My Little Pony XXXIV: There is Pony of it, no exceptions!

[Kyouhen]

I'm not sure what Trout Mask Replica is, but it sounds like you had quite the rigamarole...



I always liked Tokien's conception of the differences in the gifts of Elves and Men.

...I assume that's what you're referring to, anyway.

I was tempted to make the reference more vague, but was worried nopony would get it as it was. Yes, the whole Song of Creation thing is what I was referencing. Silmarillion FTW!

[Aotrs Commander]

I was tempted to make the reference more vague, but was worried nopony would get it as it was. Yes, the whole Song of Creation thing is what I was referencing. Silmarillion FTW!

Well, it could have been that other song, you know, the one Leonard Nimoy infamously did. (If you're not familiar with it, the Ballad of Bilbo Baggins, let me put it this way. It conclusively proved that Lord of the Rings and Star Trek are seperate things and never should the twain meet...)

[Veg Sorbet]

you picked a rather bad time for review, most ponies are occupied with holiday business to probably review at the moment.

That's very true, I should probably have held off for a bit. I guess I just got a bit overenthusiastic about having finally gotten a chance to write stuff (I have a seasonal job, and don't write when I'm working, only make notes during my lunch break.)
I was also a little frustrated, I’ll admit, as it seems like quite a bit of what I post, here and elsewhere, gets overlooked until I draw attention to it again later.

let me see if I can help: ~useful stuff snipped~
Sorry for the massive cuts but I think this flows better and sets up more intrigue

Many Thanks! I get way too wordy at times.

~useful stuff snipped~

Thanks, I’ll get to work on that ASAP. May take a few tries, though; most of my writing tends to degenerate into the same kind of style after a while.

As for the story, I'm hooked. You've got a great premise, and the prologue has me wanting more. You keep this up, and don't you dare stop writing.

EDIT: Listen to Kairaven, he knows what he's talking about.

Sorry! 'S very interesting. Veeeeeryyyy iiiinteeeereeeestiiiiing. You should totally write more!

Thanks, guys. I just hope I can meet your expectations; the story's gone off in something of a different direction from my original plans, and the temptation is going to be to try to get it back onto that track, rather than follow everything I've started to build on.

[Soras Teva Gee]

Is it wrong that my new fave Dash picture makes me want to cry?

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Well I'm not sure but have some diabeetus to cancel that out:

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Show

[Kyouhen]

Well, it could have been that other song, you know, the one Leonard Nimoy infamously did. (If you're not familiar with it, the Ballad of Bilbo Baggins, let me put it this way. It conclusively proved that Lord of the Rings and Star Trek are seperate things and never should the twain meet...)

Nope, never heard of that song. Let me do a quick Google search for that. Nope, nothing. You must be imagining things, I mean who would ever have Leonard Nimoy sing a song about Bilbo Baggins?

So I was chatting in the IRC and came to a realization. Lesson Zero is a meta episode. Let's look at it this way:

In Lesson Zero Twilight is having problems because she can't figure out what to do for a Friendship Report, right? She 100% has to write one, but can't find her way into any problems that would give her something to report on.

The entire episode is about the writers of the show. It's what they went through in every episode before that when they needed to work Twilight into the picture somehow so that she could write her report at the end.

[Soras Teva Gee]

Nope, never heard of that song. Let me do a quick Google search for that. Nope, nothing. You must be imagining things, I mean who would ever have Leonard Nimoy sing a song about Bilbo Baggins?

Hey somebody let William Shatner put out an album and perform live at an awards show, Nimoy's Ballad is gold pressed latinum next to that.

So I was chatting in the IRC and came to a realization. Lesson Zero is a meta episode. Let's look at it this way:

In Lesson Zero Twilight is having problems because she can't figure out what to do for a Friendship Report, right? She 100% has to write one, but can't find her way into any problems that would give her something to report on.

The entire episode is about the writers of the show. It's what they went through in every episode before that when they needed to work Twilight into the picture somehow so that she could write her report at the end.

Heh heh this makes a lot of sense. I also think its meta in the "OMG WE CAN'T THINK OF A LESSON" meetings that must of happened at least once.

Part of why I love that episode.

