Individuation and Isomorphism

It's not like it'd be cheating. 

They're both Xander. 

Dr Manhattan erotic sex scene. Laurie breaks up with Jon - Watchmen 2009

ScruffyXANDER: 

Let go! I have to kill the demon-bot! 

The g*n falls to the floor. 

SuaveXander grabs it. 

SuaveXANDER: 

Anya ... get out of the way. 

Anya is standing in front of ScruffyXander. 

Buffy and Riley rush in. 

BUFFY:

Xander! Riley closes the door. 

SuaveXANDER: 

(smiling) 

All right, Buffy. 

I have him. 

ScruffyXANDER: 

No! Buffy! I'm me! Help me! 

ANYA: 

My gun! He's got my gun! 

(Pointing to the gun in SuaveXander's hand) 

RILEY: 

You own a gun? 

BUFFY: 

Xander ... gun-holding Xander. 

(Walks quickly over to SuaveXander) 

Give me the gun. 

Both Xanders stare. 

Finally SuaveXander holds the gun up and gives it a quick twist with one hand so that the bullets fall out onto the floor. 

He flips it shut and hands it to Buffy, who looks impressed. 

ANYA: 

Buffy, which one's real? Buffy hands the g*n to Riley. 

ScruffyXANDER: 

I am. 

SuaveXANDER: 

No, I am. 

They try to attack each other but Buffy steps between them. 

She flings ScruffyXander across the room; he lands against the kitchen counter. 

SuaveXANDER: 

Thank you. 

Buffy grabs him and shoves him over 

next to ScruffyXander. 

SuaveXANDER: 

Ow! 

Anya, Riley, and Buffy come up to examine the two Xanders side-by-side. 

RILEY: 

Wild. 

BUFFY: 

Yeah. Okay, Xander ... Xa ... 

(sighs) 

You've been split in Two. 

But you're both Xander. 

And you can't kill each other. 

Um, well, you could, 

but it would be really bad. 

The Xanders look at each other. 

SuaveXANDER: 

No way.

 

ScruffyXANDER: 

He can't be me. 

He's all ... fancy. 

RILEY: 

We can prove that you're both Xander. 

BUFFY: 

Yeah! 

(to Riley) How? 

RILEY: 

Um... 

BUFFY: 

Um... 

RILEY: 

Well, there has to be a way. 

BUFFY: 

Ooh! What number am I thinking of? 

RILEY: 

I don't think that's gonna do it. 

XANDERS: 

(in unison) 

Eleven and a half. 

BUFFY: 

Wrong. Oh! But see? 

The Xanders frown. 

ScruffyXANDER: 

No. We're not the same. 

We're all different. 

RILEY: 

Different properties 

went into each of you, 

but you're both Xander. 

ANYA: 

Different properties? 

ScruffyXANDER: 

What different properties? 

BUFFY: 

Uh, uh, you know, uh, sense of direction. 

Good night vision, stuff like that. 

ScruffyXANDER: 

Oh, but he has a thingie! 

In his pocket! 

(pointing to SuaveXander's pocket) 

A shiny disk that stuns and disorients! 

SuaveXANDER: 

(reaching in pocket, taking out the thing) 

What disk? 

ScruffyXANDER: 

Cover your eyes! (covering eyes with hands) 

SuaveXANDER: 

This? 

ScruffyXANDER: 

It'll melt your brain! 

Buffy takes the thing from SuaveXander. 

Anya and Riley lean in to see. 

BUFFY: 

(to ScruffyXander) 

Look. 

SuaveXANDER: 

(tolerantly) 

It's a nickel someone flattened 

on the railroad track. 

I found it on the construction site 

and I thought it was cool. 

It's not magic. 

ScruffyXander uncovers his eyes to take the thing from Buffy. 

ScruffyXANDER: 

No, I ... huh. It is kinda cool. 

(SuaveXander nods tolerantly)

Washington's still there, 

but he's all smushy. 

(looks more closely) 

And he may be Jefferson. 

ANYA: 

Okay, isn't anyone gonna tell me 

why there are two Xanders?

BUFFY: 

I will on the way to Giles'. Let's go. 

They all turn to leave 

just as the door is smashed in. 

ScruffyXander and Anya hide behind SuaveXander, 

grabbing his shoulders. 

Toth strides in. 

BUFFY: 

Oh great. Rod boy. 

TOTH: 

I will not miss again, Slayer. 

ScruffyXANDER: 

(standing behind SuaveXander, 

clutching him around the shoulders) 

The gun! Pick up the little gun pieces! 

Toth raises his rod. 

