting idle and unimpressed. After a poor run, Alex asks for another, beginning a frustrated argument between him and the actors, which he also yells at Seth, the cameraman. During a break, Seth turns off the camera for a few minutes, setting Alex off in a fit of anger. Alex began filming himself being followed by The Operator before stopping production on Marble Hornets , and the nerve of being stalked made him irritable.

The clip shows Alex running in a field of tall grass, with trees dotting the horizon. Most of the film is too dark to see anything outside of the flashlight shining in random places, and the Operator is seen standing still twice, demonstrating his ability to teleport or Slender Walk.

Jay warns us that the clip contains the Operator, but that Alex may not have been aware of his presence. The clip opens in Alex's bedroom, the camera pointed at a wall covered in Operator symbols and slender man sketches. Alex grabs his camera and walks around his dark house. He checks the windows for any sign of the Operator.

After seeing the coast is clear, he returns to bed. The video ends with a shadow passing across Alex's body. Tapes: Marble Hornets Tapes. The clip takes place early in the filming of Marble Hornets when Alex is still calm and collected. Alex discusses filming with another person while the camera points into a view of grass, trees, and shrubbery. Alex initially responds to an inquiry with "I don't know, he'll move. The camera moves into the position they wish to film, and the Operator is standing about fifty feet in the distance, completely still.

The actors question why, and call out to him to step aside, seeing nothing peculiar about him. Ironically, one person comments that it might be an authoritative figure coming to scold them. Appears: Alex Kralie , The Operator. The clip begins in the park with Alex asking Jay to go back to their cars and grab the extra camera, because the current one is low on batteries. Alex goes on, and uncovers leaves from a piece of cement, which has the operator symbol scratched into it next to a building.

The audio begins to distort before it cuts out entirely. Alex moves quickly along the side of the building, and sees the Operator mere feet away from him after turning a corner. He swiftly flees. The clip begins with the camera sitting in a dark room pointed statically at an open doorway that leads to a lit hallway, the picture immediately begins to cut before fixing itself.

The Operator's arm reaches high behind the doorway and slightly pushes it aside while its head peers in before walking slowly inside. The Operator walks out frame toward Alex's bed, and Alex suddenly wakes with a start, knocks the camera over and turns on a lamp. He stands up, closes the door slightly again, and turns the lamp off. An alarm beeps and he turns it off. Jay ends the tape with "I need to find out where Alex has gone. Tape: Jay's Search for Alex.

Entry 15 is the first entry to be filmed by Jay after the events of Marble Hornets , concerning his search for Alex Kralie. It is made up of an interview with the character of Tim, a cynical actor known for his short temper and the smoking of cigarettes.

Jay convinces Tim that they are simply trying to finish the film. Tim reveals that he met Alex originally through a mutual friend named Brian, and that they never got along very well. Alex began as a decent director and person, but began to grow angry and paranoid as time went on, to the point that he was lashing out at his cast. Tim also says that a reason Alex might have moved away was that someone was leaving dead animals in his yard. Jay tries to ask a leading question about if Tim remembers seeing The Operator, but Tim cannot recall anyone noteworthy.

Jay asks Tim if he remembered any man in a black business suit, but Tim doesn't recall anything. Jay receives an anonymous tip on the location of Brian's House. When he arrives Jay knocks on the door of Brian's house in the middle of the night, but receives no answer. The house is brick, two stories tall, dating back anywhere between four to seven decades with renovations. Eventually, he manages to enter the building through the rear. He sees scattered papers on the ground and calls out for Alex and Brian, who he assumes are in the building.

The entire house appears to be a mess. There is slight visual tearing and loud banging noises at random. Jay continues to search the house, checking closets and lights, and at one point stumbling to the floor with a nasty cough. Jay discovers drops of blood on the floor, in a sink, and assorted bottles of pills, as well as more Operator Symbol pages and a bullet casing. He also finds a blanket and water bottle in a closet, and notes the electricity doesn't work.

He ends with the note that he plans to go back. It's noteworthy that if Brian hasn't been around, his furniture still remains. Note: the audio and flashlight in this Entry were the inspiration for the indie game Slender , which incorporates many of the same elements.

Appears: Tim , The Operator , Jay. The footage is of Jay, Alex, and Tim filming while conversing and merrymaking before continuing a rehearsal. Jay reads Brian's lines, and if one looks closely, the shadow of Tim's head seems to be visually pixelated and distorted. Outside of the window behind them, the Operator stands uncomfortably close, to the point of changing the temperatures in the room.

The video's audio rings while the picture quality begins to fade before it ends. Jay claims he has no memory of the events, and plans to go back to the house from Entry 16 to find more evidence. Jay returns to the house for Entry He finds the door he had previously unlocked had been relocked, and there is already slight visual tearing.

The house is in even greater disarray then before, with more papers, pill bottles, and trash scattered about the floor. Next to a door, Jay discovers a little white doll reminiscent of the Operator. When he turns around, he sees a man standing twenty feet away from him. He has shaggy black hair, wears a brown coat and, most notably, a white mask with black circles around the eyes and lips reminiscent of the features of children or dolls.