[Kyouhen]

Heh heh this makes a lot of sense. I also think its meta in the "OMG WE CAN'T THINK OF A LESSON" meetings that must of happened at least once.

Part of why I love that episode.

Now I have to wonder if that entire episode played out like that in the creative room.

"Someone must have an idea for a friendship problem!"
"Clock is ticking writers. Clock. Is. TICKING!"
"We're going to be TARDY!"

And of course the most hilarious part is that by making that episode they rid themselves of the need to work Twilight into later episodes.

[Thanqol]

Today is new years eve, and as I'm about to depart, I'll give my final thoughts a touch early.

I've always liked New Years. It's a good holiday. No strings attached; just a chance for joy. Midsummer nights so hot you can't sleep; dancing in the harbour and fireworks over the bridge. A celebration; an achievement for the world. It's a good day.

2011 has been a pretty good year. One of the best, I reckon.

[Jahkaivah]

Now I have to wonder if that entire episode played out like that in the creative room.

"Someone must have an idea for a friendship problem!"
"Clock is ticking writers. Clock. Is. TICKING!"
"We're going to be TARDY!"

And of course the most hilarious part is that by making that episode they rid themselves of the need to work Twilight into later episodes.

I think that probably happens a lot more with the South Park team, given how they have to come up with the idea for a episode, write, voice and animate it all within the week before it airs, every single time.

[Kindablue]

I'm not sure what Trout Mask Replica is, but it sounds like you had quite the rigamarole...

Trout Mask Replica is best described as a bluesy, schizophrenic journey to somewhere it never really cares to arrive at. It's an album by Captain Beefheart, who'd made a few records with the Magic Band before Frank Zappa (who he'd gone to high school with) became his producer and gave him the freedom to create it.

Beefheart, or Van Vliet, died last year from MS.

And it's really fun to find new words, by Typing in three letters and seeing what autocorrect brings up. Like strong becomes stroganoff, or misspelling canterlot got me Constantinople.

You didn't know what Constant... no, uh, never mind...

I suspect jazz has some of the answers.

Is this my cue? It might seem strange, but I've always tried to be a one-trick human. One of my earliest memories is of my father lamenting to me about knowledge. He said that you only get so much time on this Earth, and if you want to make any money while you're here, you'd best learn to specialize. He ran a restaurant and could tell you anything you ever cared to know about the business. But he said it didn't really matter which path you took as long as you were dedicated and really good at it, so I chose to be a starving artist. He never quite forgave me.

I cannot help but hear religious tones when you say conductor. Intriguing, that.

On life and death, stasis and change; is it not the pause between notes which separates music from noise? Waves go up and down for a reason. Even friendships wax and wane, and in this way remain strong and constant. While any note may wish to shine, the whole is better when in harmony

Is it better to work for the good of the song, or to live yourself as you please and damn the rest? Quite an ideological dilemma based on scale. Surely the note must sublimate to the song, but must the man work for history, or himself?

The most cliched philosophical question you can ask is "if a tree falls in the woods and no-one's around to hear it, does it make a sound?" If we say the answer's no, that a "sound" is something that's more than just the vibration of air particles, that the vibrations actually need to be interpreted by something to be a "sound," then we can say that "music" and "noise" are two different kinds of sound because we imagine them in different contexts. On that thought, John Cage wrote a fairly infamous piece of music called 4'33" which has the performer(s) sitting or standing in front of their instrument(s) motionless for four minutes and thirty three seconds; the point being that the audience is told "here comes the music" and then given something they would normally call noise.

We are as much a part of the universe as a fallen tree is, but we are a very special part of the universe that can view itself, that can hear itself fall. We turn the vibrations into sound and, once we die, they go back, invisible and unseen.

(There is, yes, a loophole to this which makes the Song singular and everything and never ending.)

I couldn't quite get that as intelligible as it was in my head, but enough rambling for today!

[Thanqol]

But he said it didn't really matter which path you took as long as you were dedicated and really good at it, so I chose to be a starving artist. He never quite forgave me.

It's a pity that I'm currently inundated with excellent quotes because this is sigworthy.

[Soras Teva Gee]

I think that probably happens a lot more with the South Park team, given how they have to come up with the idea for a episode, write, voice and animate it all within the week before it airs, every single time.

