Fuck around with structure! Keep it freaky keep it fresh, (doing my best to remember and embrace this)
At least one post a week^Month? based on another's post,
Shorter posts during the week and longer on the weekends!
Find other peoples' posts for the challenge in the directory!
Week 30: Author Swap IIIIII
2024-07-24
Good morning
Hey, it's been a moment. Good morning. I hope you've enjoyed your rest (though I think you may have slept in a bit too long). It's good to see you awake. Almost a month without writing, huh? Uncharacteristic, but it happens to the best of us. I've been working on the place, as you can see in this odd, liminal page. This isn't permanent, don't worry, but an idea of what the fresh canvas might look like. Don't worry, the old blog will be plenty preserved (git is right helpful for that), but it might move into a mirror site like beta.encours.xyz or something. It's in progress (en cours, even)! Work on the dirt first so decent things can grow. Clean out the dryer. Build a bed frame. Make some mistakes. All part of making it your home, see. When I look into this site, it haunts of a self that I recognize but don't know that I am anymore. I want to play outside of my purple colour palette, have some pictures, send some mail, the usual! Let's see what this next half holds for us, 'eh?
there is a house, beyond the creek, with a gravel road leading up to it. the trees form an arching cathedral before you reach the entryway. the air is getting colder. moths flutter about. just on the edges of the tall grasses, a flash, and then another. your boots crunch through seasons-old leaf litter. the thorny bushes are lined with blackberries, boughs bending enough from the weight (both of the berries, and a hornet's nest) to distract you. the warbling calls of frogs give a calm background noise as you press forward, and you tug your flannel around you. things will be different once you reach where you're going, but you can take a moment to bask in the familiar.
My (alice,'s) view of the St. Lawrence river, the night of the 26th.
You can find my writing on snow's page, with a fun plain-text picture!
28.07.24 - I see the appeal in the Great American Pasttime of comparing sociogeographic oddities
The real alien is in the little things. Most of the big differences are ones you expect, but I didn’t see it coming when I saw how the pigeons don’t behave the same here. It’s so messed up. The trees are shaped more or less the same. Traffic flows back to front with little-unalike entities. I can’t put a name to it all, but it creeps up clear as day. I felt a bit shocked initially, but struggle to pin it as unease. I was with you – we saw a chickadee over the canopy, flittering before a fogged up skyline.
Sometimes a trickle, sometimes a roaring plunge. Change always flows underfoot, but often it's too soft to hear.
It's so easy to get lost in the now. Always a dinner to cook, an assignment to finish, a friend to meet. I wouldn't have it any other way. The now is all you really have. But when you're so focused on the waves it can be hard to see the tide until it laps at your ankles. College ends. Friends move away, or get busy. Life moves on. Right when I was finding my footing.
But when you finally see the tide, right as it carries you away in a flash flood, tumbling your life round, you get to chose. Fight it or enjoy the ride. It's a cliche for a reason.
And when that flood carries you over the edge and into open air, pulls your stomach out and twirls it like taffy, you can enjoy that too. Terror, a wall of dwindling savings rises up at you. Ghosted applications and 3rd round rejections nip at you like overgrown mosquitos. Your ears are filled with the roaring of change. Even deafened, you can still scream with it.
I'm scared of the future, but the now is pretty nice. Thanks y'all <3
It's been a while. A year, maybe, since I heard your voice.
I don't think I miss it. I don't know if I did then, either.
When we parted, I didn't recognize it. I thought it temporary, that we would reunite.
I left you with coarse sand between my feet, grin bared, swimming in the freezing surf.
2024-07-31
boobs
boobs r nice
the shape, the texture, the uh, "mouth-feel"
theyre grounding for me
fat redistributed to tie me to the earth and
my path
a reminder of my physicality
"idk boobs r nice" – alice, 2024
in your touch.