Buffy and Riley dive away in opposite directions. 

Toth fires at Buffy and misses, 

tearing a big hole in the floor. 

SuaveXANDER: 

Hey, I just made a small cleaning deposit! 

Riley jumps on Toth from behind, making him drop the rod. 

He throws Riley off. 

Riley punches him a few times, 

then Toth head-butts him 

and flings him aside. 

Buffy comes up and kicks Toth a few times, 

punches him a few times, then he picks her up and body-slams her. 

She kicks up as he approaches, 

catching him on the chin. 

She gets up, lands a few more 

kicks and punches, 

and Toth goes down. 

BUFFY: 

Sword! 

Riley grabs the sword from 

the bag of weapons and throws it to her. 

She catches it and stabs Toth. 

He screams and dies. 

Buffy stands up, panting. 

Anya and ScruffyXander 

let go of SuaveXander. 

They all cluster around the corpse. 

SuaveXANDER:

Oh, yeah. That cleaning deposit's gone. 

ScruffyXANDER: 

(gasps) I was thinking the same thing! 

Hey, do you suppose we're both Xander? 

SuaveXander gives him a big grin. 

Anya stares at them. 

Cut to a shot of the two Xanders side-by-side. Now they're dressed the same, both in yellow T-shirts and identical Hawaiian shirts, 

but ScruffyXander's shirt is all dirty 

whereas SuaveXander's is clean, 

and ScruffyXander's hair is much messier. 

ScruffyXANDER: 

Look and admire, ladies. 

We see that they're in the magic shop. 

Willow, Buffy and Anya are in a row 

staring at the Xanders, fascinated. 

In the background we see Riley watching, 

and Giles on the floor making markings with chalk. 

BUFFY: 

(looking closely) 

Look, there's a scar there, 

(pointing at ScruffyXander's forehead) 

and there's the same one right there. 

(pointing at SuaveXander's forehead) 

WILLOW: 

It's all double. 

(pointing) 

This zit, and this ... 

kinda funny dippy thing. 

A-and this weird little hair 

that grows in the wrong way 

(pointing to ScruffyXander's nose) 

ScruffyXANDER: 

Okay! Back off, ladies. 

RILEY: 

Psychologically, this is fascinating. 

Doesn't it make everyone wanna 

lock them in separate rooms 

and do experiments on them? 

Everyone gives him an odd look. 

RILEY: 

Just me, then. 

ANYA: 

So ... you Xanders really do have 

all the same memories, all the same ... 

(looking downward) 

physical attributes?

(Laughs suggestively) 

SuaveXANDER: 

We're completely identical. 

ScruffyXANDER: 

Yeah, we checked out some stuff 

in the car on the way over. 

(Anya frowns in puzzlement) 

Fingerprints! 

ANYA: 

(turning to the others) 

Well, maybe we shouldn't do 

this reintegration thing right away. 

See, I can take the boys home, and ... 

we can all have sex together, and ... 

you know, just slap 'em back 

together in the morning. 

Giles tries not to look appalled. 

Buffy and Riley grin. 

SuaveXANDER: 

She's joking. 

ScruffyXANDER: 

No she's not! She entirely wants 

to have sex with us together. 

Which is ... wrong and, 

and it would be very confusing.

 

GILES: 

(getting up from the floor) 

Uh, uh, we just need to light the candles. 

Also, we should continue to pretend 

we heard none of the disturbing sex talk. 

WILLOW: 

Check. Candles and pretense. 

Everyone moves around getting stuff ready, except the Xanders. 

ANYA: 

It's not like it'd be cheating. 

They're both Xander. 

ScruffyXANDER: 

Now, hold on a sec --

If you weren't putting 

a whammy on people 

with the shiny thing, 

how'd you do it? 

How'd you get the promotion? 

SuaveXANDER: 

Well, I'm good at that stuff. 

ScruffyXANDER: 

I am? 

SuaveXANDER: 

Yeah. 

ScruffyXANDER: 

And hey, how 'bout that lady, huh? 

The apartment manager. 

SuaveXANDER: 

How weird was it when she called me "mister"? 

The Xanders grin goofily at each other. 

WILLOW: 

We're ready. We should do it now. 

(The Xanders turn their grins toward her) 

ANYA: 

What'll we do if this doesn't work? 

XANDERS: 

(unison) 

Kill us both, Spock! 

(They look at each other and laugh delightedly.) 

BUFFY: 

They're ... kinda the same now. 

GILES: 

Yes, he's clearly a bad influence on himself. 

ScruffyXANDER: 

Hey, summon The Goddess. 

Chant the chant. Let's do it. 