Nah its every production ever. Someone is struggling with a deadline.

[Pokonic]

I think that probably happens a lot more with the South Park team, given how they have to come up with the idea for a episode, write, voice and animate it all within the week before it airs, every single time.

Heh.

The clock. Is. Ticking. Quickly, fit Kyle in there somehow! Wait, you mean Kenny did not die! Crap! Make up some gibberish about elder gods or something. That should entertain those brats.

[the_druid_droid]

The most cliched philosophical question you can ask is "if a tree falls in the woods and no-one's around to hear it, does it make a sound?" If we say the answer's no, that a "sound" is something that's more than just the vibration of air particles, that the vibrations actually need to be interpreted by something to be a "sound," then we can say that "music" and "noise" are two different kinds of sound because we imagine them in different contexts. On that thought, John Cage wrote a fairly infamous piece of music called 4'33" which has the performer(s) sitting or standing in front of their instrument(s) motionless for four minutes and thirty three seconds; the point being that the audience is told "here comes the music" and then given something they would normally call noise.

Hrm, although it's probably way outside the point, the science pony in me won't shut up until I point out that the spectral signature of what we would usually call noise (especially white noise) is quite different from what we would usually call music...

Anyway, that's beside the point and everyone may be well aware of it without me pointing it out, but since I had to learn how to do Fourier integrals at one point in my education, I might as well get something out of the experience, consarn it...

[Lix Lorn]

I'm unsure. So far it's just my Antagonist, fighting me every step of the way. The last was named for a spell book though.

My computer is Kaylee. I'm pretty sure she is actively working against me.

She has invoked the old rites, Thanqol, of "can you do it? Pleeeeeeeaaaase?"
How can you resist? Look at her face? How can you resist that face?

(does the very cutest face she can)

Of course not silly. Everything needs an anchor.

I AM SUSPICIOUS
THIS IS MY SUSPICIOUS FACE

I've got a bit of a backlog as far as fics go, but if it's still there afterwards we'll see.

This will do!

[Tectonic Robot]

Upon the bridge once was a pony fair
But now was newly gone
No sign at all of her fiery hair

She was gone, into air
In the fog of London dawn
Ah, wasn't she once so fair?

The demon yet waits in his lair
Waiting for her return
And dreaming of her fiery hair

A gryphon tilts her head in prayer
Down amidst the white-feather swans
In her absence, they are not as fair

The water closed over the unlucky mare
As downwards she was drawn
Surrounded by her fiery hair

As she sank below she wondered if she did err
As she began to pray for the touch of Amon
But, she thought, this must be fair
I am just a liar with fiery hair.

The priest, his taste for fancy wordplay forgotten in the shock of the flame haired mare disappearing under the murky water, does the only sensible thing; diving in after her! Oh, the water's cold and the robe's heavy, but not that cold and not that heavy! "Hold one! Wait a moment! I'll help!" These are the words that would have undoubtedly passed his lips if he wasn't underwater at the moment.

This is what I was afraid of.

I'm not all bad!

Hypothetical Bondage:

"What would your reaction be, hypothetically, if I cracked this whip and said that you'd been a very naughty boy?"
"Probably fear mixed with arousal?"
"Huh. Good to know. Tea?"
"Quite."

Heh. Quite humorous.


SiuiS: You really think I'm getting my forward and confident and such? The fact that your paying attention to me fills me with glee. Because I am an attention horse.

[Thanqol]

I'm not all bad!

More referring to 'two ponies incapable of producing positive outcomes are trapped in an eternal death spiral', with only a sideline in 'and the guy who can theoretically stop it speaks in limericks'.

[Lix Lorn]

SiuiS: You really think I'm getting my forward and confident and such? The fact that your paying attention to me fills me with glee. Because I am an attention horse.

Nice pun. xD

[Pokonic]

Is it wrong that my new fave Dash picture makes me want to cry?

Spoiler

Show

Well I'm not sure but have some diabeetus to cancel that out:

Spoiler

Show

Pic one: Does than mean that she will outlive her pet?

Pic two: Dawwwww.

[TheAmishPirate]

More referring to 'two ponies incapable of producing positive outcomes are trapped in an eternal death spiral', with only a sideline in 'and the guy who can theoretically stop it speaks in limericks'.