Week 32: Luminious
2024-08-08
Collage
2024-08-09
Solo Museuming
I'm working on a couple big retrospective posts right now and been stepping into those past moments of "do it alone or not at all". In that spirit, I went to the museum alone today, on my birthday, by choice. I had a really enjoyable time. I think the last time I went to a museum alone was the first time I was in Melbourne, about a year ago. (Yes, this is referring to the infamous Science Gallery visit, in part.) The Musée des Beaux Arts has free entry for under-25s, so it was cheap (free), I got to walk around with my big headphones and mask on (maximum non-percievance), and flittered around to view only the art that really grabbed me, intentionally avoiding a meandering trip through the gallery (anti-museum drag). I lingered on my own time, not occupying space to the dance of a group visit (and the difference in our interests, though this is frequently a pleasure). Today, I focused on paintings of landscapes and architecture, with a bit of impressionism and abstract art thrown in (I must oblige my guilty pleasures). It was fantastic! I explored a wing of the gallery I hadn't visited prior, adding to the enjoyment of it all.
Consider this an invitation: if you have a free afternoon, go to a museum alone, by choice. Bring headphones to block out the ambient noise and reminders of the present, and slip into the past.
Week 33: Spellcasting
2024-08-13
Message
Tonight, I'm going to write you a message. It will be a short one, one of those important glimpses into another's life, scrawled on the scrap of paper that's haunted my bedside table for too long. It might be cliche, a final "I love you", but I think it will tell you of the mundane, a "Gone for milk —A", or a "Be home soon". In reality, I know it will be "I miss you". I'll crumple it in my palm, light one of the bad candles in its patinaed holder, and burn it. As the flames lick my fingertips I'll yelp and drop it, stamp it out, grind its ashes into the Earth, and seed the future.
2024-08-16
never trust a dentist
Walking into the dentist's office, Mack felt out of place. Two young kids glanced over at her, quickly returning to their make-believe game in the waiting room, the receptionist's desk empty before her. The sounds of some daytime show filled the room with the noises of legally distinct not-Judge Judy. Its white walls and faded green chairs seemed sad, the aquarium that once held a number of fish still bubbling, no fishes inside, an environment being held in stasis. She approached the desk, leaning over to peer around the corner. Seeing no one, she returned to her neutral waiting position. She texted the phone number she'd be given to say that she's here, and took a seat. A few minutes passed as the mediocre TV threatened to entrance her, but she resisted, grounding herself in the steady tick of her watch and the sigils she traced on her kneecap out of habit. The setting seemed fixed, predestined, that this waiting room holds the guarantee of at least half an hour of your life lost to the patterns of the aquarium's bubble diffuser. The kids continued to play in the other corner, seemingly unaware of the passage of time, perhaps caught by these spells that threatened to hold her here forever. The door next to the receptionist's desk opened, revealing a dark hallway beyond that beckoned her. It's inviting, ready to swallow her, about to pull her into it as a short man in a white doctor's coat rounded the corner. He was followed by a weary looking woman, her tight curls moving like snakes. The man, upon reaching the threshold of the waiting room, did not cross it, choosing to remain at the edge of the corridor. He dismissed the woman with a friendly, "Have a good afternoon, Ms. Williams, you're free to go," and raised his voice, "And your boys were both very well behaved; though I'd recommend they take it easy on the mugwort for a while." The dentist (presumably), grinned, revealing too many pearly white teeth. As Ms. Williams gathered her children, the dentist turned towards Mack. "My apologies for the wait, Mack. We're rather short staffed today." He had not stopped smiling. "Why don't you follow me back."
Mack followed him back, turning sharply to avoid the hallway that beckoned her, and made small talk. Mundane things: the weather, the SBS* demi-finals, how business had been. They reached a normal brown door, recessed into the wall at the end of a hallway, the dentist holding it open for her. Before her was an office. Unlike the rest of the clinic, it felt homey: dark wood veneered particle board desk and shelves, off-white walls (intentionally painted, not heavy with age), and a large drooping Monstera occupying the corner. The dentist sat and turned towards her, hands clasped together conspiratorially, and invited her to sit. Mack remained standing, staring at his thin-lipped smile, which broke to reveal teeth at this refusal. "Mack, you're my client, I won't snare you," he quipped. After she refused to move, his smile shrunk, slightly hurt, and began rifling through a drawer on his right. "I know ingredients are hard to find these days, and I don't like this any more than you, but as we agreed, this is the best way forward for us both." The dentist revealed two small metal gas cylinders, about the size of a forearm. Mack leaned in to get a better look. The cylinders were completely blank, slightly oxidized but shiny silver in spots, with suspiciously few scratches or dents for what it hold. "These are really difficult components to get ahold of, as I'm sure you can understand. I really had to stretch the limits of what can be considered 'useful for dentistry'," the dentist said, making scare quotes. He was grinning again. Had he stopped? Mack, focused on his face, saw at last how sharp his teeth truly were, their razor points arranged in a comb pattern. She began to understand what she had gotten herself into.