WILLOW: 

Actually, it's not that hard. 

Your natural state is to be together. 

Toth's spell is doing all the work 

of keeping you apart. 

I just have to break it. 

So you two ... 

(takes them both and positions 

them inside the chalk markings) 

stand right here. Side by side. 

We don't want you to end up 

with two fronts, now do we? 

ScruffyXANDER: 

Are you sure you know how to do this? 

WILLOW: 

(exhales) 

Here we go. Brace yourselves. 

The two Xanders 

close their eyes 

and prepare. 

WILLOW: 

Let the spell be ended.

 Closeup of a single Xander, 

still with eyes closed. 

XANDER: 

You gotta be kidding. 

"Let the spell be ended," 

that's not gonna work. 

He opens his eyes and sees 

there's only one of him. 

XANDER: 

Oh!

Beyond Superman

“I have to take him back inside myself. 

I can't survive without him. 

I don't want him back. 

He's like an animal, 

a thoughtless, brutal animal, 

and yet it's Me. Me.”

— Kirk/Morrison

“I vowed to PRESERVE Life, 

no matter what —

But somewhere inside, 

I hear The Voice of ULTRAMAN, 

ruthless, pragmatic…

“MANDRAAK,” He Says…

“Mandraak is The OPPOSITE of Life….”

— Morrison/Kirk

“You cannot change 

what you do not accept.”

— C.G. Jung

Ah. 

All I had to do was LET GO.

Let Go of LIMITS, Expectations.... And BE a NEW ADAM.

There. 

...allow Me to Demonstrate Quantum Super-Position as used Defensively.

...a THOUGHT ROBOT activated by the tremendous energies unleashed during the collisions of fundamental OPPOSING QUALITIES.

A New FUSION PROCESS Powered by... "Dualities"?

No. There ARE no Dualities,

Only SYMMETRIES.

What Do YOU Know of Things?

I am The ENDGAME of The Idea That SPAWNED The Likes of You, Ultraman.

I am BEYOND Conflict.

I must RETURN to MY World.

But First, Superman?

Do You DARE Test My Understanding of The NATURE OF REALITY?

Here in Limbo, There is No Material Thing to be destroyed.

Limbo is a Living MEMORY.

That's Why HERE! That's Why US.

"Ultimate Evil is Ultimate Good."

"The Most Despised Will Save The Most Beloved"

...I'm telling Him now.

Germs, Superman.

The Monitors see Us as GERMS. 

"The Most Despised."

Hate Crime.

Meet 

SELFLESS ACT.

I've fused SYMMETRIES.

Enough energie in My Hands to BROADCAST His Pure ESSENCE to a reciever in a HIGHER DIMENSION.

Only SUPERMAN can Save Us Now.

Trans

Young’s contract guaranteed him $1 million per album, as well as total creative control over his output.

From late 1980 to mid-1982, Young spent much of his waking hours carrying out a therapy program for his young son, Ben, who was born with cerebral palsy and unable to speak. Neil disclosed to almost no one at the time that he was doing so, or that the repetitive nature of the songs on both the previous album, Re·ac·tor, and this one related to the exercises he was performing with Ben. Work on Trans began in late 1981 as a continuation of Re·ac·tor, with the usual Crazy Horse lineup. 

But then Young started playing with two new machines he had acquired, a Synclavier and a vocoder. Crazy Horse guitarist Poncho Sampedro recalled, “Next thing we knew, Neil stripped all our music off, overdubbed all this stuff, the vocoder, weird sequencing, and put the synth shit on it.”

Young’s direction was influenced by the electronic experiments of the German band Kraftwerk, but more importantly he felt that distorting his voice reflected his attempts to communicate with his son. “At that time he was simply trying to find a way to talk, to communicate with other people. That’s what Trans is all about. And that’s why, on that record, you know I’m saying something but you can’t understand what it is. Well, that’s exactly the same feeling I was getting from my son.”

Young’s first work for Geffen was a group of songs for an entirely different project, Island in the Sun, recorded in May 1982 in Hawaii. According to Young, it was “a tropical thing all about sailing, ancient civilisations, islands and water.”Young recalled later, “Geffen thought it was okay, but he didn’t think it was good enough.”

Instead of recording more new material, Young went back to the synthesizer tracks, actually recorded in the last days of the Reprise contract, and put together an album of songs from the two very different projects, three from Island in the Sun and six of the synthesizer tracks. Young proposed making a video to go with the album that would have clarified what the album was about. “All of the electronic-voice people were working in a hospital, and the one thing they were trying to do is teach this little baby to push a button.”