And just like that, I have a fantastic seed for a one-shot. Imagine describing that to your players.

[otakuryoga]

I've always liked New Years. It's a good holiday. No strings attached; just a chance for joy. Midsummer nights so hot you can't sleep; dancing in the harbour and fireworks over the bridge. A celebration; an achievement for the world. It's a good day.

midsummer? oh, thats right...you are one of those weirdo backward season aussies 8p

[legomaster00156]

Pic one: Does than mean that she will outlive her pet?

I find it unlikely, going by normal lifespans. Turtles Tortoises have quite long ones.

[Soras Teva Gee]

Pic one: Does than mean that she will outlive her pet?

Pic two: Dawwwww.

It think we could take it many ways.

[Pokonic]

Well, it does look like a empty shell, so theres not much ambiguty there.

[TheAmishPirate]

Well, it does look like a empty shell, so theres not much ambiguty there.

She found a new shell for Tank at half-price.

She weeps for the amazing savings.

[Rebelhero]

Gone?

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Across the Western Sea, the endless expanse of the mind, the wind follows like a wake in the path of an impossibly large, flat expanse. A dose miles over the rippling waters, a continent, a mindform, forged slowly from the molten crucible of a child's mind, ringed with mountains and the rare, primal tree twisting towards an even further heaven.

The camera zooms, dips, hurtling towards the edge. Other, similar land masses on the peripheral, floating on their own paths, trundling out some long, impossibly slow dance amongst themselves. Paths can be seen now, between the peaks. Paths and caves and lakes, snow caps with nary a cloud. Still we hurtle in, and now canbe seen brader valleys, some wooded, others boggish. Nestled in a slow decline between several gentle peaks, a small village or largish major house, abandoned, brick red paint Peeling slowly in the wind and sun. Willows dance in a circle in the breeze, but still we fly on. Bank, pulling up, but gaining speed, the world a mountainous green blur fading to the ripped bluepurpleorange of eternal sunset, clouds, hundreds of clouds just barely visible far far above, like undulations in the sand of a beach. Transitioning.

The descent is just as swift, swifter; meteoric. One takes now at man height before a bridge, rickety, seemingly made of twisted bits of wharf and pier. Below, the ripple of silver waters, the same orange blue in purple of the clouds, eternally mocking themselves in reflection. What was once a crevasse, now a moat. To the right, the eternal forest, seen ever from the corner of the eye, but only here just across the bridge could one face it head on without it fading. But the woods, the bridge, they are meaningless. Cheap symbols of childhood given meaning through nostalgia and romanticism.

To cross the bridge is to sway, sensuously, and dance with the wood and the wind. One must breathe in Rhythm with the creaking, the sway. It is a meditation, one long forgotten. Across, soothed by the slow earth pulse of the shifting accompanied by gentle movements of the water, one finds suddenly a cathedral, wrought of gothic geometry to giant proportions, the slow cool brown of sandstone in the dying sun. The doors open effortless, unknowable whether they be stone wood or curtain. The movement is as a dream. The interior is bright, warm, flickering like a candle's heart. The fane. The camera shifts. From above, steeply, the scene is established. Deep chocolate-black robes cling to the visitor, cowl pulled high on the unseen brow. They step from the camera to the top of the screen in this bird's eye view, treading with the soft crumple of velvet down a long deep red carpet between pews, jutting like broken-yet-regular teeth in Euclidean mockery. The edge of the lens is fogged, for all one knows the pews may not exist as anything but a mirage, a trick of the scenery. They are sacred in their profanity, sharp, angular. They are in the end, unimportant.

It shifts again, over the shoulder and low now, as this one stands before a statue where either the altar or the stage would be. For now too this is an opera house, a theatre, with golden brass and red splashes cavorting amidst notes of unfocused light. The statue, too, is immeasurably tall, beyond proportion and scale. It is female, and posed. Curves, soft milky mocha stone, marble in texture to the eyes, always different. Today it is uninterested, or feigning so. It, too, is not the focus. She wears neither the chains nor wings of yore, but holds a single candle, or torch.

Softly, reverently, this one steps up the dais. One foot. Another. The last.