Masky as the fandom dubbed him tackles him to the floor with heavy audio distortion. Masky seizures on the ground for a few minutes before pushing Jay away and fleeing. Jay awoke the next morning in his car near a forest road. He notes his knife is missing.

He also notes whomever attacked him he first though was a hallucination until he re-watched the tape. Tapes: Jay's search for Alex. Appears: Jay , Masky spoilers. Jay reveals he has been video taping himself just like Alex did. He is in his bedroom. He checks his phone, lays down and falls asleep. Masky peers in from outside the window. The video becomes distorted with heavy visual cutting and static audio as Masky slowly enters the room from a shadow in the corner.

He moves around the room by what appears to be teleportation or slender walking, although it is possible the tape is just skipping, staring at Jay and into the camera. When the distortion grows more fierce, Jay and Masky disappear. Three hours later, Jay goes back to sleep, but has no memories of the incident.

This situation confirms, to Jay, that Totheark is Masky, an account which previously sent odd messages to MarbleHornets. Jay, haunted by his lack of security, ends with the note that he plans to find somewhere else to stay. Jay records on tape the items he took from the house in Entry He records the bottle, and notes that it is empty, but flashing footage back to Entry 16 shows that when he found it it had contents.

The bullet case is missing, assumed stolen by Masky. Jay is unsure of what it could mean. Appears: Jay , Alex Kralie , Tim. The entry shows a previous "behind the scenes" interview between Jay, Alex, Brian while waiting for Tim, during which an unexpected series of visual cutting and frightening audio distortion interrupts the video. Tim enters directly afterwards, wearing the same jacket as Masky, feeling cold and struck with a headache. While the Camera is pointed on Tim, a steady stream of audio buzzing occurs.

Tim leaves to begin coughing and take pills, suggested to be the same pills from Brian's house, possibly meaning that those were Tim's pills. Jay recognizes this, and also that the message from Jay decides to visit the Tower. Jay walks through the park, and a small amount of static is evident. A high pitched buzzing at a low volume begins and grows louder as Jay moves towards certain spots before fading out. Jay approaches the Red Tower and examines it from several yards. He kicks it and hears a hollow noise, and progresses to another side, where he sees the Operator Symbol.

He enters the inside from an opening in the back and climbs up a ladder. He finds a metal container at the top with a cassette tape inside. The camera distorts and he falls down. He promised to watch the tape soon. This entry consists of the footage from the tape that Jay found at the Red Tower.

In the footage, Alex is walking through an abandoned building , with Seth filming, for unknown reasons. Nearly constant audio distortion is present throughout. Toward the end of the tape, Seth is taken by an unseen entity. The footage distorts, and it next shows Alex in a room, speaking to the camera. He says that Seth is gone, and that everyone else is gone, including Jay whom, the audience is aware, is alive, as is Tim.

Alex says that he doesn't remember anything besides what was on the tape. He says that he is going to burn all the Marble Hornets tapes. This is likely the final piece of footage that Alex filmed before disappearing. Appears: Jay in a mirror , Masky spoilers , The Operator. Jay goes back to Brian's house, since he has no other leads.

He goes in the Day this time. The house is in great disarray, as before. However, Masky is present in the house, and stalks Jay. Jay also sees the Operator Doll again. When Jay goes into the closet, he finds the mask that Masky used to cover his face. Then he somehow ends up the the abandoned building from Entry As he wanders around looking for Masky he hears a quiet voice.

As the distortion begins to increase, he sees the Operator for the first time. The camera then cuts out. Jay states that when he woke up in his home the next day, his camera no longer worked. In addition, he does not remember anything past his encounter with the Operator. He then states that he is never going back to the house again, and that he is done with the investigation. This entry is from Jay's home security footage.

After he goes to bed, he gets up, and walks out of his room. However, the camera in his living room which is where his bedroom door leads does not show Jay coming into the living room. Two hours later, he gets back into bed, and says that he does not remember getting up during the night. Odd music plays throughout the video similar to classical, but highly distorted.

Jay states that he has been out of his apartment every since Totheark put Entry on his channel. He says that the previous day, someone he knew called him and told him to turn on the news. He then shows the news report with names and locations removed of an apartment fire where people were almost killed. The reporter says that a woman smelled smoke coming from another room, and that no one was hurt in the fire.

The woman says that the building will likely have to be rebuilt, but is totaled. Jay's final statement is "that was my apartment". Appears: Alex Kralie , Amy , Jay. In this entry, Jay notes he has been rapidly changing his location since his apartment burned down.

He notes however that during this run he had a realization. He realizes that he feels much better and that he isn't paranoid like he used to be since he stopped. He decides that 26 will be his last entry and signs off to the viewers. He then states in past tense that he planned to move right afterwards and end his search forever, however he received a text from an unknown number.

He shared the text that said "", and the MarbleHornets fanbase stated it was a date. April 18th, When Jay went to leave his current location he found a tape inside of a large package. This tells Jay that someone knows where he is and deliberately left the tape. The tape ends with Amy leaving and the tape cutting out with heavy audio distortion. He also states that he doesn't know when he'll be able to upload again, and thanks his watchers.

