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halfusek · 4 years

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Still Life (Batim Portal AU)

Chapter One – “An old man walks into an abandoned studio” sounds like a beginning of a bad joke. It is.

Summary: We here at Joey Drew Studios are very, very happy to inform you about a special upcoming event. What shall the event be? Now that’s a surprise, but we can promise plenty of old faces, reunions, party and some real entertainment. And cake!

First chapter: [you’re here]

Next chapter: [coming soon]

✪ ✪ ✪

The taxi driver kept looking at him in the rear view.

And not like looking looking. Not with a bored nor curious peeks every now and then, no, no.

Cautiously glaring. Interested but suspicious.

Weird. Sure, the destination was rather special but here’s the thing. A special destination in a small not-so-special town that’s been there for a very long time? Nothing special about that.

The animation studio surely used to wake some sensation thirty years back (alongside many complaints) but these days… it shouldn’t be anything more than a part of the local ecosystem. It even “grew out” a bit on the outskirts. Never integrated to the rest of the place, as if the streets tried to reach there before but, like roots hitting a stone, changed their directions to literally anywhere else.

To be fair, he too did hit that rock.

Being outside of the cab, Henry Stein took a deep breath of fresh air. Don’t get it wrong, the location was nice. All this nature around.

Still. Anywhere else.

He was glad to have gotten out. The atmosphere started to lay heavily on his shoulders. Even the lack of usual small-talk was off-putting and he wasn’t the most talkative person!

Something clicked and his attention snapped back to the vehicle he just exited. It was the trunk. Seems like the other man won’t be that kind to help him with the suitcase. Not that he would ever demand such a thing but maybe he’s gotten a bit used to it. Especially nowadays, with so many years on his back.

Besides, he knew it wasn’t an act of unkindness.

The driver didn’t want to get out, Henry figured while paying him through the window.

Huh.

“I’m sorry, am I misunderstanding something or did the price for the ride go up compared to what it was before?” he furrowed his eyebrows. It’s been years but he remembered the road from the town’s center to here well. Oh, very well, “It’s as if… the price has doubled?”

The driver had an unlit cigarette in his mouth. He was moving it around with his mouth. Probably wanted to lit it for a while now.

“No, the price’s the same. I already counted for your way back.”

“Ah,” Henry smiled politely, “But you see, I don’t know when I’ll need to get back, so-“

“When I finish my Pall Mall, that’s when,” there was a slight impatient growl behind his voice, “Look, pal, I don’t know what you’re expecting to find there, but this gold ore has been mined to death. You are going to kiss that beautiful door handle goodbye and wait for me to finish my smoke.”

Old animator stared at him, flabbergasted.

Then he stood straight with the polite smile back on his face.

“And I thought I couldn’t believe I’m really going to be back there. Still, I do have a very believable invitation and therefore my request to pay for just one ride stands.”

Loud sigh, shuffle of papers, flicker of a lighter, and Henry, followed by the sound of his suitcase’s wheels, was on his way to the building.

Meanwhile, the man in the cab kept followed him with his eyes, turning away only to let the smoke out of his car.

Had it not been the money, he would have already left the place. But gas had its costs and he didn’t want to waste it on turning around when this crazy old man finally realizes there’s nothing grand there waiting for him and calls for a ride back. Calls him that is, as he was the only ride around here.

Knocking ashes from his cigarette, he looked around. It really was a wild place. Abandoned. The town hall wasn’t even bothering to keep the road in a good condition. It was getting a bit bumpy but not like anyone would care anyway.

Then his gaze went back to the traveler, or more precisely, it landed on the parking lot that the said traveler was walking across.

There weren’t any cars save for rusty few parked close to the entry to the workshop.

Weeds managed to crack through the concrete in many places. No one wiped off the leaves.

In years.

He turned the engine back on.

✪ ✪ ✪

Maybe it was because he was even older, but the old man didn’t seem bothered by those sights. To Henry, what mattered was how different the building looked like in the terms of its size. Just look at that thing! More floors, wings on both sides, surely there were some additions on the other side too.

His hand was on the handle. He took a deep breath.

Not out of fear nor worry.

Excitement. He was back.

Slightly chapped lips formed a big grin.

The driver’s jaw dropped and his cigarette quickly followed through.

✪ ✪ ✪

The door opened.

✪ ✪ ✪

Had Henry turned back, he would notice the terrified expression on the other man’s face. Maybe it would have changed something.