"What's the price for them?" she ventured, with a voice more confident than she felt. She could nearly feel the dentist licking the back of his teeth, his hunger growing.
"A favour."
* SBS: Speed Broom Series.
2024-08-17
Ceremony
From the notes of Alice Dorgen, seven years after her graduation from the academy.
The ritual was perfect. It proceeded exactly as I imagined it, dreamed of it, longed for it to be. It was held in the glen on our island, deep in the boundary waters. Oh, the island... I remember the day we stumbled upon it, deep in our irregular moves to evade any Find My incantations. We had already done a portage that morning and planned on smooth big-lake paddling to carry us through the rest of the day, but a storm quickly rolled over us and forced us ashore. I was tired all the same and welcomed the break, though she didn't. We had stopped at the nearest land: a small island towards the northwestern edge of this large lake, wrapped in spruce, cedar, and fir. We ducked under the trees for cover and scavenged a few dry needles to Fire React and stoke into a small fire (we'd been running low on fuel, magical and petrochemical). With some water boiling, my companion decided to explore the island a bit. She hasn't changed; being still makes her uncomfortable. Regardless, with the water boiling, tea steeping, and beans stewing, I was content with my back to the bark as the rain pattered around me. She returned aglow, full of reverence and wonder. She pulled me up, and I reluctantly obliged. I'm so glad I went. Following her deeper into the island, we arrived at a small clearing filled with wildflowers. Delicate tiny white petals were scattered among the Black Eyed Susans and pink flowers, all dispersed within knee high grasses and bushes. Caught in the embodiment of a God ray, a single doe stood, her eyes locked with ours. We made no motion, not breathing, locked in our shared entrancement. The deer turned away from us, walking to the edge of the clearing, inviting us to her pedestal. We approached a circle of smooth gneiss under her watchful gaze. Kneeling, we clasped our arms together and stared into the other's eyes. Together, wordlessly, we crafted a spell to blanket this place in protection, as a sanctuary, to welcome those who need to be welcomed, and to guard those who found their home here. We felt it move through our bodies into the rock, dirt, roots, and the souls of those that lived on this island. We felt her, the doe, the way her life radiated into and out of this place, and how all other creatures' did the same. I felt my partner's essence, and she mine. We wept, we embraced, and we kissed for the first time.
We left soon after that first spell. The rain parted, the doe continued her grazing, and we hoped to salvage our lunch. Now, today, we returned to the island for our second time. Its beauty was much the same—our small party remarked as such as we arrived on its shore. Marcie, kind soul that they are, cast beautiful petals before us as we led our friends towards the mythical clearing. The mid-August weather was kind to us; puffy clouds were dabbed upon a blue sky with a recent chill having reduced the number of black flies. (No matter what I try, I just can't ward against 'em). The clearing stood strong, with evidence of life everywhere: owl pellets, paw prints, cicada shells, and gorgeous flowers amid it all. Our friends, shepherded around the stone centrepiece, were amazed by the scene. Taking our place on the dais, my partner and I grasped each other again, white dresses muddy at the hems, hands clasped and elbows touching, and slowly paced clockwise. We weaved a new spell of our own creation, speaking aloud our histories, their overlaps and echoes, and tied them together. We tugged on our friends' mana, lovingly given, and knit a new tale. We told of a world of harmony, of love, of nature among and beyond us, of responsibility and regrets. Our pace grew faster and we pulled each other closer, our shoulders rubbing against the others', chanting of our desires, our fears, our ideals. And we spoke as one:
"I love you. And I have always loved you. And I will always love you."