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trans_%28album%29

Creation of a Simple Pattern

GAME FIVE: CREATION OF A SIMPLE PATTERN 

In this game, you stop giving away your control to imaginary forces. The previous games train you to look passively for patterns. In this game, you are going to start creating the pattern of the Synchronistic Events yourself. This game has a simple, but wide frame of reference. You are going to look for SEs happening in any and every place you turn your attention. There are no "others" in this game. Just you and the effect you have on the SEs around you. First, choose a pattern that is easily recognisable and has some interest for you. You are going to build a thoughtform based on your chosen pattern. Might I suggest a power animal? No, I'm not suggesting you try to align yourself with an animal spirit the way our ancestors did. You create your "animal" from your own thoughts and emotions just by thinking about it for 20 minutes a day. If you like, look up power animals on the internet. You will find lists of the various qual- ities different cultures have ascribed to animals. Pick one you want to see. There are African, Native American, European, and Eskimo power animals. You are going to build your own pet thoughtform. I have a few basic suggestions. Pick something you are likely to find in your normal event stream. I like to make owls. The symbol is represented in the culture commonly enough, but is not so common that it is commonplace. If you choose a rare animal, there is less chance the pattern will be available to pattern match. Duck-billed platypuses are harder to pattern-match than wolves, horses, or bears. 

Your brain stores memories and thinks in associative patterns. Some things remind you of similar things immediately because they share the same storage areas in the brain. Creating patterns of SE always follows your brain function. Aiming at one pattern often produces closely as sociated SEs, just as one thought often triggers similar ones. If you try to create a pattern of owl SEs, you typically also get series of generalized bird SEs as well. The stronger you make your owl thoughtform, the more specifically "owl' your SEs become. It is possible Jung saw universalised archetypal patterns in SE because we store and process data in such generalized associations. Studying the fish archetype, triggers whole categories in memory of fish-like things. Jung may have been studying the technology of human biological information storage. He may have been the first person systematically exploring genetic neuro- psychology. Our ancestors survived to reproduce because we specialized in flexible thinking. 

 The more mentally flexible you are around your patterns of association, 

the easier it is to create and read SE. 

By the way, the more fun you have doing this, 

the better the results become.

Stealing Their Stuff

“In the library I found, to my great delight, a vast number of English books, whole shelves full of them, and bound volumes of magazines and newspapers. A table in the centre was littered with English magazines and newspapers, though none of them were of very recent date. The books were of the most varied kind—history, geography, politics, political economy, botany, geology, law—all relating to England and English life and customs and manners. There were even such books of reference as the London Directory, the “Red” and “Blue” books, Whitaker’s Almanac, the Army and Navy Lists, and—it somehow gladdened my heart to see it—the Law List.

Whilst I was looking at the books, the door opened, and the Count entered. He saluted me in a hearty way, and hoped that I had had a good night’s rest. Then he went on:—

“I am glad you found your way in here, for I am sure there is much that will interest you. These companions”—and he laid his hand on some of the books—“have been good friends to me, and for some years past, ever since I had the idea of going to London, have given me many, many hours of pleasure. Through them I have come to know your great England; and to know her is to love her. I long to go through the crowded streets of your mighty London, to be in the midst of the whirl and rush of humanity, to share its life, its change, its death, and all that makes it what it is. But alas! as yet I only know your tongue through books. To you, my friend, I look that I know it to speak.”

“But, Count,” I said, “you know and speak English thoroughly!” He bowed gravely.

“I thank you, my friend, for your all too-flattering estimate, but yet I fear that I am but a little way on the road I would travel. True, I know the grammar and the words, but yet I know not how to speak them.”

“Indeed,” I said, “you speak excellently.”

“Not so,” he answered. “Well, I know that, did I move and speak in your London, none there are who would not know me for a stranger. That is not enough for me. Here I am noble; I am boyar; the common people know me, and I am master. But a stranger in a strange land, he is no one; men know him not—and to know not is to care not for. I am content if I am like the rest, so that no man stops if he see me, or pause in his speaking if he hear my words, ‘Ha, ha! a stranger!’ I have been so long master that I would be master still—or at least that none other should be master of me. You come to me not alone as agent of my friend Peter Hawkins, of Exeter, to tell me all about my new estate in London. You shall, I trust, rest here with me awhile, so that by our talking I may learn the English intonation; and I would that you tell me when I make error, even of the smallest, in my speaking. I am sorry that I had to be away so long to-day; but you will, I know, forgive one who has so many important affairs in hand.”

Of course I said all I could about being willing, and asked if I might come into that room when I chose. 