Who knows.

But in this story, Henry has entered Joey Drew Studios once again.

✪ ✪ ✪

What is he seeing? The actual surroundings? All the memories playing in his head that happened around them? Both past and present trying to fit in together in his sight?

What is he feeling? Is it nostalgia? Is it happiness? Is it anxiety? Some kind of blend?

Oh… so familiar and yet so different. He found himself looking with shiny eyes at every little detail he remembered, no matter if it was as important as the logo with wheels still turning around the exact same way they used to when he helped to install them, or if it was as mundane as skirting-boards. And then, such a weird thing, how intimidating the different things were. Again, simple changes, like the new chairs, or something popping the eye right away, like the prizes, the decorations, the reception, the-

And just like that the balance pan favored the side of what’s been making him uneasy.

No one was present at the reception.

Actually, there was nobody at all.

Henry wrinkled his nose and adjusted his glasses, turning around.

Surely someone had to be there. The electricity was on. The wheels were turning. The lights were on.

And the door wasn’t locked.

And the letter-

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper that looked… a bit less neat now that it spent a few hours under his butt.

But what it said remained just as clear.

DEAR MISTER STEIN,

WE HERE AT JOEY DREW STUDIOS ARE VERY, VERY HAPPY TO INFORM YOU ABOUT A SPECIAL UPCOMING EVENT. WHAT SHALL THE EVENT BE? NOW THAT’S A SURPRISE, BUT WE CAN PROMISE PLENTY OF OLD FACES, REUNIONS, PARTY AND SOME REAL ENTERTAINMENT. AND CAKE!

WE HAVE SOMETHING THAT THE WORLD OF ANIMATION REALLY NEEDS TO SEE AND WE WANT YOU TO BE A PART OF IT. BUT FIRST, WE NEED TO SHOW IT TO YOU. THE VETERANS! THE PIONEERS! THE ANIMATORS THAT BROUGHT TO LIFE THINGS WHICH STAGGERED THE IMAGINATION OF MILLIONS! IN FACT WE HAVE A LOT WE NEED TO SHOW YOU. IT’S ALL IN HERE, AT THE OLD WORKSHOP.

WE WOULD BE THRILLED TO BE GRACED WITH YOUR PRESENCE. TREMENDOUS FUN AWAITS!

JOEY DREW STUDIOS

And then addresses and all that stuff. He didn’t make it up. The building looking as if it was working wasn’t made up. None of it was made up!

Then… where were the people that sent him this letter?

He left the suitcase behind the reception’s desk. Just now he realized that he really was (was he?) alone – while he was rereading the invitation, the taxi driver finally took his leave.

Right. The taxi driver. His words. His… behavior…

Henry shook his head. No. Come on. You can’t make this up.

The old man took a few courageous steps towards the corridor. Again, full of new wonders just as of the old grind.

He stopped. There were words written at the end of the hall. In large letters.

In ink.

Blue eyes squinted to read them from this distance.

Oh, it was a banner.

Oh-

He beamed.

Suddenly his steps became a lot more energetic.

At the end of the banner’s message there was an arrow pointing to the right. He followed it.

It read: Surprise this way.

Of course. Ominous but, goddamnit, that was it. It had this energy.

His energy.

He hurried through the next corridor. There were balloons on the sides. Arrows pointing at a door at the very end.

What people are going to be there too? Oh, he would love to see Norman again. Or Sammy, or Wally- actually, why has he not seen them all this time?

Another door handle. He opened them without a care in the world.

And there was no world behind those doors. Or, maybe, a completely new one.

As in – it was really dark in here.

To be honest, now, that he stood there, seemingly all alone, in front of pitch black darkness, he wasn’t feeling so brave no more.

Nonetheless, he took that step forward. He searched for switch.

And there was the light.

Not from the bulb.

There were candles around a circular symbol that he seemed to have stepped into-

All balloons popped. The noise altogether was like a loud crack.

And then it was dark again.

✪ ✪ ✪

His alarm was going off.

Henry groaned as he turned under the sheets. He felt really tired. Why was an alarm set anyway? He wasn’t getting anywhere, must have set that by accident.

His arm lazily reached out of the bed in search for that devilish device. Where is it, where is it…

It was hard to reach with his suit limiting his moves and his glasses knocked askew because of the pressure between his head and the pillow.