Between Entry 26 and 27, seven months pass. Tape: Jay's present. Appearance: Jay in the mirror , Jessica walks past him in the hallway, but doesn't interact. At the beginning, Jay awakens in a completely unknown hotel room with a radio emitting lots of noise and a television fading in and out of a blue screen with a loud thumping noise.

He checks the room and finds several items that seems like he put them there on purpose, such as tripods with cameras. After he gets in his car and begins driving, he notes that he doesn't have any idea how he exactly ended up where he is, or that he has any idea where he is at all , noting to the audience that the past seven months are completely stricken from memory.

He also notes the odd camera he has strapped to his body, which was obviously achieved during the seven month period he can't remember. He extends the stay for his hotel room so he can "get his bearings. Tape: Jay's Present. Appears: Jessica , Jay. Jay takes the time to analyze any possessions he finds, and locates a messenger bag with clothes, a flashlight, some orange pills in an ibuprofen bottle, and a key, and also finds a safe that has been activated, but he doesn't know the code, so he has to wait for the safe to reset to try another random set of numbers again.

Tape: Jay's Past. This is a video file Jay found on his hard drive. When it takes place is uncertain, but in the video what-is-assumed-is Jay finds some blood, a bloody stone, and a blood spattered shirt, only to notice The Operator before the video cuts out. Jessica attempts to ask Jay what he's doing in the hotel, much like the previous night, and lies that his "house is being renovated" and the day prior saying he was doing a documentary about hotels. He asks Jessica what she was doing here, and she states she got kicked out of her house.

Jay tries to decipher what the noises next door are late at night that are coming from Jessica's room. He asks her what the noises in her room are, under the guise he was filming and overheard them, however Jessica denies she was awake, coughing moments before opening the door, and states she's going back to sleep. Jay goes back to sleep, determined to find out what she knows at a later date.

Appearance: Unnamed Man Number One. Jay starts looking around the area for anything looking like the location in Entry 29, and finds Rosswood Park. At first Jay feels paranoid of a man following him down the trails while looking for clues and items that may help in his search. Eventually he confronts his follower who turns out to be a civilian wandering with his music on his headphones. Jay fails to find anything and gets paranoid, heading back to the hotel defeated.

When he returns, he tries to speak with Jessica, who seems aggravated around him. Appears: Jay , Jessica. Jessica confronts Jay at his door, aggravated and calling him out on the lies he's said, and Jay tries to dismiss her considering there's no purpose for her to worry about a stranger, however Jessica breaks down on him.

She's been losing massive chunks of time of her life, having constant dreams, and seems to be sleepwalking. She feels something is watching her. Jay stops her during her confession, and asks her to gather her things and Jay will speak with her about what he knows.

She partially shut her door and Jay shuts his, who then states he is uploading the video just before anything bad happens. This is the last time Jay and Jessica speak. Appears: Masky Spoilers , Jay. Immediately after Entry 32, Jay heads to Jessica's room, only to find her gone with no trace. He notices a small piece of paper with "Combination " with the 0 written as The Operator Symbol , which fails to open Jessica's safe, but does open his own.

Inside he finds a cache of tapes, and mounts his camera while he puts them in his bag. As he begins, a hand opens the door behind him, only for him to turn and be assaulted by Masky, whom he strikes with the flashlight, but for whatever reason is limping. Jay notes he escaped with all the tapes and an external hard drive. He then notes that he has gotten to a new location, but refuses to go back alone to the hotel, even for Jessica.

Tape: Jay's past. The first of the tapes Jay found in the hotel safe. He notes the day is April 21st, , and states he is headed to the return address for the package from Entry The return address turns out to be a gutted house with debris everywhere inside composed of broken plaster, paint, wood, and other various objects evidently fallen from the broken house, and graffiti all over the outside. At first he finds nothing noticeable whatsoever, and leaves.

Appears: Alex Kralie , Jay. Corrupted footage that Jay found on the end of the first tape. Jay plays the footage with subtitles. This video was not uploaded by Jay. It contains footage of a child named Alex celebrating his birthday. As he blows out the candles, The Operator appears. The tape this was found on is the only unlabeled tape in the collection.

The story Alex tells him is that the area inside Rosswood was used as a place where criminals would be strung to trees and left to die from dehydration or starvation, although the fauna would grow abnormally fast, so prisoners would be stretched by the trees. The executions stopped once a child was found mutilated and strung up by the trees. Alex never does tell Jay the significance of this story. At one point Jay has to replace the tape and shuts if off, but Jay of the present cannot find the other tape that leads off on it.

He does note that he feels uneasy with Alex. He also states at the end that he doesn't know what "enttry 37" is about, having never uploaded it, but does not plan on removing the video. Appears: Jay , Hoody Spoilers. Jay gets into the back of his car and sleeps only for a figure to walk by his car and peer in. Jay notes the image was too blurry to make out who it was. Appears: Jay , The Operator. Occurs the day after Entry 39 at Rosswood Park.