He answered: “Yes, certainly,” and added:—

“You may go anywhere you wish in the castle, except where the doors are locked, where of course you will not wish to go. There is reason that all things are as they are, and did you see with my eyes and know with my knowledge, you would perhaps better understand.” I said I was sure of this, and then he went on:—

“We are in Transylvania; and Transylvania is not England. Our ways are not your ways, and there shall be to you many strange things. Nay, from what you have told me of your experiences already, you know something of what strange things there may be.”

This led to much conversation; and as it was evident that he wanted to talk, if only for talking’s sake, I asked him many questions regarding things that had already happened to me or come within my notice. Sometimes he sheered off the subject, or turned the conversation by pretending not to understand; but generally he answered all I asked most frankly. Then as time went on, and I had got somewhat bolder, I asked him of some of the strange things of the preceding night, as, for instance, why the coachman went to the places where he had seen the blue flames. He then explained to me that it was commonly believed that on a certain night of the year—last night, in fact, when all evil spirits are supposed to have unchecked sway—a blue flame is seen over any place where treasure has been concealed. “That treasure has been hidden,” he went on, “in the region through which you came last night, there can be but little doubt; for it was the ground fought over for centuries by the Wallachian, the Saxon, and the Turk. Why, there is hardly a foot of soil in all this region that has not been enriched by the blood of men, patriots or invaders. In old days there were stirring times, when the Austrian and the Hungarian came up in hordes, and the patriots went out to meet them—men and women, the aged and the children too—and waited their coming on the rocks above the passes, that they might sweep destruction on them with their artificial avalanches. When the invader was triumphant he found but little, for whatever there was had been sheltered in the friendly soil.”

“But how,” said I, “can it have remained so long undiscovered, when there is a sure index to it if men will but take the trouble to look?” The Count smiled, and as his lips ran back over his gums, the long, sharp, canine teeth showed out strangely; he answered: —

“Because your peasant is at heart a coward and a fool! Those flames only appear on one night; and on that night no man of this land will, if he can help it, stir without his doors. And, dear sir, even if he did he would not know what to do. Why, even the peasant that you tell me of who marked the place of the flame would not know where to look in daylight even for his own work. Even you would not, I dare be sworn, be able to find these places again?”

“There you are right,” I said. “I know no more than the dead where even to look for them.” Then we drifted into other matters.

“Come,” he said at last, “tell me of London and of the house which you have procured for me.” With an apology for my remissness, I went into my own room to get the papers from my bag. Whilst I was placing them in order I heard a rattling of china and silver in the next room, and as I passed through, noticed that the table had been cleared and the lamp lit, for it was by this time deep into the dark. The lamps were also lit in the study or library, and I found the Count lying on the sofa, reading, of all things in the world, an English Bradshaw’s Guide. When I came in he cleared the books and papers from the table; and with him I went into plans and deeds and figures of all sorts. He was interested in everything, and asked me a myriad questions about the place and its surroundings. He clearly had studied beforehand all he could get on the subject of the neighbourhood, for he evidently at the end knew very much more than I did. When I remarked this, he answered:—

“Well, but, my friend, is it not needful that I should? When I go there I shall be all alone, and my friend Harker Jonathan—nay, pardon me, I fall into my country’s habit of putting your patronymic first—my friend Jonathan Harker will not be by my side to correct and aid me. He will be in Exeter, miles away, probably working at papers of the law with my other friend, Peter Hawkins. So!”

We went thoroughly into the business of the purchase of the estate at Purfleet. When I had told him the facts and got his signature to the necessary papers, and had written a letter with them ready to post to Mr. Hawkins, he began to ask me how I had come across so suitable a place. I read to him the notes which I had made at the time, and which I inscribe here:—

“At Purfleet, on a by-road, I came across just such a place as seemed to be required, and where was displayed a dilapidated notice that the place was for sale. It is surrounded by a high wall, of ancient structure, built of heavy stones, and has not been repaired for a large number of years. The closed gates are of heavy old oak and iron, all eaten with rust.

“The estate is called Carfax, no doubt a corruption of the old Quatre Face, as the house is four-sided, agreeing with the cardinal points of the compass. It contains in all some twenty acres, quite surrounded by the solid stone wall above mentioned. There are many trees on it, which make it in places gloomy, and there is a deep, dark-looking pond or small lake, evidently fed by some springs, as the water is clear and flows away in a fair-sized stream. The house is very large and of all periods back, I should say, to mediæval times, for one part is of stone immensely thick, with only a few windows high up and heavily barred with iron. It looks like part of a keep, and is close to an old chapel or church. I could not enter it, as I had not the key of the door leading to it from the house, but I have taken with my kodak views of it from various points. The house has been added to, but in a very straggling way, and I can only guess at the amount of ground it covers, which must be very great. There are but few houses close at hand, one being a very large house only recently added to and formed into a private lunatic asylum. It is not, however, visible from the grounds.”