Wait-

He fell asleep in his glasses? And clothes?

His hand didn’t reach anything. There was a worrying sense of… nothing.

When you sleep at the same house for years and years without moving the furniture around too much, you get used to things being in their place.

And they weren’t.

Blue eyes snapped right open.

What he saw was a wide room with multiple beds. Each had a cabinet on the side and there were a few shelves with products that looked like medicine, screens, speakers.

There was a camera high up.

Oh, shit. He was at a hospital.

Wait, no.

He slowly got up, massaging one temple with his hand.

No, no, no.

This layout…

He sat on the bed.

…he was still in the studio.

Or rather… he was at the studio. He actually was there. Could have been a dream.

But no.

Finally, his attention went back to the sound of the alarm. It was coming out of a device that resembled a radio more than a clock. He took it into his hands and turned off. Strange technology but wasn’t too hard.

As he was putting it back, the speakers screeched, almost causing him to drop the darn thing.

Then he froze.

“Hello! Joey Drew here! Welcome to the Joey Drew Studios Infirmary! I hope your brief detention there was a pleasant one…”

No. No way.

“If you’re hearing this message, that means all the damage you may have been experienced has been noted/taken care of, and that we can continue on with the work. There’s sure a lot of it to do!”

Henry frantically looked around the room.

Was it some sort of a cruel joke?

“However, before we get back to it, please, keep in mind, that although fun, those activities are your work, alright? And here, at Joey Drew Studios, we work hard. But happy, so to keep that spirit up do follow the guidelines and refrain from-“

The old man jumped in bed as the voice became incomprehensible.

“As always, thank you for participating. You are contributing to this wonderful bosom of creation we call art. Remember, dreams do come true! Now, let’s bring this thing to life!”

Minutes passed as Henry sat in silence after the end of what he realized was a prerecorded message.

He didn’t know what kind of person would make him listen to it but it had to be prerecorded.

Joey died fifteen years ago.

#bendy and the ink machine #batim fanfiction #batim portal au #henry stein #joey drew #halfart #halfwriting #halfpost #still life #long post #so i got inspired to write for this thing lets see where it goes lol

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blockheadbrands · 7 years

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Beyond Indica And Sativa

Jeremy Daw of The Leaf Online:

With the explosion of new strains hitting the marijuana market every year, patients and other cannabis consumers often feel a little lost looking at the menu. How, for example, is Platinum Kush different than Golden Goat or Super Silver Haze? Or, for that matter, what is the difference between Sour OG, Lemon OG, Tahoe OG and SFV OG? Unless the budtender behind the bar happens to be exceptionally knowledgeable, patients are left simply to guess.

In a regulated market, this would never have happened. Modern supply chains in the licit economy use standards – discrete units of congruency – to fastidiously track every widget and to ensure that every actor, from producer to consumer, always knows what she is getting. Starbucks, for example, sources coffee beans from farmers spread across four continents, tracking every shipment according to its Coffee and Farmer Equity (CAFE) standards, which includes metrics like whether the beans are Fair Trade and Organic (both defined standards in and of themselves), whether the workers who harvested them are treated well (again, according to precisely defined standards), and whether the beans were produced according to environmentally sound practices (ditto). In an astonishing feat of global supply chain logistics, Starbucks can now claim to have the ability to trace 94% of its coffee beans all the way back to the exact farm where they were produced. By comparison, the vague standards of ‘indica’ and ‘sativa’, combined with one-word descriptors of a famously ineffable high, point toward a cannabis industry with a lot of growing up to do.

Marijuana labels are not meaningless, but they are rapidly losing all significance. Breeders, searching the globe for exotic strains, have crossed, criss-crossed and re-crossed indicas and sativas (and now ruderalises as well) with one another so many times that the old designations are rapidly getting lost in the shuffle. Strains marketed as ‘indica’, meaning “body high” or “stoney” in the parlance of cannabis industry, regularly deliver highs that provide the opposite effect. ‘Sativas’, meanwhile, can often put patients in “couchlock” – the opposite effect of the supposed “head high” advertised on the label. And this confusion is not to be wondered at, when breeders have spent at least the last forty years selectively breeding for traits and caring not a whit for the plant’s original genetic lineage.