He wanders around his camera is assaulted with audio and visual distortions, but he doesn't seem to notice. He notes an odd hollowed out tree that sits on top of a pile of brick before The Operator shows up, to which Jay tries to hide around the side of the bricks, but is unable, and eventually drops the camera and runs as fast as he can. Tape: Hoody Tapes.

Takes place after Jay ran and left the camera behind, which is picked up and carried by an unknown individual to his car. After it is placed into his car, the figure walks in front of the car and into shot, who reveals himself to be Hoody. Jay doesn't see any of this happen until the present when he reviews it. Starts with Jay in an unknown location talking to someone over the phone who reveals to be Alex.

The two go to where the video for Entry 26 was shot. Appears: Alex Kralie , Masky , Hoody spoilers. Alex announces that next time, he will kill them. Notably, Alex never notes any person that would make them run away, and the video distorts as he announces he'll kill them. Jay makes no comment. Jay breaks into Alex's apartment to search for clues. Appears: Jay , Alex Kralie. Alex retorts that it's difficult to get things done when you're doing nothing but being attacked by "masked psycho's".

At this point Jay states that the extent of his 'help' is spending nearly three months waiting for Alex to call. In hindsight he thinks he never should have made that call. He follows Alex into the park one day. He follows Alex to the tunnel featured in Entry 29, aware at the time that he probably didn't know what that place was, meaning that Entry 29 took place sometime afterwards.

As Alex turns around, Jay runs back to his car, and leaves. Cameraman: Jay comparison , Alex Kralie. This entry is a continuation of the last, but from Alex's perspective. Jay states beforehand that he did not want to put the footage online, but did it because he feels it may be necessary if anything happens to him. After Jay leaves, the rest of the tape is just Alex as he kills a man and strangles him to death before crushing his head with a large rock.

Alex creates distortion whenever he's in front of the camera. Jay is certain Alex didn't know who it was and probably killed him for no real reason. Alex contacts Jay to meet him at Rosswood Park despite their altercation before. Jay is of course unaware of what happened at the tunnel, and is unaware that Alex knows he was following. This footage, additionally, means Entry 29 came sometime after this entry.

Appears: Jay , Alex Kralie , Masky. This footage takes place after the footage of Entry Eventually Alex shows up, having Jay follow him into the woods, and reveals that the key that Jay took is his spare front door key however Jay denies taking it, and Alex admits to Jay that the satchel is a camera case. Alex also asks about Jessica, whom Jay says everything is fine.

Jay keeps trying to get Alex to pay attention to a noise coming from the direction they came in, however Alex makes no note of it and presses on. Jay apparently switched the tapes, which is where Entry 38 happens, then switches to a new tape that comes after. Jay tries to get Alex to leave the woods, who is fine with Jay leaving, and asks him to bring Jessica next time as well, but refuses himself to leave the woods. Notably at this point audio distortion has happened.

Jay chases him feverishly, but loses him. Jay notices that despite being in the tunnel that Alex was in, he doesn't notice anything odd. This indicates that Entry 29 may have already happened and the evidence has been cleaned away. Jay walks into the tunnel and the tape cuts out. Jay notes that since Alex did not have his camera, he didn't have any record of what Alex did after he left. The rest of the video shows Jay once again breaking into Alex's apartment, this time during the day, after Alex takes off.

In there he grabs a tape and takes it, labeling the tape "". Jay of the present notes that now he'll be able to find that tape amongst the others he found. Appears: Brian , The Operator. Cameraman: Alex Kralie , Brian when Alex vanishes. This is the footage off the "" tape. It contains footage from Marble Hornets. Alex is shooting Brian wandering an abandoned building for shots for Marble Hornets.

Brian gets various base shots like staring at chipped paint, wandering the fields, and basically getting self-reflection shots. Brian expresses worry about being there the entire time, but finally gets very worried just before the attack. The Operator appears several time during the shoot and the video freezes. When The Operator vanishes, Alex is gone, and the camera is on the floor.. Brian wanders into a room with a camera, looking desperately for Alex, but instead finds Tim is laying down coughing.

When Brian turns around, The Operator is standing in the doorway. The next shot is Brian being dragged of camera by Alex, but it does not show if Brian is dead or alive. He assumes was the same with Tim, Seth, and Sarah. At the beginning of the footage, Jay says that he watched the "" tape, and that he does not trust Alex. He has brought a pocket knife in case things get out of hand.

Jessica and Jay arrive, and Alex leads them into the park. After leading the two to a building in the woods, Alex reveals that there's a secret upstairs, but when Jay goes to investigate, it turns out to be a setup by Alex, now brandishing a gun, to kill Jay and Jessica. The two heard footsteps earlier in the woods, and it is revealed that Tim is behind Alex, who tackles Alex to the ground and allows Jessica and Jay to escape. A gunshot fires, but Jay does not investigate if anyone got shot. Jay sends Jessica to an undisclosed hotel, and takes off himself after raiding Alex's car for his satchel and camera.