We moved fast now, like children spinning each other 'round, no longer moving under our own volition. We held each other close, arms bound between us, mouths next to ears, and whispered to each other in our reverie: "I promise, I promise, I promise." We melted outwards, into each other, into the ground beneath us, into our friends beside us. We moved beyond, encompassing the whole meadow, and felt it all, felt it all feel us, and reached understanding. Slowly, the rock stopped turning and we immediately fell over, curled away from the other. I blearily accepted the birch bark offered to me and pressed it to my tongue in a trained reaction and my nausea quickly faded. I rolled over towards her and bumped into her, giggling slightly from the humour in our reflected movement. There, laying on the grass, our friends looking over us, we kissed, and muttered, "I do, I do, I do."
Inspired by Ollie's June 4 entry, Fog. Thank you Jimi, for your feedback and careful eye, and to snow and Katie¡ for additional alpha reading.
2024-08-18
Subway Dispatching
It's an honour to be able to tour the MTA's operations centre. It's an exclusive area, heavily guarded, more than I would have assumed for such a location. Hidden within an old telephone exchange in midtown, it has no windows, deep shadows spreading inside from the dim lighting of the ancient train switch control boards. The dispatchers, too, are no what I expected, wreathed in dark blue robes and hoods that obscure their vision. As the guide cheerfully explains, it allows them to better reach out with their metaphysical senses. What I had initially written off as the hum of old electronics appeared to be a gregorian choir, their frequencies harmonizing with the trains. When they go out of alignment is when things tend to go wrong; it has been hard to recruit for this team in the modern era. We were shown an empty part of the control board, its seat left vacant. It was so tempting, to sit, to truly see what the job is like. I took a seat and found myself unable to rise. I could feel the system reaching to me, trying to connect, to understand the new consciousness. As it touched me, a blue hood fell over my eyes.
Happy entry 100 in WritChal! I know we're over halfway, but I reckon I can get to 200 by the year's end. Unless I actually do NaNoWriMo this year. That'd be fucked up, right? Hmm...
I was texting (drunk) alice the other day and she blindsided me with a terrifying wollop of agency: “[I was reminded] that I really want a kid, and to raise it in a crèche.” I don’t know where my life is heading, but I know I wanna be a father. I love teaching and nurturing and encouraging and watching folks under my care grow too much to not want that.
But I also. fuck. I dunno. Gimme a sec.
Being ok is hard sometimes, and I’ve had it easy for the most part. I can’t think of a stretch of 1 year in the past decade or more where I’ve been consistently ok. That’s pretty normal actually. And you can raise a kid while also dealing with your own shit. I just. I never want to make my shit into their shit, but with kids it’s monkey see, monkey do. Your shit IS their shit. Can’t be helped I guess. I’m getting off topic.
So alice said her thing, and I just blurted “Is that an option????” cause like, is it? I didn’t realize. I didn’t even think to ask. I’ve had the expectation of a nuclear family quietly and consistently planted in my brain, its roots digging deeper into my mind each year, strangling and shaping plans, obscuring possibilities. It’s old growth forest. It’s protected land. It feels inevitable, inescapable, something to make your peace with.
“it always is, we make our own future”
Fuck.
It’s that feeling of terror and relief that comes in the moment you realize you need to break up with them. It’s the wonder of stumbling off a precipice and learning you have wings, and the unpleasant realization that now you have to learn how to use ‘em. Agency is incredible. Agency is the worst. I fear and need it.
I’ve been letting the fear override the need, recently, I think. That’s why alice’s words hit so hard. They forced surprised me, tricked me into looking in, seeing my need, and the nebulous, self-imposed expectations covering them it.
I’m most ok when I have people close to me, physically. I need to be forced to interact. I need my default to be community and co-habitation, but with a private space to run back to and recharge. Tom and Ben, I miss you so much. I love you so much ♥. Fuck.
(^ This is a good sad. Dwai ^)
Not gonna lie, those 10 days in Montreal were heaven. Bliss. Exactly what I want from life. Just lots of good people spending time together, trying to live life as best they can. That includes hauling and sweeping and de-greasing for move out/in. Sharing work Makes it better. Makes the rest sweeter. When it came time to leave I had to switch off/compartmentalize my emotions until we were in the car, because otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to leave.
