Nightmare Fuel, Days 4 and 5

A pair of short pieces from over the weekend. With this we're all caught up!

Seven pieces in seven days.


First one is a little mini-experiment. I love non-traditional forms: in this case, exploring an idea through a FAQ. It removes context and character, leaving one with just a concept.

FAQ for The Treatment

Source Unknown

Q: What is The Treatment?
A: It is a simple set of neurohypnoticbioadjustments to alter your subjective reactions to better match cultural norms.

Q: Is this brainwashing? 
A: Not at all! We accept corrective lenses, hearing aids, laser surgery, and cochlear implants to adjust objective reactions to stimuli. Think of The Treatment the same way; it adjusts subjective perceptions the way that glasses adjust objective perception. 

Q: Why should I accept The Treatment? What good will it do me?
A: The single most important difference between happy and unhappy people is that happy people fit in. Seeing things the way other people do will help you to become more connected by shared enjoyment of our common culture. This is literally the best thing you can do for yourself if you want a better life.

Q: Won't this change my personality? Make me a different person?
A: Of course not.  It's simply changing your perceptions, the way you see something as beautiful or ugly, entertaining or banal. Is your favorite musician or TV show part of how you define yourself as a person?

Q: Won't this make culture boring, as everything becomes the same?
A: Not at all. In fact, people completing The Treatment express great creativity within the accepted bands of taste. This creates more culture which is acceptable ad lovable to more people.

Q: You suggest The Treatment for children as young as six. Is it fair to decide for them?
A: Is it fair not to? To sentence them to live as outsiders? To not give them the gift of common experience with their peers as they grow? This is the time to do something for them.

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The next one I took a different tack; this is a non-literal reading in which the image doesn't quite appear in the final piece. I rather enjoyed this one. It's meant to be read with the first and second NMF submissions for this year, but thematically more than literally.

Intermission

by L Czhorat Suskin

Dying wasn't so bad. Light, only light. Like in the stories, but before her. The light was behind, and she felt herself drifting away from it.

from Fat_tony http://www.flickr.com/photos/fat_tony/
Attribution Sharealike Creative Commons License

Not knowing what happens next out in the world bothered Sandra more than she'd think, but truth be told she'd never expected to be able to wonder anything afterwards. She kinda just expected to be ... gone. 

The feel of her body lingered for some moments, like an all-over ghost pain from the amputation of every limb, the removal of every organ. 

Then things started vanishing. The memory of the first time she played the violin or drove a car or had sex flicked across whatever was her memory, and then slipped away. Sandra couldn't remember the feel of running or eating or being touched .. even by him.

She didn't remember what happened next, couldn't remember before the light. 

She forgot remembering, what she was trying to remember. 

Didn't remember what remembering was. Just was. 

What was left of the dead person's soul felt a trickle of unease, but it didn't know why. A sensation of bright light, a place that looked a bit like a cage and a bit like a store. 

The passage of time.

Others came, stripped like it was. It could sense in them cracks, imperfections. A ghost-memory of dolls discarded for creepy eyes, missing hair, cracked faces. They were like that. It wanted to fix them. It wanted to fix everything.

Everything could be so beautiful.

Another drew near or was thrust near or placed near. Familiarity and  a wash of revulsion, what would be a turn in a stomach if it had a stomach. 

And another, broken differently. 

And a light filled the room.The light was one of them, bright burn of a bare bulb, harsh glare on all the chipped and broken edges.

Time

passed



Something new. A voice. Not unkind.

"You made a bit of a mess of that last time around, but I think you're ready to try again. When you have those moments you feel deja-vu, the fluttering in your stomach, love-at-first-site, inexplicable fear and loathing... Pay attention. That's your memory of the last time around. Or the time before that.

Of course, you'll not remember my telling you this. Good luck."

He slowly felt the sensation of sensation. Was he put back together? Grown anew? Were some parts the discarded scraps of the others? 

 limbs and lungs, hair and heart, ears and eyes. 
Soon light, only light,

he pushed towards it.

NightMare Fuel, Day the 7th - The Art of Murder

Nightmare Fuel! Today we celebrate one week of writing horrible things! I've shared these already with the NMF community, but have not had time to post them all here, until this morning.

This one is about an issue important to me, and a question for all of us: is there responsibility inherent in the choice of entertainments we create or support? Yes, this one is a touch didactic and talking-headish. I'll revisit later. For the nonce, what are your choices? If you support the existence of violent games like the Grand Theft Auto series, how do you answer Brooke's final question? 