In the satchel he finds an external hard drive, the same one that Jay has been watching in the present. The two put all the tapes that Jay has taken along with the hard drive in Jay's room safe, which he programs with Jessica's last four phone number digits, however he puts the satchel itself with Alex's camera in his trunk in the hidden compartment.

Jay then checks the room, sets up his camera, and goes to sleep. He is awoken in the night by Jessica screaming, and rushes to her door to help. She doesn't respond, and when Jay turns around The Operator suddenly appears in Jay's room and attacks him, as well as heavily messing with the footage, and an image of Jay looking up at the ceiling with a blank expression before vanishing appears on camera.

Eventually The Operator concludes by tossing him to the floor. Jay wakes up in Entry 27 he assumes, and therefore must have put his camera back and gone back to sleep. That means Jay waking up in Entry 27 is after being attacked by The Operator the previous day which is why all of his electrical equipment is shown to be misbehaving. He wraps up noting that chances are Alex never had any intentions of helping him whatsoever, in the end he wanted to "tie up another loose end", and found opportunity with Jay looking for him.

Jay remarks he plans to find him no matter what and end this. He also notes he still has no leads on Jessica. When he returns to the downtown area looking for clues as to where Alex is, he spots Tim, whom he follows but loses. He plans to find out what Tim is up to, and notes he doesn't know how long that'll take him.

Between entries 52 and 53, three months pass. Tape: Jay and Tim. Appears: Jay , Unnamed Woman , Tim. This entry starts with video of Jay driving, noting in his typical subtitle format that he has spent the last several months discerning how to find Tim and what he's been up to.

He also notes how weird it is that both Alex and Tim have been found so far out from the original site of Marble Hornets. He notes that the building he saw Tim leave at the end of 52 months ago was an antique shop, however Jay notes via camera that the store is closed, with a sign in the yard. Several weeks passed until a person who worked at the store showed up so Jay could question her. He speaks with an older woman, asking her if she's seen anyone of Tim's description.

She does recognize a young man of that appearance, noting he always seems to stop by on his way to his doctor's appointment which may be a building down the street. Jay thanks the woman and the camera cuts out. When it comes back, Jay notes that when he did find this "doctor's office" that it was a mental health clinic.

Knowing privacy act would not permit any professional inside the establishment to disclose any information regarding Tim to Jay, Jay decides his best bet is to sit outside and wait for Tim to show. The camera jump cuts to multiple occasions where Jay waits outside the clinic, until finally Tim shows up, coughing as he usually does. Jay catches his attention and uses his lie from Entry 15, that he's continuing Alex's movie, but Tim seems concerned and confused, and heads inside for his doctor's appointment after a very short conversation.

Although Jay waited outside, he tells Tim when he leaves that he happened to be walking by to see if Tim had left yet. Tim lights up a cigarette and the two talk while walking down the street. Jay tries to lead him with "are you OK" questions to make Tim tell him why he was in the clinic, but Tim just answers he is okay and doesn't actually tell him. Tim gets a call and coughs, then asks Jay for his phone number and says it was work and he has to leave. Tim walks away while smoking and coughing.

Jay notes afterwards that he didn't appear to remember anything regarding Jay. While wandering the city, Jay gets a call from Tim, who states he may have some of Alex's old behind-the-scene tapes. Tim offers to hand em over, and Jay accepts. Cameraman: Jay present , Tim past , Alex Kralie past. Jay goes to meet Tim over the tapes. Tim hands the tapes over, then asks Jay why he constantly films everything with his camera.

Jay states it's a behind-the-scenes thing. Tim accepts that answer. Jay tries to ask what's on the tapes, but Tim doesn't actually know, as they were shot on one of Alex's cameras, but when he gave the camera back, he forgot to give back the tapes, and, since he lacks any such device to be capable of playing said tapes, he he doesn't, as a result, know their contents.

Tim departs back to work, and Jay takes his new cache. Like the original tapes, Jay doesn't see much on them. He notes sarcastically that none of them are numbered "unsurprisingly". The first tape Jay watches shows what appears to be him, someone who appears to be Seth, and Tim all talking, as they run to someone's house during a rainstorm, but get soaked.

Alex appears to be on his way. Seth departs shortly. Jay departs afterwards, and Tim heads into his apartment. The video jump cuts to Alex behind the camera and Tim inside said apartment. Alex appears to be sarcastically looking at his items in the apartment, and eventually Brian shows up.

The three appear to debate over what music to use in the trailer. The power goes out possibly due to the storm , and Tim sets out to get the power back on leaving Alex and Brian. Eventually the power returns, and Tim, after stumbling about in the dark and hurting himself, turns back to what appears to be a bedroom or living room where The Operator is standing in the corner, however Tim makes no note of him at all.

After this note, the power cuts out once more. While in the dark trying to find the breaker box, static assaults the audio suggesting that The Operator is following him through the apartment. The three appear to be in the dark afterwards and use the flashlight to try and set up music, however a shadow shoots across the wall and the video cuts out.