I’m so scared, I’m genuinely terrified, that I will not be able to find something like that. That the bliss of a house full of friends will be relegated to vacation and special occasions. Weddings and funerals. I’m so scared that heaven is possible, but that I won’t ever really hold onto it. I know I have rose tinted glasses when it comes to that trip, but still. I’m scared.
“we can define all of the things that are still to come. nothing is static. all is malleable. our fate is our own.”
Agency is scary, but maybe it’ll let me organize a hype house of my own, build a crèche , make the life I want, not the one I think I ought to. maybe.
A safer, homely practice ensured the caster carries with intention. Clay, mixed with any focus with complementary correspondence, makes for a charming charged tchotchke with accumulative effects on the home and self.
Small blue sketches of an egg-like creature with five legs balancing a leaf on its head, a dark and light ring interlocked, a wide flat cloud and dark gray rain beneath it, and a small frame-like egg cup holding a speckled egg.
components...
Any and every spell asks three things of you: Intention, focus, and time.
Intention: the outcome. You must meet it halfway with zeal and heavy pockets, lest you find malfunction.
Focus: also known as channel—works, crystals, charms, herbs, clothing, soil, plastic, the solstice moon's shine. Correspondence and symbols may guide you.
Time: a moment, days, seconds, until you're tired, untile you're satisfied, a semantically significant amoun ... / of minutes ... -pells ... / others. The end of this segment has been burned away.
Transcription:
Life for life is not always a necessity, energy itself is an exchange. Given without duress, this serves much greater than brute force leeching. I intend to contact Wz. Brye, Council Head, about my findings. This may drastically change the philosophy of practice moving for-ward, though given current practice, I'm unsure the evidence will take. The roots are already deep.
Fig A. A dark blue, healthy looking leafy green plant stretches far beyond its pot. Fig B. Another plant, much smaller than the first, drapes its leaves within the pot.
The blood of a goat, as cliché as it may be, is a necessary component for this ritual. Substitutes are possible—human blood is more effective but is generally consid-ered "not a good move". Not a drop is to be wasted. Layer. Another. Another. Another. Sigils upon circles caked to wooden flooring. You can't help but leave a little reverence for the flesh. The smell doesn't do you any good, the buzz of flies up your nose a feature as strong as the acrid iron and rot. Get used to it. This spell asks one thing of you, for which it will pay dearly: devotion.
Wough that's a little late. You can find my exchange on Lucah's page with a slight delay in postage. Apologies for the delay in the update, I think writing is about to bite me again.
Week 36: Elf Bozo
2024-09-11
Thomkins and the Sea
Thomkins was a simple fellow. Raised inland by loving wood elf parents, he did not venture far bey
ond the deep gum canopies and the hometown babbling brook. What more do you need when the rainforest provides all the entertainment a youngster could desire? As he grew, Thomkins's ambitions grew, eventually attending a minor wizard university in-state. Here, he made some friends, learned about the cities and environments of the world, and grew wiser. But you're not interested in that.
Thomkins frequently heard about the sea from his peers: many grew up along it and yearned for it, often bitching about the distance to the waves and their need to "catch some rippers". He found a deep respect for the ocean among his peers, and decided that he must meet it. Catching a bus to a coach to a train to a boardwalk on the outskirts of the city, the sun was beginning to set as he caught his first glimpse of the ocean. It was gorgeous: beautiful, 3 metre tall waves crashed into the bay, the surf cascading onto the shore, with no-one in sight. A beach all to himself. Running past the odd flags posted along the walkway, he ran into the water. It was perfect, slightly cool and a welcome relief to the hot day that he had suffered through on his way here. He went deeper, walking until his hips were submerged, jumping in the water and enjoying the buoyancy. He looked up into a massive wave, easily 5 metres tall, bearing down on him, cresting just as it hit him. He was pulled under, thrown about, and didn't know how to swim. He was cast out to sea, and has not been heard from since.
We are happy to dedicate this new municipal pool in his honor; the Thomkins F. Memorial Swimming Pool, and will be offering our first excursion next week.
yeah i know this is late for bozo week sorry loves
Week 37: Perspective
2024-09-17
knowing?