The Art of Murder

"...freedom of speech. It's what the country was founded on. Even in the wake of this tragedy, I find the very question to be anti-American."
--Excerpt from interview with Alan Roche, April, 1999

Alan Roche flipped off the news. It was tragic, so tragic, but what bothered him the most is that he knew the questions would come. The way they always come. The same dance, probably with the same reporter. The world of gaming had been good to him, had gotten him this cabin with the fireplace and great natural light to draw storyboards for his next project. He didn't do the animations anymore, there were people for that. Didn't do much of the programming either, but he still understood most of it. Today he was storyboarding one of the cutscenes, looking back and forth from his sketchbook to what would be the finished product. Should the viewpoint stay at eye level for immersive realism? Drop closer to the dying woman for intimacy? OR a little higher to heighten the feeling of power?

"...you think the brain scans mean anything? You've shown me pictures on a computer screen. That doesn't make me a doctor any more than playing one of my games makes you a murderer. I've gamed for years, and never killed ... "
--Excerpt from interview with Alan Roche, April 2007

He sketched it out again, slightly stylized  this time, in a faux-Japanese style. No brushes yet. He was still halfwaiting for the phone...

"...terrible tragedy. We've had a mental illness problem in this country for a long, long time. What we don't have is a video game problem. Mass shootings a fair bit older than video games."

--Excerpt from interview with Alan Roche, December, 2012

..and it didn't disappoint. Caller ID said it was the same reporter. The same dance. He knew from the moment he heard the news.

"We doing this again? You want a statement?"

Silence on the other side.

"Ms Brooks? You there?"

"I can't do it this time." Her voice was flat, almost robotic.

"Then why'd you call me? ABout the shooting? Everyone should know by now. Games don't cause killings. Never have."

"Alan," she'd never called him Alan. "Alan, my niece was in that school. I've... not heard from her yet."

The Art of Murder by
O-Nobody-O
http://www.deviantart.com/art/Art-of-murder-169142210

Roche tightened his grip on the phone. What was it now? Emotional blackmail? Was that supposed to make him feel worse? Change his tune? "I'm very sorry and hope she's OK. You know this doesn't change anything."

"What I wanted to say... what I wanted to ask... the last thing I'll ask.. is how you feel about  having wasted your life?"

Alan almost laughed, but caught himself. "What do you mean wasted? I'm successful. I have a nice home. I make millions of people happy."

He heard sniffling from the other side of the phone, and a deep breath. "Because everytime this happens, you say games have no effect. That it's just a toy. That it doesn't  impact anyone. So, my last ever question to you, is how it feels for your life's work to be on something with no impact. On anyone."

Nightmare Fuel, Day the Sixth

My ongoing writing of horrible things. This one was and Day 7 both felt a bit literal and didactic to me. They're pieces which would really benefit from the work I lack the time to give them. 

Meeting with an Angel

by L Czhorat Suskin

From Flickr.com/photos/o_0 under a Creative Commons
Attribution license

A voice whispered into the Angel's ear, "new packet arrived. Terrorist bombing, Istanbul. Playback?"
The Angel subvocalized his answer "Playback affirmative."

Brightly lit cafe, latemorning, last businessmen of the morning rush trickle by the waitress catches his eye she's so familiar, comfortable, he knows this is is favorite seat, his favorite time.

Hot coffee in front of him, thick and dark in the Turkish style. From nearby minarets the call to prayer. The Angel expected it a minute before it came. The sounds, the smells, all felt familiar, comforting.

As the voice of the Muezzin fades, a whipcrackbang tears through the air, rending away the coming silence. Screams from all directions at once, the face window explodes into glass shrapnel flays open the waitresses face she's screaming screaming the Angel isn't hurt but his ears ring he drops to his knees gutpunched with the shock of the blast he'd known was coming outside bodies..."

"Stop playback."

The street, the cafe, Istanbul fades away, leaving the Angel with a sense of emptiness. He drops to his knees, feels tears streaking his eyes.

Deepbreath deep breath.

Remove the goggles. There, in his office, stood the developer stood in the office, shifting her weight back and forth, her grip tight on the her handheld and the cheap set of immersion goggles she'd brought. He could have used them, probably should have to put her at ease, but goggles are too personal.

He rubbed his eyes, in the guise of massaging the ache of tight goggles. His fit perfectly, didn't ache. He rubbed his eyes anyway.

Deep breaths.

"Impressive demo."

