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I wrote a very short story tonight:

Alice rested her head on the cool inside surface of the window, half looking up the road towards town, and half idly watching as her breath misted and re-misted the inside of the glass in little puffs.

Pointless topping up the meter when the taxi to take her to the station would already be off the charging grid, meandering its way through the pot-holed, rain-slicked city streets towards her building.

A visa, an actual honest to goodness government off-world visa, glistened on the replacement ID card that had almost been lost in the pile of junk mail and unpaid bills that made up the greater part of what came through the letter box these days. It was a long time coming, this shiny new lease on life.

Earth’s time was over, really, but the few remaining earth-based governments hoarded their citizens like misers. Strict quotas limited who could leave surface of the planet, even temporarily, struggled to maintain population levels high enough for each country or federation to maintain its sovereignstatus. The outcome of a series of ill-thought-out treaties ratified back when the space elevator was new, back when everyone truly believed that it was indestructible.

The failing economies of Earth made even a shared berth on a low-orbit biomass farm in a decaying orbit look hugely attractive, and the compulsory longevity treatments issued by many Earth-based governments meant the vast majority of Earth-dwellers were fit enough to work. Alice had met her child-bearing quotas, put in her hours asset-stripping paper-based libraries for missed titbits of human ingenuity.
She was not going to a farm.

Alice had scored the proverbial ‘golden ticket’. Just over a month ago a message had pinged her inbox out of the blue from someone purporting to be a blood relative, offering sponsorship for one of the most exclusive landmasses in the Solar System. The only place where you could stand out under an open sky and safely breathe the air. The message came from a man rather laughably claiming to be her father; Alice was going to Mars.

A ping on her phone told her that the cab was waiting outside, in the dark. She hooked her breathing apparatus over her head, logged out of the room for the last time, and headed down the stairs with a spring in her step that matched her physical age of 34, hardly feeling the rest of her 120 years at all.

Her father…. Alice laughed to herself. She didn’t even know if her mother knew who her father was, for sure. Not a usual ‘claimer’ tactic either. Usually sponsors would claim to be at most a cousin, if they were applying to bring an Earth-dweller up out of their gravity well. It led to fewer issues when they inevitably wanted you to breed for your visa.
 
here's a bit from my new story about creepy satanic cults and unexplained murders etc

------

Beit Tefillah New Synagogue is an imposing building. It doesn't look that new with the red bricks. As I enter so many thoughts flow through my mind. My relationship is falling apart. I feel scared, yes. Guilty for not making an effort with Gracie, for only calling my mum twice in the last few weeks.

There's something different about the people here. It's not the clothes that they're wearing - the shul my grandma went to was orthodox - after a fashion. I'm used to women with long skirts and hats and men with suits. I'm used to it. I'm used to people being shy. Being reserved. I smile at an old man and he steps aside to let me through.

'Shabbat Shalom,' I say and he smiles at me, doesn't speak. There is a hunted expression in his eyes, his posture is stiff. As he steps in after me I can see how frightened he is.

These people are terrified.

Maybe they can help me understand.

It's a traditional synagogue with men on one side, women on the other. The service entirely in Hebrew. Uncomfortable seats. In an odd way those traditions are comforting. An old lady hands me a green prayer book and sits down slowly next to me. 'Are you new, dear?' she whispers. At least she seems more at ease than the people I saw on my way in. 'Good Shabbos.'

'Yeah.' She shows me the page number and I flip the paper over until I find it. 'Yeah, I'm new.'

A man wrapped in a blue and white tallit steps up to the bimah. He has a long white beard, and looks at least 70. Samuel Gold. It must be.

'Today marks 905 years since the pogrom in Scoylesford,' he says. 'It also marks ten years since Lorna Jacobs's disappearance. Please join in the Kaddish should you wish to at the end of the service.'

Lorna Jacobs. Was she part of the Jacobs family, the one the guy from the church mentioned? I've been trying not to think of the conversation, trying to expunge it from my mind ever since reading that website. It must be written by a crank, I tell myself. But that amused, slightly contemptuous tone. I wasn't imagining that. Was I?

Lorna Jacobs disappeared - disappeared five years ago today. As I remember that conversation in the church sweat trickles down my back. Just someone who doesn't like Jews, which is nothing new. Someone with a sick sense of humour. Not a threat, I tell myself. Stop thinking this over. Stop trying to make things worse than they are.

Stop being crazy.

'Are you OK?' the old lady next to me whispers. 'Do you want a glass of water?'

Shaking my head, I turn over the page of the prayer book and gaze at it but the words all seem to blur into each other. I shut my eyes and put the siddur on my lap, trying to stop myself shaking.