It's a nagging feeling. The same as when you forget a word, nestling itself just around the corner from you. I went about my day all the same, this sense of near-remembering tinging all my interactions with notes of incompleteness. Something's gone astray, been left behind, overlooked, and it is needling me without end. I feel gross, wrong, this piece that's been forgotten is a personal failing and needs to be rectified now, but how can I do so without knowing?
Week 38: Underground
2024-09-18
Denetrie I
A brief overview of Demeterie
Compiled 277 Dinocturn, 2643 CE,
Provisional Denetrie Planetary Council
Denetrie is a medium-sized arid-class planet located in the further reaches of human-explored space. A centre of separatist dissent before the imperial collapse, the planet serves as the de facto hub of culture, commerce, and political affairs in the independent far reaches. Despite early terraforming efforts, Denetrie's surface remains largely inhospitable without adequate bioprotection equipment. Due to this, nearly all settlements have been build inside the planet's diverse geological features, with protective bubbles blown over a myriad of its canyons, caves, and some glacial valleys. It's largest settlement, Placeholder (3), is home to a vibrant community of nearly one million humans and significant populations of expat Chers and Benvues, the closest neighbouring species.
Since the resolution of armed conflict, Denetrie has grown into its newfound position of power, welcoming a sizable influx of political refugees and economic migrants. As such, development has been rapid, with present efforts focusing on an adequate housing supply and transportation connections as the world attempts to avoid emissions of excess foreign gases in its undeveloped atmosphere (see the Tragedy of Io). This rapid development and migration has led to tension between well-established separatists who view Denetrie as their refuge from the core systems and new arrivals. The planet's growing cosmopolitan status among new arrivals (and the requisite expansion of settlements) is perceived as a threat by those who did much the same in the past century. Ultimately, the only certainty in Denetrie's future is its continued existence.
Week 39: Author Swap m8
2024-09-24
Residue
Travelling is hard as an extremely viscous fluid. For all legal and medical purposes, I am solid: my form is corporeal, it's not going anywhere soon, and yes, TSA, that is my dick that you've detected once again. But it's a touch inconvenient. I keep leaving pieces of myself everywhere I go. Sometimes it isn't too annoying: I'll return to my whole when I am back home or at my parents', recollecting my residue. But it's damn hard to clean; I didn't get the deposit back for my past two apartments because of the pieces of me that linger there. I'm certain it affected the valuation of my childhood home before it was sold; can you imagine seeing someone else's life smothering a place that you to make your own? It's particularly dramatic when I get comfortable somewhere, shared body heat leaving a residue of myself there. And long distance relationships? That's just a cruel and unusual punishment. I'm not sure I want a solution to it. Perhaps I'm a bit romantic, but there's a charm in leaving a piece of myself everywhere that is dear. Maybe it's what makes me human.
oooo i'm going to make an ointment out of my skin and sell it as a folk medicine. here, kid, some alice, residue will fix you right up.
2024-09-24
A self indulgent post about NEXUS, among other things
The Disclaimer
This is about the USA's (and Canada's) frequent flyer customs and security fast-pass. The fact this exists alone is deeply fucked, amidst the security theatre that others have more thoroughly written about. But, if you want a fun way to spend 50$USD that will (at minimum) make travelling a little less stressful, there are worse ways to do so.
The Cool
NEXUS is a joint program trusted traveller program between the USA's Customs and Border Patrol and the Canadian Border Security Agency. After paying 50$USD, filling out an online application that takes a while to get approved and a quick interview at selected US/Canada land border crossings and Canadian airports, you get TSA PreCheck in the USA, access to Canada's Verified Traveller program (Canadian PreCheck, basically), and dedicated fast lanes at Canadian and American customs (both in airports and land crossings). Yes, Canada has a PreCheck program and NEXUS is effectively the only* way to gain access to it when flying domestically. When flying trans-border (to the USA) and at airports where the Verified Traveller access only brings you to the front of the security line, you are able to bring your fellow travellers with you with no age restrictions. I think this is pretty swag; I don't do a lot of group-travel but this is a sweet deal. Because so few people have access to Canada's Verified Traveller program, the lines are incredibly short and have similar benefits as TSA PreCheck (leave laptops in bags, shoes on even at trans-border, typically more chill border guards that are more keen to hand inspect my film). This means I've done security in 2 minutes, or security + US preclearance customs in 8 minutes and I spent most of that time walking. It was also excellent at the tail-end of Covid travel impacts of Canada, where I spent two hours waiting to go through customs at YUL without NEXUS and about 5 minutes with it. Membership is valid for five years (10$USD a year!!!) with a much easier renewal process (no interview and faster approval, I believe).