The developer nodded. "It's not just seeing, but feeling. We use a combination of the live footage and stock and manipulated and also very light direct magnetoneural don't worry that part's safe and it gives you the emotional response like it was your home. You'll also remember it that way and still care. Just think! People will still care, days, weeks later about people not like them, they'll see these places on the TV and feel deja vu and they'll hear about something else and feel sad and they'll want to help. It's still just sending the news, but it's better. It lets people, see, really see! It's like the difference between words and  picture and a video. This will be the future of news!"

The Angel nodded silently. "I'm impressed. We can definitely find some market for this. Imagine product placement in a virtie with that feeling of familiarity I got from the turkish coffee. I'd never had Turkish coffee, but it completely felt like something I'd had my whole life. Like a part of my life."

The developer tightened her lips. "That's not what I was looking for. Think about the news.. about disasters, about poverty. Think about seeing a story the right way, so you'd care about it..."

"Yes, yes, there'll be that too, I'm sure." The Angel fiddled with his handheld as he spoke. "After, of course, whatever deals of exclusivity run out. There. I've beamed you some contracts. Sign them and not only will the money to finish developing this be yours, but we'll be well on the way to a plan to market for you. You needn't worry about any of the messy details."

Nightmare Fuel, Day the Third. Checkup Day

This is a fun experiment this year; I'm definitely feeling a theme in my responses, perhaps helped by the images being so similar. I'll leave it to you to see what ongoing threads you find in this, and to myself to contemplate Frankensteining them together in some kind of stitch-up.

Thanks as always to Andrea Trask for hosting this project.

Checkup Day
by L Czhorat Suskin

They called him Mr. White. That's all you remember. If you are remembering it for real. It was, after all, so long ago.

There'd been whispers - you think there'd been whispers. Mutterings. Rumors. You were never a very outgoing child, never cool, never popular. Never the one who anybody told the secrets to. No, you were the one who overheard something while you lingered near the swings, waiting for someone to get bored and free one up for you. You'd piece it together, a little puzzle.

Mr White came to the school each year.

Mr. White  looked into your ears, far enough to see your brain.

Mr. White looked up your nose and counted your boogers.

Mr. White examined your scalp with an impossibly sharp needle, probing the secret place where each hair begun.

Mr. White would find scurvy, scoliosis, lice, leprosy, acne, anthrax.

Mr. White was looking for something. If he found it, he'd take you away.

So you waited. You lined up, single file with the other kids. You remember the line, you remember his sportjacket, like the one your father took off every day when he got home. You thought you'd never recognize him if you saw him again, but he looked like the dad from a TV show. That kinda face, a smell like the bathroom right after your mother finished cleaning it Crisp white shirtcuffs peaking from the sleeves of his jacket. Mr. White.

National Archieef, The Commons (Flickr)

You remember that Jackie was first, you were second. The rest, of course, behind. It felt like a punch in your guy when he pulled her mouth open, probed deep inside with gleaming metal picks, his eyes focused beyond her front teeth his eyebrows flickup a look on his face you never saw on  TV dad but just for a moment then he was just Mr White and

Done.

You've tried to remember your turn, but you can't. You know he pulled your mouth open, a metal hook on the corner of your lip. You know that something sharp scraped the inside of your mouth, so far back you almost gagged, back to your back teeth and a little behind and you know

you know all of that. But you don't remember it.

What you do remember, the only thing you remember, is that you never saw Jackie again.

Until now. At first you weren't sure. People change through the years, after all. Once getting onto the subway as you were getting off, once across the street, fading into the crowd. IN a taxi. A face in a crowd scene on te TV news. Again and again. The more you see her, the more your teeth hurt. A dull ache growing in the wisdom teeth you're so proud to still have, crescendoing to a burning stab, then fading into a background ache that won't quite go away. Until you can't eat, can barely open your mouth need to clench against the pain but the clench hurts and you can't see past the pain and finally you call
your dentist isn't there but a colleague is covering... yes, now. Today you arrive.

You barely see the hygenist through tears of pain and oh it hurts at least he's still there, you barely feel his fingers brush your neck as he  clips the papersmock around your neck the chair embraces you and it smells of the dentist office, it smells like disinfectant like the bathroom after your mother cleaned it it smells like it smells

the voice comes from so far away, almost lost in the pain you catch a few words "...you under. .... this ..... hurt...." under this hurt you smell plastic as the mask covers your nose and mouth look up to see the Dentist's face

he's not changed.

It's Mr. White.

The pain fades away, for a time.

Nightmare Fuel - Day the Second (and revisit the first!)

More writing today! Every day for the month? We'll see. Those looking for AV, fear not! I'll sandwich in another AV post hopefully by week's end.