Jay notes the tape ends there, and says nothing else. Appears: Brian , Alex. Jay notes that the entry appears to be taking place near the end of the shooting for whatever day it took place on. Alex and Tim walk down the street discussing a potential location for Brian's "Abandoned School" for the movie.

Alex notes he hasn't found anything, but Tim has found a burned out hospital in the town he had previously lived in that he honestly believes it could pass for a school. It's very far away, however, but Alex is willing to try the hospital, as he hasn't found anything that would work out.

The two decide to do it on a Saturday. The group then proceeds to get shots, before Tim gets a call by his doctor confirming his appointment, and Tim notes he has been having headaches, paranoia, and insomnia for the past few years, and has been sleeping even worse than normal to the person on the phone.

The shooting then continues. Jay makes note that chances are his symptoms led to his current state, where he has become Masky. Jay then notes he is going to finish the tape and figure this out. Chances are this entry means that the mental health clinic in the tape from years ago is most likely the same location that Jay found Tim in to begin with. Jay begins by saying he's almost done with Tim's tapes, and is on the second to last. He puts the tape on the channel.

In the video, you can hear Tim who is holding the camera talking to Alex who is off screen talking about the hospital mentioned from the previous entry. Alex mentions that things came up and he forgot about it for a while, and that Tim and himself are there just to scout the location until Brian and Seth show indicating Entry 51 happened the following day, and Entry 22 happened later in the evening. Tim appears okay with this. At one point Alex notices a building nearby.

Tim tries to persuade him that this building they are in is better, and acts as if he is very hesitant to leave, but Alex desires to see it, stating the building they are in isn't passable and they must see the other building. They first head upstairs, and Tim puts down his camera to urinate. Alex also puts down his camera, and grabs a piece of fallen rebar. He hits Tim off screen, who stops talking after the blow.

The camera flips for no discernible reason, and show The Operator standing in the room on the other side for several moments before he vanishes. Alex then walks into view of the camera and drops the rebar before walking off screen again.

The last thing heard is Tim coughing. Appears: Tim , Alex Kralie. The following tape picks up after Alex attacked Tim. The actual tape begins with a black screen, but with something that sounds a bit like the opening of plastic. When the visual comes up, it is of Tim breathing heavily and fumbling for something in his hands.

He then begins to badly cough. Once he stops, he starts walking about the building from the previous entry, trying to get his bearings. He eventually gets outside and begins to perpetually cough. His coughing gets so bad, that he has to stop. The tape cuts to Tim sitting on the ground, coughing just a bit. Once he regains the will to go on, he returns to frantically making his way out of the woods.

He then finds a different building, it could be the building that Alex wanted to see in Entry 56, and possibly occurred after Entry 22 with Seth, and walks into it. He walks around the building for a while, and then comes across Alex and immediately runs to hide. As Alex gets closer to Tim, the audio gets a bit distorted. Alex goes to the other end of the building, and Tim makes his way into a small room.

The tape then cuts to Tim, once again, sitting down and coughing, he is frantically trying to stifle his cough. As he is doing this, a figure appears in the doorway and the tape starts to tear. It ends with Jay writing that that is how Tim's final tape ends.

Jay then explains that the building that Tim went into looks similar to the one Alex led Brian into in Entry Jay then asks why Tim had gone into that building, as he didn't want to in the previous entry, and why he was trying to stop Alex from going into the building. He also assumed that Alex was looking for Tim, as he was carrying a flashlight and a heavy pipe. Jay then states that he wishes to get back in touch with Tim.

He wants to know where the building is, and hopes that Tim will remember so he can see it. Appears: Jay , Tim , Hoody spoiler. Jay shows up and talks to Tim, who is happy Jay states he found some useful footage. Jay brings up the abandoned hospital that was in the tapes, however Tim states that they never went.

Tim states he'll go check his work schedule, and the two will make a trip there. The video jumps to Friday, and Tim shows Jay the building they were going to shoot in. Tim jokingly mentions that a man in a truck with a shotgun would have yelled at them for driving through, so they walked to the building.

Furthermore, Tim mentions it's also trespassing, but that it's rarely enforced. Jay sees the hospital, but remembers the second building from the tapes and tells Tim he is more interested in a second building on the premises. Unable to sway Jay, Tim takes Jay to the second building, and the two search the building.

Tim is on edge the entire time. While searching, Jay hears a wooden plank fall, and demands an investigation. Tim reassures him its the building falling apart with age, but Jay investigates regardless much to Tim's Chagrin. Tim argues with Jay as to why he's bothering with Alex's film, as Alex didn't want to finish it and it was just some college film which wasn't all that great.

While exploring, Jay takes off running as he spots Hoody who leads him through the building to an outdoor pump house. Tim chases after. Tim finally catches Jay, and demands why he's doing this, but Jay continues on with his story about just wanting to finish the movie. Jay wants to investigate the maintenance tunnel that Hoody supposedly entered, but is unable to find a safe way to do so as Tim is angry and they both lack flashlights.