Surmounted, the journey begins, a slow, measured panning as the figure moves slowly counter the clock, watching the walls as it passes. There, to the fork right of Her, a door that leads to curtains and satin and chains and plaster, every intimate scene from the violent to the sexual to the passionately sad. Here, the left fork, a white alabaster portal leading to labs and larders and pantries of herbs drying like a mummy's dust, sifting in the slow currents, and the dungeons of the mind.

A full circle. Here now is the central path, downward and shrouded, invisible. This one can feel it; the fanged serpentine beast thrashes below, a thing of fury and Id, bound by chains and sword, pulling at the foundations of the building with the patience of a Titan, the speed of continents meandering. This too is passed by. Another circle is made, the balcony far far above the entrance now seen. A figure stands, a memory, who blows a kiss and casts a rose before fading. Again the circle is made.

Here the door, limbed in deep orange light at the base of the statue, visible only now. A new place, not part of the architecture and yet always there. The door leads in its fashion to a long hallway, arabesque arches on either side leading to small cubicles strewn with papers blowing slowly in an unfeelable wind. The steps continue, towards the long arch and high, bleak grey slate steps at the end. This one pauses a moment to reflect before ascending, for this is the end. A name, to mark what this one is. The memory of words read or spoken, and so, Memory Of Words exhales, and begins the ascent. It is steep, and smells of cold stone and neglect. Stale.

Atop the steps is a round floor of poorly fitted cobbles, crowned at its farthest end with an elaborate throne, seating a bundle of armor and robes, a circlet grasped firmly in the gauntleted fingers like a life preserver; the whole is coated in webs thick as steel wire. Memory of Words walks forward, towards the throne, sinking. A yard before the throne the cloak falls, empty, the memory vanishing, the words delivered. Fingers clench on tarnished silver and there is an inhalation, deep and strained. Vigor returns, the figure shifts, posture and prance reasserting themselves. Swirling, filling lungs unused to notice, the breath rattles, and flees, chased by a low growl of words long unspoken, long forgotten.

Arrr Peeeee...

Heavens, my apologies. The thought occurred and then took over. I've been as of in a trance these last thirty minutes... No use for second thoughts now, the effort is already spent. Effort for nothin at this point would be criminal.

I have no responce to this. after coming home from work and being in a terrible mood all day, i really didnt even want to read ANYTHING not even ponythread, but i remembered that you replied to me so i sat down to read it.... im still trying to find my socks. lol get it? this is the reason i miss RP in the pony thread. We are surrounded my tallented and creative writers.

[SiuiS]

As she sank below she wondered if she did err
As she began to pray for the touch of Amon
But, she thought, this must be fair
I am just a liar with fiery hair.

Oh so somepony told you after all? Don't drown yourself, Maskless, being ginger isn't so bad as you've been told.

Hypothetical Bondage:

"What would your reaction be, hypothetically, if I cracked this whip and said that you'd been a very naughty boy?"
"Probably fear mixed with arousal?"
"Huh. Good to know. Tea?"
"Quite."

FRONT PAGE EXPOSÉ
GUILD OF CHAINS DOESN'T ACTUALLY DO ANYTHING
"We just scare folks off with talk an then play bridge or poker" says anonymous source

This is an incredibly difficult position to articulate because it's so counter-intuitive. I've had this discussion before, against almost that exact phrasing (against a Moros).

How so? I find it rather easy to piece together myself. Entirely intuitive. Except now I worry I'm missing the point though.

Ponythread: Come for the ponies stay for the poetry and existential philosophy.

A winning strategy so far.

Today is new years eve, and as I'm about to depart, I'll give my final thoughts a touch early.

I've always liked New Years. It's a good holiday. No strings attached; just a chance for joy. Midsummer nights so hot you can't sleep; dancing in the harbour and fireworks over the bridge. A celebration; an achievement for the world. It's a good day.

2011 has been a pretty good year. One of the best, I reckon.

Midsummer...
Braz, we need to get rich and have a winter home in Australia.

You didn't know what Constant... no, uh, never mind...

No, I didn't know that misspelling "C-O-N-T" would produce Constantinople. Or that an extra z turns Braz into Brazzaville.