The point is brought sharply home by the work of Dr. Jeffrey Raber, who holds a PhD in chemistry from the University of Southern California and is the founder of the Werc Shop, a leading medical marijuana testing laboratory in Pasadena, California. Dr. Raber tested over 1,000 strains obtained from dispensaries throughout California, and in an interview with LA Weekly, he completely debunked the notion of any kind of consistency among strains. “Most people don’t even know,” Dr. Raber said. “We took a popular name, Jack Herer, and found that most [buds sold under that name] didn’t even look like each other. OG whatever, Kush whatever, and the marketing that goes along with it – it’s not really medically designed.” It gets worse. Dr. Raber’s data, which he says will be published soon, “shows that ‘indica’ and ‘sativa’ is just morphology. It’s a misperception that indica will put you to sleep or that sativa is more energetic.”

Dr. Raber’s assertions, if borne out by the data, spells big trouble for websites like Leafly, which recently sold for an undisclosed sum to private equity firm Privateer Holdings. According to the logic of the predominant pot nomenclature, Leafly is king; with thousands of strains listed and categorized by user reports, the slick-looking website has been called “the Yelp of weed.” By aggregating the responses of users and ranking strains based on those responses, Leafly aims to cut through cannabis consumers’ confusion and provide objective data on all new strains as they arrive. But how can all of that data be of any use to patients when, as Dr. Raber asserts, an OG Kush bought in one dispensary bears precious little resemblance to OG Kush bought at the dispensary next door?

It gets even worse than that. Dr. Norman Zinberg, author of the seminal Drug, Set, and Setting, explodes any idea that the effects of drug use are strictly deterministic – in other words, that two people with different life experiences will experience the same high from cannabis, even if they’re sharing the same joint. According to Dr. Zinberg, nothing could be further from the truth: while one person may feel giggly and content, the other may become edgy and paranoid. In fact, Zinberg provocatively asserts that the mind set and the physical setting of the drug user have effects equal to the drug itself when used, providing the basis for his book’s name. This means that even identical twins smoking identical weed may have vastly different drug experiences therefrom, provided that their minds are dwelling on separate subjects at the time or that their immediate setting may be different. One may say that the herb is uplifting and euphoric; the other may report its sedative effects. Same genetics. Same pot. Vastly different reactions.

The sum total of the findings of Dr. Raber and Dr. Zinberg means that the patient-reported data employed by Leafly and dispensaries nationwide is essentially bunk. To the extent that there is any consistency at all, such results are more likely the result of Zinberg’s observed power of the user’s mind set (i.e., if the user expects to get a creative boost because it says so on the label) than any kind of pharmacological congruency. Because such congruency does not exist (as shown by Dr. Raber) and because self-reported data is so unlikely to translate between subjects (as implied by the work of Dr. Zinberg), Leafly and nearly every marijuana outlet in the country are barking entirely up the wrong tree.

There is a better way. Dr. Raber’s lab and others – notably Steep Hill Laboratory in Oakland – have already developed sophisticated techniques for testing cannabis for cannabinoid and terpene content, meaning that every gram of bud sold could potentially carry a label breaking down the entire drug experience with the most accurate data available. Cannabinoid content, and especially the ratio between THC and CBD, can be compared to gauge the bud’s potency; terpene profiles can be aggregated to predict flavor and smell. With complete information and a little experience, consumers can learn over time what works best for them, empowering themselves to make better decisions when trying new strains in the future. But unfortunately, state regulations are already headed in the wrong direction. Washington state, for example, has passed labeling rules providing woefully incomplete information, making it much more difficult for consumers there to make informed purchases.

A better system would set up ‘grades’ of cannabis according to potency and flavor, through a system similar to the way computer processors are ranked according to post-manufacture testing. Just as CPUs each come out of the factory a little different but can be ranked for speed according to stress tests, so can cannabis, with all its minute variations, be tested by laboratories after curing and ranked by brackets of potency. Terpene levels can also be standardized; machine-learning software can analyze the relative prevalence of each fragrance-producing chemical to rank buds by its fruity, piney and other scents.

When the cannabis industry adopts a common language across producers, processors and retailers, the winners will be the consumers. Any person of legal age will be able to walk into a store or dispensary and easily compare the options without having to know the subtleties behind such obscure names as J1 or XJ-13. Consumers deserve such consideration; and the first company to deliver it to them stands to make a lot of money.

TO READ MORE OF THIS ARTICLE ON THE LEAF ONLINE, CLICK HERE.

http://theleafonline.com/c/science/2013/12/beyond-indica-and-sativa/

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