Tim demands they return to their cars. Tim, now frustrated, tells Jay he is done helping him with whatever he was working on, and the two part ways when the entry ends. Jay notes that Tim was frustrated when they got to the second building which doesn't make sense as Tim doesn't remember going there to begin with.

Appears: Jay , Tim. Jay is in his car, and states that Tim called him to talk. He assumes it has something to do with the hospital and Hoody and all those series of events from Entry 58, and admits it went horribly and that he had no idea how it should have went anyways, admitting to have been running blind for information. He then admits Tim probably won't buy his lies as a film maker much longer and plans to come clean that night. He also knows Tim may still be lying and may show up as Masky, and that Tim may react to his accusations as either an ally or an enemy.

Tim does show up shortly, after Jay's aside, in normal attire, and Jay tries to speak, however Tim promptly punches Jay hard, knocking the camera to the ground where it lays for the entire entry. Tim, yelling, then admits that after the hospital incident he researched Marble Hornets and found the YouTube video entries.

Tim is angry that it took Jay until now to admit what was going on rather than when they were running about possibly getting themselves into danger. He also clearly becomes distressed knowing that the entries showed Jay waiting outside the doctor's office just for Tim for an extended period.

Jay admits the secrecy was due to being unable to trust Tim, and states that if Tim did indeed see the entries then Tim understands why, phrasing "Can you blame me? Tim retorts with having a lot of things he can "Blame Jay for right now". Jay pleads with Tim, citing that he knew he couldn't just walk up to Tim and ask questions regarding everything.

Tim ignores the question and states that now things make sense. So many years of torment have finally been solved. Tim then goes on a monologue stating that he was finally getting better, that for periods he would wake up in unknown locations in blood, or be unable to hold a job due to being absent for weeks without realizing more than a day had passed.

He tells Jay to imagine waking up with your life broken "and no memory whatsoever of that happening. He accuses Jay of being selfish as his actions affect everyone else. He also yells at Jay due to the fact that pointing his camera at the problem isn't the same as solving it. Jay states so people will know his last testament basically, however Tim retorts with the fact that it is a bunch of online videos and nobody cares.

He also cites Jay being insane, as Alex had pointed a gun at him and yet Jay filmed the entire ordeal instead of being proactive. Jay gets angry and reminds Tim of the Masky psychopath situation, and Tim yells at Jay to "shut up! He then states that is all Alex and The Operators fault to begin with admittedly. He explains the reason he's truly pissed with Jay is not so much causing the problems again, but that Jay has known about these issues for years and has never once tried to explain the situation to Tim.

Jay, however, retorts with that fact that he had no idea that if he indeed did come clean, that such an option would be safe and he wouldn't be killed. He came to Tim because he needed help, and states that Jessica is missing. Tim, not apparently knowing Jessica, states that Jessica was a girl he has spoken to a grand total of "two times" as Tim says and that Jay has no proof beyond Alex's crazed behavior that he is in any way involved in Jessica's appearance.

Tim then scolds Jay, stating that Jessica was perfectly well off until Jay began muddling in her life with the The Operator situation and Amy. He then states that perhaps the reason all this is happening isn't Alex, but rather Jay, and that by involving himself with people he has only served to make the issue worse.

Jay tries to state that Jessica isn't the only missing person Amy, Seth, Sarah, etc. Jay, distressed, demands to know what it is that Tim wants from him. Tim then states that Jay can keep making his videos and being chased while "not being very good" at fixing the situation, but he wants Jay to never bother him again. Jay, at this point, picks up the camera and walks towards Tim, trying to plead one last time, however Tim turns and yells at Jay that he can keep uploading his "detective videos", but he demands Jay never interfere with his life again.

At this, Tim angrily enters his car and drives away. Jay puts the camera down, hangs his head, and wipes his face of sweat, before shutting the camera off. Entry 60 has Jay going back to the hospital by himself. He notes that he didn't really want to go alone, but, with Tim angry and nobody else to help him, Jay pushed on by himself, and also notes the room where the building fire started. On the opposite wall are the words "Follow me". Jay assumes that means follow Hoody to the building he was leading him to to begin with.

Heading to the maintenance tunnels this time armed with a flashlight , Jay heads down and begins searching around. After running about the tunnels, he eventually locates a folder and a small posing dummy. The folder has the word "Liar" with the Operator Symbol on it. Jay also hears footsteps on the building above, which could belong to anybody.

As Jay leaves and takes the items with him, he is suddenly attacked by The Operator. He flees through the tunnels with The Operator teleporting behind him frequently, at one point only mere feet away. He does manage to escape to a small corridor, but is trapped. The static shows The Operator closing in, and Jay, in a panic, manages to crawl under the pipes and get away. He then breaks into a full sprint and jumps out of the tunnels and runs through the fields to his car.

The end episode captions note that Jay found medical documents and the doll, and plans to check them over. He also says he doesn't remember that final sprint out of the tunnels, so the camera recording is all he has to go on. He says he plans to never return to that building ever again. Jay records everything he found in the folder for future documentation just in case.

The records appear to be for Tim. The documents appear to be from in December, and that Tim's mother First name 'Janet' appears to have filled out the document. The first notes are that she wrote "Headaches, insomnia, and 'possible disorder'", but it doesn't list what disorder.