Yesterday I gave you my first Nightmare Fuel entry, which I also shared with the other participants. I told them something I've not shared with you on this blog until now: that there was originally a second part which I deleted in one of my rare moments of brevity. Those who saw both posts uniformly considered the second to be the singer of the two, which shows once again that I have no idea how to judge my own work. Here it is for those of you who are interested. Compare it to yesterday's piece and let me know what you think.

On the Swing
by L Czhorat Suskin

2012
It wasn't the story wanted, wasn't the part of the story I wanted. Too big, too sensational, too ... tawdry. You've heard about that poor girl by now. The mysterious disappearance, the slow fade from memory, the growing certainty that we'd never see her again. But this time you know we did, that if you can stop yourself from mourning the lost years of her youth, if you look past the damage outside and in, if you don't gaze forward at the decades of therapy she'll need... in other words, if you're willfully blind and stupid you can almost pretend that just maybe this is a happy ending. Or at least what passes for one in this screwed up world.

So this girl's not dead, the poor thing, and I get a job to do. Take some photos of the spot she was abducted from. Some kinda swing outside a crappy old apartment building. At night, like when she was taken.

I swear it was perfect when I took it. The empty swing at night, a perfect haunting fucking shot. But I get back home, and in every single frame there's this guy with a thousand yard stare. A guy I had to have seen. I gotta cut back on the sauce.

Fuck it. I'll photoshop it out.
_______________________________________
I still don't know how I feel about that one. There's something literal and concrete about it.

Now, on to todays' entry. The picture gave me a clear mental image of a slightly unrelated scene that wound up being the final stanza of this poem. The initial question is one that psychologists ask on intake. This I know because my wife is a psychologist, not because I'm talking to anyone else about the voices in my head.

I wouldn't do that; it hurts their feelings if I talk behind their backs.

Voices

My therapist asked

"Do you hear voices that others don't?"

How can I answer? Do I ask her?

Do I ask her if she hears them? 

My therapist asked

"Do you hear voices that others don't?"

Do I? Does she?

Does she know? Does she

hear symphonies semi silent sussurations 

tremulous tides of timid tidings

deadlines and dinnertimes taxing travails and taxes and

and

does she?

My therapist asked

"Do you hear voices that others don't?"

Does she know? 

Has she been searching, researching,

dropping eaves on my thoughts?

Did someone tell her?

Day 2 Prompt. Unattributed

My therapist asked

"Do you hear voices that others don't?"

Should I? Does she?

What would they tell me? What do they tell her?

My therapist asked
"Do you hear voices that others don't?"
I could barely hear her over the
screaming came across the sky into my head
the color of a TV tuned to a dead station
called
Ishmael

My therapist asked

"Do you hear voices that others don't?"

I didn't answer.

Hours later, a second martini.

glass table caresses my cheek

Oh.

There they are.

That's what they're saying.

Nightmare Fuel 2013 - Day the First

Now for something completely different. This post will contain fiction.

Once upon a time, there was a woman who struggled with nightmares.

When the summer faded into fall and the season of All Hallows  Eve approached, the dreams grew worse as the days shortened, the skies darkened, and the world cloaked itself in horror.

One year, she formed a plan to drive the dreams away. She woudl find scraps of horror in pictures and paintings - fuel for nightmares - and bind them in words, so they could harm her no more. For the month of October she would take one picture per day, write one scrap of horror fiction. She'd invite her friends on social media to do the same and, thus, a tradition was born.



Our host in this endeavor, Andrea Trask, is continuing the tradition this year. You can visit, play along, or even buy her complete collection of the first year's tales.

For the nonce, I'll play along.

Without further ado, here's  Nightmare Fuel 2013, Day 1

Insomnia by Demon Flame
Image by DemonFlame
 http://demonflame.deviantart.com/art/Insomnia-178609421
Shared under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-
No Derivative Works 3.0 License

On the Swing
by L Czhorat Suskin

Remembering 1982

I remember Pacman. I sitting on the thick carpet the color of autumn leaves. Remember the feel of the joystick, having to push a little too hard to one side. That dots were one point instead of ten and the ghosts were all yellowish. Made it feel kinda bush-league, but still.. pacman. 

Something else to do? See her. On the swing. I remember forgetting, remember chasing the ghosts and remember the next day the grownups talking in hushed voices, the tootight squeezing hugs from my mother, father staring out the window. Like stone.

The controller never moved left after that. I never played Pacman again.

I remember never seeing her again remember looking remember dying remember

I remember

pacman?

I remember.

It's fading.

The swing.

I remember the swing.

I have to get back to the swing.

I'll wait this time. For as long as it takes. I'll wait here.