Is this my cue? It might seem strange, but I've always tried to be a one-trick human. One of my earliest memories is of my father lamenting to me about knowledge. He said that you only get so much time on this Earth, and if you want to make any money while you're here, you'd best learn to specialize. He ran a restaurant and could tell you anything you ever cared to know about the business. But he said it didn't really matter which path you took as long as you were dedicated and really good at it, so I chose to be a starving artist. He never quite forgave me.

Hee. Actually, not ba advice. You'd be surprised what you can learn in pursuit of a single thing.
Myself, I chose 'being happy' as my one thing, which perforce led to a broad array of skills. Specializing in generalization, I suppose.

The most cliched philosophical question you can ask is "if a tree falls in the woods and no-one's around to hear it, does it make a sound?" If we say the answer's no, that a "sound" is something that's more than just the vibration of air particles, that the vibrations actually need to be interpreted by something to be a "sound," then we can say that "music" and "noise" are two different kinds of sound because we imagine them in different contexts. On that thought, John Cage wrote a fairly infamous piece of music called 4'33" which has the performer(s) sitting or standing in front of their instrument(s) motionless for four minutes and thirty three seconds; the point being that the audience is told "here comes the music" and then given something they would normally call noise.

We are as much a part of the universe as a fallen tree is, but we are a very special part of the universe that can view itself, that can hear itself fall. We turn the vibrations into sound and, once we die, they go back, invisible and unseen.

(There is, yes, a loophole to this which makes the Song singular and everything and never ending.)

I couldn't quite get that as intelligible as it was in my head, but enough rambling for today!

It is cliched, aye. But it's rhetorical; the answer is less important than finding an answer. Unimportant, even. It doesn't matter if your answer to the question is potato chips, so long as you went through the process of diving how potato chips are the answer to whether an unobserved tree makes noise upon falling.

Or you could say "no, but a tree hitting the ground after falling in the woods does." never seen anyone pull that out before.

Hrm, although it's probably way outside the point, the science pony in me won't shut up until I point out that the spectral signature of what we would usually call noise (especially white noise) is quite different from what we would usually call music...

Anyway, that's beside the point and everyone may be well aware of it without me pointing it out, but since I had to learn how to do Fourier integrals at one point in my education, I might as well get something out of the experience, consarn it...

spectral signature? What's that? It can't be as cool as it sounds, as science has all around decided to not take ghosts into account.
Which is why ghosts decided not to take science into account, by the way. You have to give respect to get respect.

[the_druid_droid]

She found a new shell for Tank at half-price.

She weeps for the amazing savings.

They are tears of THRIFT!

spectral signature? What's that? It can't be as cool as it sounds, as science has all around decided to not take ghosts into account.
Which is why ghosts decided not to take science into account, by the way. You have to give respect to get respect.

It is not as cool as it sounds, no...but it is kinda cool. See, there are mathematical tricks you can pull so that for any signal which changes in time, you can transform it, and analyze what frequencies make it up. Each song, cough, whisper, buzz, etc. has its own unique composition of frequencies - referred to as a spectrum. Hence, a spectral signature is the thumbprint of a sound or piece of music, or noise unearthed by this mathematical process.

It's also a way that lets you selectively filter out noise and other unwanted frequencies from a given signal - lots of usefulness in data analysis and signal processing...

[Kindablue]

Hee. Actually, not ba advice. You'd be surprised what you can learn in pursuit of a single thing.
Myself, I chose 'being happy' as my one thing, which perforce led to a broad array of skills. Specializing in generalization, I suppose.

Living for the happy ending, eh? I can respect that. I mean, it's better than living off it, right?

It is cliched, aye. But it's rhetorical; the answer is less important than finding an answer. Unimportant, even. It doesn't matter if your answer to the question is potato chips, so long as you went through the process of diving how potato chips are the answer to whether an unobserved tree makes noise upon falling.

Or you could say "no, but a tree hitting the ground after falling in the woods does." never seen anyone pull that out before.

I didn't really care what the answer was either, but the distinction I was trying to make between noise and music was more easy to understand with that example, I felt.

[Soras Teva Gee]

She found a new shell for Tank at half-price.

She weeps for the amazing savings.

Who's awesome.... you're awesome.