It then notes Tim appears to have chronic seizures, extremely painful headaches, and emotional disturbances. The first document, as Jay notes, has heavy redactions. The next document is from , and is also partially redacted. He is noted as having a monthly session due to him or his family being uncooperative.

The next document is entirely redacted except for the date of January 10th, and the Operator Symbol drawn in the corner. Jay seems more so disturbed by this document due to the fact that it only has a date and wonders if something happened or is going to happen. The final document is also partially redacted. It is a suicide assessment document of which Tim scored 14 points, well above the 10 mark that lists him as high risk. The document notes him as being uncooperative due to hallucinations and alterations of perception, hopelessness, anhedonia, rage, and questionable answers, thus making the validity of anything on the previous documents circumstantial.

Finally Jay found a picture in the folder, and it is a picture of the two from Entry 59, and the word "Watching" on the photo. He doesn't remember anyone else being around, but admits being punched in the face does not help awareness. The folder itself has the Operator Symbol and three marks on the back organized in sort of a bored expression of a face, with nothing inside.

The doll he found had nothing special on it, however it is to note it is the same one Jay found before in the earlier entries. Jay notes that Tim appears to have dealt with it for years, and that he may have made things worse for him. Appears: Hoody spoilers , Tim. The main footage in this entry was not uploaded by Jay, but assumed to be by Hoody.

The video involves Hoody and Tim. Jay found it shortly after it was uploaded to his profile, he took it off and renamed it Entry 61 original entry Hoody breaks into Tim's house. Hoody videos himself taking Tim's pill bottle and then sets the camera at a vantage point before hiding in the closet. Tim re-enters the room coughing heavily, causing audio distortion. He attempts to find his pills but is unable to take them because Hoody stole them.

Tim appears to have a seizure, causing heavy audio and visual distortion. Eventually Tim is shown crying in the corner, causing more audio distortion. The camera cuts out a few times during this sequence, causing distorted images to appear. Tim then staggers to his feet and leaves the room, unaware of the camera or Hoody hiding in his closet. Hoody then takes the camera and leaves.

During the video, the words "Look what you have caused" flare across the screen, possibly aimed at Jay. Appears: Masky , Jay , Hoody spoilers. Jay searches for Tim in Rosswood Park. He starts by wandering about by himself. When there, he finds Masky darting about in the woods, before deciding to attack Jay. Despite running about, he desperately tries to call Tim back to reality, but Masky continues chasing him and doesn't show any signs of returning to consciousness.

Jay tries to hide in some brush, but it fails as Masky finds him. Jay takes off running from Masky, and tries to hide around a tree, however Masky blindsides him and knocks him down, throwing several blows and knocking him down. Regardless of his efforts, Masky grabs and carries him off screen kicking and screaming, and Hoody takes the camera.

Jay awakens during daylight, with the camera facing him. He appears to be in some weird building. Shortly after, he finds Tim laying outside with no recollection of where he is whatsoever. The two state they may be in Rosswood, and the camera dies due to lack of battery life.

This starts sometime after Entry 62, but with no discerning as to how long ago it was. Tim is leaving Jay's car, stating he will walk home several miles. Jay tries to reason with him that he can't just pretend what happened didn't happen. Tim states he has to get in contact with his doctor first, as he had called in a panic yesterday but never showed up due to obvious reasons.

Tim tells him to go back home and not mention it to anyone, and the two will figure out where to go from there. Jay asks him how long Tim plans to be, Tim simply responds that he has Jay's number. Jay notes that Alex said the exact same thing. A text card then states that Tim did contact him about two weeks later. Some videos receive cryptic responses from a separate YouTube channel called totheark, which makes threats, predictions, and statements concerning the goings-on of the entries as they progress.

Every entry opens with a black screen and white wording for an introduction, which was borrowed for use in TribeTwelve. MH, however, is unique in that it only uses this distortion selectively- it sometimes appears heavily and other times not at all. The idea of a proxy was also used in TribeTwelve as the Observer , but it is much more of a hive-mind than a single entity. A face with an odd design, nicknamed "Skully", can be briefly seen in Entry 26 before the footage cuts to Amy. Troy Wagner who plays Jay admitted that the character in this shot was a stand-in option for a backup character if they ever required an explanation for specific situations in the plot they couldn't explain, at one point even possibly being to Jay what Masky is to Tim.

As it turned out, the character was never needed, and is entirely non-canon. ToTheArk was never confirmed to have any specific identity. The creators even admitted they know individually who it is, but likely would disagree with each other, meaning there is no correct answer as to the identity of ToTheArk.

At one point during filming it was discussed the possibility of multiple Masky characters whom all wore similar masks. Although the exact reasoning for this was never explained, the only detail that was discerned by the creators was that they could have the character never technically be unmasked as it could be anyone. This idea was also scrapped, and is non-canon. As far as the series is concerned, only one Masky and one Hoody exist.

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UK EU REFERENDUM ODDSCHECKER BETTING

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