When I had finished, he said:—

“I am glad that it is old and big. I myself am of an old family, and to live in a new house would kill me. A house cannot be made habitable in a day; and, after all, how few days go to make up a century. I rejoice also that there is a chapel of old times. We Transylvanian nobles love not to think that our bones may lie amongst the common dead. I seek not gaiety nor mirth, not the bright voluptuousness of much sunshine and sparkling waters which please the young and gay. I am no longer young; and my heart, through weary years of mourning over the dead, is not attuned to mirth. Moreover, the walls of my castle are broken; the shadows are many, and the wind breathes cold through the broken battlements and casements. I love the shade and the shadow, and would be alone with my thoughts when I may.” Somehow his words and his look did not seem to accord, or else it was that his cast of face made his smile look malignant and saturnine.

Presently, with an excuse, he left me, asking me to put all my papers together. He was some little time away, and I began to look at some of the books around me. One was an atlas, which I found opened naturally at England, as if that map had been much used. On looking at it I found in certain places little rings marked, and on examining these I noticed that one was near London on the east side, manifestly where his new estate was situated; the other two were Exeter, and Whitby on the Yorkshire coast.

It was the better part of an hour when the Count returned. “Aha!” he said; “still at your books? Good! But you must not work always. Come; I am informed that your supper is ready.” He took my arm, and we went into the next room, where I found an excellent supper ready on the table. The Count again excused himself, as he had dined out on his being away from home. But he sat as on the previous night, and chatted whilst I ate. After supper I smoked, as on the last evening, and the Count stayed with me, chatting and asking questions on every conceivable subject, hour after hour. I felt that it was getting very late indeed, but I did not say anything, for I felt under obligation to meet my host’s wishes in every way. I was not sleepy, as the long sleep yesterday had fortified me; but I could not help experiencing that chill which comes over one at the coming of the dawn, which is like, in its way, the turn of the tide. They say that people who are near death die generally at the change to the dawn or at the turn of the tide; any one who has when tired, and tied as it were to his post, experienced this change in the atmosphere can well believe it. All at once we heard the crow of a cock coming up with preternatural shrillness through the clear morning air; Count Dracula, jumping to his feet, said: —

“Why, there is the morning again! How remiss I am to let you stay up so long. You must make your conversation regarding my dear new country of England less interesting, so that I may not forget how time flies by us,” and, with a courtly bow, he quickly left me.

I went into my own room and drew the curtains, but there was little to notice; my window opened into the courtyard, all I could see was the warm grey of quickening sky. So I pulled the curtains again, and have written of this day.

THE BROOD

The making of David Cronenberg's THE BROOD

There is a fully-grown man rolling around 

on The Floor in a 1970s tracksuit.

Come in. Right in.

Sit down. I'll be right there.

Sit down. I'll be there in a second.

Goddamn son of a bitch.

Okay. That's my... Heart, 

over there on the floor.

Your heart?

My Second Heart.

Your First Heart makes 

your blood circulate, right?

But what about your 

lymphatic fluids?

I don't know.

Movement, walking and running,

 fucking, rolling on the floor, anything --

People have this whole 

other system they don't 

even know about :

The lymphatic system, 

it's like the blood system...

with its own style of 

veins and arteries...

but no heart.

You have to keep moving 

to get it to circulate.

And They've just given me pills.

They do that every day.

And I've got to move them 

through the lymphatic system.

Goddamn it.

Pardon my sweat.

I'm gonna take a bath, real soon.

So, Mr. Carveth, how did you get my name?

My lawyer knows your lawyer.

I see. I get it.

Is your lawyer preparing a case 

against Raglan, too?

Basically, yes.

Slightly different from yours.

How different?

My Wife is still in therapy with Raglan.

I'm claiming psychological damage,

not physiological.

I see. Give him some 

more time with your wife...

and you'll be able to claim 

physiological damage, too.

Wouldn't this look 

impressive in court?

[ He shows a MASSIVE Grey Cist across His Neck. ]

Do you like it? I do.

That's Raglan. That's psychoplasmics...

and it's called lymphosarcoma.

And it's spreading.

It's a form of cancer of the lymphatic system.

You blame Raglan for that?

Raglan did it.

Raglan encouraged my body 

to revolt against me.

And it did.