Thrown for a loop - a day with ListenTech

How AV friends! Sorry to have been quiet here over the past weeks; we'll try to get this blog back up to at least weekly updates. There's always more to talk about. HDMI 2.0! 4K! OLED! Curved flatpanels! Today I'll start with one of the ways we can improve peoples' lives and experiences. Today we're talking about assistive listening systems, specifically inductive loops.

Some possible layouts of loop systems, with
coverage patterns

Earlier this week I had the the opportunity to meet with the good folk at ListenTech for a single day training session on the theory, design, and implementation of inductive loop systems. This was a quick but thorough single-day class with a combination of theory and hands-on demonstrations. Students included a mix of integrators, consultants, and even a family of audiologists there to keep current on how AV technology interacts with hearing aids.

For those not in the know, a loop system uses magnetic induction to send audio directly to a coil in either a hearing aid or belt-pack receiver. It's considered a better system for assistive listening than the more common IR and RF systems for a few reasons.

• No need for many users to ask for special equipment. They can see the sign for a loop system, flip on the T-coil on their hearing aid, and get the audio without having to ask.
• None of the directionality issues an RF system has; there are no risks of falling into a "shadow" or turning so one is no longer covered. 
• Hearing aids are often tuned to a specific user's hearing loss. Using the hearing aid will give superior sound quality.

The first factor is, for me, possibly the most important one. Loop systems welcome those with hearing loss into spaces and experiences in ways which other systems do not. This is the dominant technology in much of Europe, but here in the US we've been slower to adopt it. Part of this is cost, part is poor perceptions caused by some very poorly done early hearing loop systems consisting - in some cases - of little more than an audio amplifier and some phone wire. Today, of course, we can do better. 

With the ANSI adoption of the IEC 60118-4:2006 standard (ANSI 117.7) there's now actual regulatory pressure in the US to deploy loop systems which meet standards. In addition to the requirements of the standard, ListenTech's Mike Griffit gave us a list of other "best practices" to create the best possible user experience.

The IEC requirements are as follows:

1. EM Background noise must be 32dB or lower (A weighted)
2. Field strength should be 400mA at 1 meter for a 1kilohertz sine wave. 
3. Field strength should be even throughout the covered area, with variations of no more than +/-3dB.
4. Field strength should be constant over the 100Hz to 5kHz frequency band, with variations of no more than +/- 3dB

In addition, one need to pay attention to coverage area, creating adequate signage, and insuring that the proper mix of audio is sent through the loop system. As is the case with many regulations, local regulation might trump nationally-recognized standards. The state of California, for instance, requires an entire venue to be looped so as not to discriminate against the hearing-impaired by forcing them into one area. As is the case with any regulatory issue, check with your AHJ (authority having jurisdiction). Listen also certifies both consultants and integrators in loop systems, and encourages the writing of these certifications into specifications. This is one way to insure that the people who design and install systems do so to an acceptable standard.

Wire layout for a phased array system. Loops colored
in red and green for clarity.

The most interesting thing with modern loop systems is phased arrays; instead of a single perimeter loop, two loops would be placed with the audio signal ninety-degrees out of phase. This technique allows greater areas to be covered and makes it easier to compensate for signal loss due to metal content in floors or ceilings. The most important thing to remember? Be careful to lay the patterns of loop wire (or flat copper tape) exactly as designed. Otherwise, you might end up with current in one leg running in the wrong direction and creating interference.

This wouldn't be a manufacturer-led training class without at least a moment of self-promotion, but to their credit it was brief. I also have to admit that ListenTech's loop drivers are nice bits of hardware; the "Multi-loop driver" contains both two drivers and a phase-delay in a single 1 RU chassis, greatly simplifying integration. Somewhat disappointingly, there's no Energy Star rating yet, but they are more efficient than earlier-generation models, more attractive, and even have basic monitoring.

The "figure 8" test pattern. In reality, the loops
would me precisely measured to give a calibrated
result.

The day wrapped up with a hands-on demonstration of how to commission a loop system and how to make test measurements using a "figure eight" pattern to measure metal loss. This is actually quite an easy thing to do; a field-strength meter was provided to measure the signal in various frequency bands.

Overall, this is a technology about which all of us in the industry should be educated. In addition to complying with the spirit and letter of the ADA, there is a moral responsibility to give everyone the best possible experience - regardless of their disabilities. Hearing loop systems are one way we can do that - in which we can do good as a part of our jobs. My thanks to ListenTech for the lesson, and I'll keep them in mind in the future.

At the end, they gave a certification to all of us who passed the test.
Hooray!