* See The Twisted.
The Fucked
Doing this means you are fully admitting and recognizing that the American and Canadian governments ( particularly their law enforcement agencies) will have a bunch more biometric data on you. This means a full set of your fingerprints (relatively inconsequential) and actively trained facial recognition (this one is pretty fucked). Most NEXUS kiosks now work entirely on facial recognition, matching the quick photo it takes of you to the incoming passenger registry (probably). They have a fallback scanner for your actual NEXUS card or passport, but often don't need them. On the US side there are notices that if you are an American citizen they won't store the photos they take of you for >12 hours, but if you're Canadian ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Additionally, only American + Canadian citizens and permanent residents (and members of Mexico's trusted traveller program, Viajero Confiable). It's a better deal for Americans, though, as they receive the benefits of Global Entry program as well. Not just when arriving from Canada, at all times. Yes, that's right, this is half the price of Global Entry and gets all of its benefits and more! This requires the inconvenience of having fewer interview locations and a longer application time, but if you're willing to wait it may be worth it. The non-airport conveniences of NEXUS are a bit less: everyone in your car must have NEXUS to use it at land borders and the boat stuff might be nice if you're into that kind of thing? The government data is the big rub, I think, and a non-opt-outable part of the program. Pay money, lose anonymity, get an hour or two back over time.
The Twisted
As mentioned previously, NEXUS is the primary way for civilians to get access to Canada's security fast-pass program. Other people who have access to it are Canadian military, RCMP, cops, and American Global Entry cardholders (who I believe may full access to the program, not just for trans-border flights). This is pretty ugly company, but means you don't have to become a cop to sell out. Allegedly if it's been a while since a crime you're NEXUS eligible; the only thing the USA hates more than a murderer is someone with immigration-related offences.
I feel weird about being a member knowing now all the biometric data collection. I was aware of the fingerprinting, but didn't realize the extent of facial recognition being used in the program. It's in a similar vein to Google identifying me even when I wear a mask; these are tools I imagined governments and large companies had at their disposal but feel particularly wrong to witness them in action (even if they provide me a nominal benefit). So, 50$ for the knowledge of what the government can do when you're on its good side? Maybe you can make your decision with a bit more awareness than me.
2024-09-29
the politics of music production
So, Oliver and I have been working on a cover of Happy Unhappy by the Beths after I pitched it to him as at the end of last author swap. I hadn't thought it through, really, and sung it a bit swung. He doubled down and started learning the chords, fixing it to a blues-strumming pattern and some fun references to the original Beths melody. I love singing, but don't consider myself a singer nor like my voice. This has been fun practice in making it happen. This isn't the song (we both desire a better final copy) but some of the noises and comments of music making.
(try right clicking on the video to play it, it embeds weird)
This (technically) is a swap! You can find its companion piece on Oliver's site!
Week 40: DIY
2024-10-01
Repairs
I've been breaking things a lot recently. Perhaps it would be more apt to say that things have been breaking a lot, recently, with less onus on myself. My boots are cracking and tearing after just barely a year, my pants have been developing holes, and my favourite cute Wet Leg pig shirt has developed a tiny hole in its face. Combined with the joys of unemployment, I've been avoiding getting new-to-me things when possible, hence, a lot of patchwork is ongoing. I feel weird buying new clothes. They feel quite expensive for rather lackluster quality, combined with All Of The Other Reasons To Avoid Consuming means I've been doing my best to not. I got a friend's pre-transition hand-me-downs thirdhand. I stole a couple tops from an Australian. And I've been fixing my favourite things that have broken: new fun chevron patches on my favourite jean's pocket and at the neck of my fraying jean jacket. I want to start building more little things, too, physically. I don't know to what end. Maybe finally repairing a camera on my own? A new derailleur for my bike? This will come to pass. For now, I trust my hands, and when they fail me I will learn and then I will trust them more.