I have a small revolution 

on my hands and 

I'm not putting it down 

very successfully.

Then your lawyer really thinks 

he can prove Raglan's responsible?

Are you kidding me?

You can't prove something 

like that in court.

Right from square one,

you're into, what, ‘metaphysics’?

“How do you know I'm not going 

to get cancer at age 32 

whether I'd gone into 

psychoplasmics therapy or not?”

No, we'd get laughed out of court.

Then why are you going into court?

Revenge. Even if we lose, 

people will get nervous 

about psychoplasmics.

It will be bad publicity.

They won't even remember 

whether we won or lost --

They'll just remember the slogan :

"Psychoplasmics can cause cancer."

Catchy.

Is that going to help?

Maybe. I'm not alone.

I'm in touch with a lot of people 

who did psychoplasmics.

We might form a club.

I want to help you.

Okay. Thanks.

Ghost Train

The Intro. Cast a Dark Shadow - 1955 Dirk Bogarde, Margaret Lockwood, Ka...

Sympatico

Good Evening!
Thank God You came, 

I was so lonely up here...!!

BOWIE ~ WEMBLEY STADIUM PRO-SHOT LIVE 99

David performing at Wembley Stadium, London, England 

during the Net Aid event on October 9, 1999

Full set 

Life on Mars? 

Survive 

China Girl 

The Pretty Things Are Going to Hell 

Drive-In Saturday 

Rebel Rebel

The event which was meant to harness the Internet to raise money and awareness for the Jubilee 2000 campaign. 

Concerts took place at 

Wembley Stadium in London, 

Giants Stadium in New Jersey and the 

Palais des Nations in Geneva. 

The Wembley show was at capacity;other Performers at Wembley Stadium included: 

Eurythmics, The Corrs, 

Catatonia, Bush, 

Bryan Adams, & George Michael 

NetAid was an anti-poverty initiative. 

It started as a joint venture between the United Nations Development Programme and Cisco Systems. 

It became an independent nonprofit organization in 2001. 

In 2007, NetAid became a part of Mercy Corps.

MTRudeBoy claims no rights to sound or vision Footage used to Pay Respect & Honour Britain's Greatest ever solo artist

“Well, Batman came up with a pretty WILD idea, which I kind of RAN with since we’re talking about GOD WEAPONS, right?

Imagine a bullet fired 

BACKWARDS through Time.

What if THIS is where The God-Bullet breaks through into Time?

The Shell travels BACK through Time, KILLS Orion, and passes THROUGH him into The Past where it FINALLY buries itself in the CONCRETE fifty years ago.

And that thing THERE is the SCOPE 

of a higher-dimensional GUN.”

The Schizoid Man

Oh, no, no, no....

You may be a Schizoid Man,

but I am THE Schizoid Man --

The Original, You Might Say..!!

THE PRISONER, "SCHIZOID MAN" No kissing!!!!

" Terence Feely takes up the story: "The mind reading device? It was a way of getting round Pat's refusal ever to kiss a girl on screen. The girl was supposed to be able to distinguish Number Six from his double by kissing them, first one then the other. 

Pat said he wasn't going to do it and that was that. 

I therefore had to substitute a cerebral or psychic sympathy for a carnal one and being interested in the paranormal, I recalled Professor Rhine, of blessed memory, and used one of his telepathic card-reading experiments. 

Actually, I thought Christmas had come early for me because that would have been my chosen solution for the scene anyway, but I was sure I couldn't sell it — as in any other show I couldn't have — but here it was the dish of the day."

Schizoid Man

Star Trek TNG - The Schizoid Man, Data's Speech

I believe I have a few words to say, sir. 

(steps up to the case) 

Just look at that face. 

The face of A Thinker. A Warrior. 

A Man for all seasons. 

Yes, Ira Graves was all that 

and more. 

But he was not perfect. 

Perhaps his greatest fault was that he was too selfless. 

He cared too much for his fellow man, 

with nary a thought for himself. 

A man of limitless accomplishments, 

and unbridled modesty. 

I can safely say that 

to know him was to love him. 

And to love him was to know him.

 Those who knew him, loved him, 

while those who did not know him, 

loved him from afar.”

PICARD: 

Data. 

DATA: 

I'm almost finished, sir. 

PICARD : 

You ARE finished, Data.

Dr. Paul Ruth

I don't suppose 

You Speak much. 

It's not surprising. 

With all those 

other voices in your head,

How Can You Hear 

Your Own Voice?

How can you develop 

a self-personality? 

How do you feel?

THE OLD STORYTELLER, THE SAMURAI AND AWARENESS

Teaching story: THE OLD STORYTELLER, 

THE SAMURAI AND AWARENESS. Akizur

JOSE CHUNG: 

What is your opinion of hypnosis?

SCULLY: 

I know that it has its therapeutic value, 

but it has never been proven to enhance memory. 

In fact, it actually worsens it since, since, 

since people in that state 

are prone to confabulation.

JOSE CHUNG: 

When I was doing research for my book 

"The Caligarian Candidate..."

SCULLY: 

...one of the greatest thrillers ever written.

JOSE CHUNG: 

Oh...(He chuckles.) Thank you. 

I was, uh... interested 

in how the C.I.A., 

when conducting their

 MK-Ultra 

mind-control experiments 

back in the '50s, 

had NO IDEA 

how hypnosis worked

SCULLY: 

Hmm.

JOSE CHUNG: 

Or -- what it was.

SCULLY: 

No one still knows.

JOSE CHUNG: 

Still, as A Storyteller, I'm fascinated

how a person's sense of consciousness can be... 

so transformed by nothing more magical 

than listening to words. 

Mere words.

(Cut to the interrogation room. Doctor Fingers sits across from Chrissy very closely. In the background, Chrissy's parents are sitting down in the back like before. Manners is standing, then Mulder is more to the front. Scully is still leaning on the door in the back. His voice is very soothing and slow. She is sitting in a recliner, eyes closed.)

FINGERS: 

You are feeling very sleepy, very relaxed. 

As your body calmly drifts deeper and deeper 

into a state of peaceful relaxation, 

you will respond only to the sound of my voice.

(She opens her eyes as the room starts to become shaky in her vision. She gasps as everyone is replaced by aliens, down to one still holding Manners' cup of coffee. As the "Fingers" alien talks, the mouth does not move.)

Chrissy? Can you recall 

where you are?

(Chrissy is hooked onto a glass table with white lines all over it up against the wall. She and Fingers talk over the scene.)

CHRISSY GIORGIO: 

I'm in a room... on a spaceship... 

surrounded by aliens.

FINGERS: 

What do the aliens look like?

CHRISSY GIORGIO: 

They're small... but their heads 

and their eyes are big. They're gray.

FINGERS: 

Are you alone?

(She looks to her left and sees Harold on a similar table, one hooked to the floor.)

CHRISSY GIORGIO: 

No, Harold's on another table... 

but he seems really out of it... 

like he's not really there.

(In reality, the table has donuts and coffee on it.)

FINGERS: 

What are the aliens doing now?

CHRISSY GIORGIO: 

They're sort of arguing. 

I sort of hear them but 

I can't understand what they're saying.

(The aliens bicker illegibly. The "Scully" alien walks over to the "Mulder" alien. 

She and Fingers still talk over the scene.)

Except The Leader. 

I can understand him.

FINGERS: 

When The Leader Speaks to You, 

does his mouth move?

CHRISSY GIORGIO: No.

(She starts to cry.)

But I hear him in my head.

FINGERS: 

What is he saying?

CHRISSY GIORGIO: 

He's telling me this is for the good of my planet, but...

FINGERS:

 But what?

CHRISSY GIORGIO: 

I don't like what he's doing. 

It's like he's inside my mind, like... 

like he's stealing my memories.

(Mulder looks at Scully. Later, Chrissy is being led out of the room.)

MULDER: 

The description of the aliens, the physical exam, the mindscan, 

the presence of another human being that appears switched off, 

it's all characteristic of a typical abduction.

SCULLY: 

That's my problem with it, Mulder. It's all a little too typical. 

Abduction lore has become so prevalent in Our Society 

that you can ask someone to imagine what it would be like 

to be abducted and they'd concoct an identical scenario.

MULDER: 

Yeah, if it were only one person, Scully, 

but we have two individuals here, 

each verifying the other's story.

(Manners walks over to them.)

MANNERS: 

Well, thanks a lot! 

You really bleeped up this case.

(Cut to present day.)

SCULLY: 

Well, of course, he didn't actually 

say "bleeped." He said...

JOSE CHUNG: 

I'm, uh, familiar with, uh, 

Detective Manners' colorful phraseology.

(Cut back to the interrogation room.)

MULDER: 

You still going to hold the boy?

MANNERS: 

Oh, you bet your blankety-blank bleep I am.

MULDER: 

But the victim seems to confirm his alibi.

MANNERS: 

The hell she did! Those kids' stories couldn't be more bleeping different.

(He walks away. Scully rubs her forehead.)

McEnroe

Tennis Legend Triggers Panel Over Gender Differences.