'I'm here because...' I manage. 'I need to speak to the rabbi.'
 
'Of course,' the old lady says. 'Do you want to go out?'

I nod. I'm feeling dizzy. My hair is a total mess, I've not washed it properly. None of the women here are wearing trousers. They are all smartly dressed in long skirts. None of them look at me as the old lady leads me out, apart from one near the door who gives me a sideways glance. I find myself thinking I don't know what Samuel Gold's opinion of gay people is. Like, am I even welcome here? Should I even be here? I don't even believe ...

The old lady leads me into a passageway out of the main prayer hall. She opens a heavy wooden door with a gold plaque on it. I don't even look at what it says. There are chairs in the room and the shelves are full of books. She asks if I want a cup of tea; I shake my head. The room is cooler than the main synagogue. It's so hot. Maybe that's why I'm so worried; I haven't slept in days.

'He will come and speak to you after the service is over,' the old lady says.

She leaves the door slightly open. It reassures me; but then I catch sight of myself in one of the windows. I look awful. I haven't slept. I get up slowly and walk over to the bookshelf.

A book catches my eye. The title is,' Finding Faith in Darkness.' I look at the back.

'Isaac Heshel was merely 14 years old when his family were killed by the SS,' the back cover states. 'This book has become a classic work on how to maintain Jewish faith in G-D in the midst of evil.'

The midst of evil. Is that where I am now? I flick through a few pages. Feeling dizzy I put it back on the shelf. I'm mad. I'm losing it. I'm due to get married in a few weeks. I have to stop. She doesn't know I'm here.

It's not real, I tell myself. None of it's real. I put my head in my hands. Drink the water on the table. I turn my phone on quickly and feel guilty for it as I send a text to my girlfriend telling her where I am. I've never really worried about things like that. Checking my phone on Shabbat. All the things you're not supposed to do.

'OK, babe,' is the reply. 'Is everything all right?'

I don't reply. I am supposed to be the strong one...
 
Please can this be electro-shocked back into life, or at least someone gift me with a theme to work with? Some ponce said hell is other people; well it isn't, it's the countryside, and I'm stuck there with only my murderous thoughts and a smartphone notepad for company.
 
Gruto said:
Please can this be electro-shocked back into life, or at least someone gift me with a theme to work with? Some ponce said hell is other people; well it isn't, it's the countryside, and I'm stuck there with only my murderous thoughts and a smartphone notepad for company.
Click to expand...

sure, what sort of thing are you thinking?
 
mojo pixy this is the end of the last scene I posted, which quite an important scene that comes a lot later on in the book (and I haven't worked out how to get to yet)

I can't face it now. I put my phone face down on the seat next to me, feeling dizzy. She'll know I've read it. My head sinks into my hands and I stare at the mosaic of the Magen David on the floor.

'Excuse me?' I look up and see a man standing in front of me. 'Can I help you?'

'Sure,' I say. 'I - are you the rabbi?'

'I am.' He holds out his hand. 'Rabbi Samuel Gold. And you are - are you new to the area?'

Oh G-d, he's so normal. Thank fuck.

'Yeah - I'm new. My name's - my name's Deborah.'

'It's nice to meet you, Deborah. Shabbat Shalom. Did you enjoy our services?'

I gulp. I can't hold it back any longer. He seems such a nice old man. So normal. Compared to everything else that has happened. 'Yeah. It was lovely. I - look, I need help. I need to speak to someone who can help me.'

He pulls up a chair but doesn't sit down on it. He looks at the book in my hand. What if they section me? Who would believe a story like mine? Maybe I imagined it all. It's the sort of thing that happens in horror movies. My girlfriend doesn't believe me. We're barely talking. And as for work - well, if I told them, they'd just laugh...

'Well, I'm not sure I'll be of any use. But I can try. I'm always happy to help a fellow Jew.'

'So - I'm from London. And my girl - my partner, we moved in around here a few weeks ago. And - well, everyone's really weird. Everyone's really really weird. And at first I thought, well, it must be country folk and their different ways. But the entire town is weird - like, people keep staring at us, and I found ... I found...'

I gulp. 'Someone's sending us weird letters, talking about death, and all sort of, well, threats. And the people - everyone there, they're all so weird. We walk past and people stare at us like we're aliens or something. And nobody believes me. And - it's the things they say to me, as well.'

'What do they say?'

'They make jokes about things that happened in the village, hundreds of years ago. They talk about this guy who used to live there and they look at me and whisper and I don't understand what they mean. And then yesterday, I was walking in the churchyard. And I saw ... I saw a tombstone. A blank tombstone with nothing written on it. And I'd never seen it before. And I asked someone else walking there what it was about. And they just smiled and laughed.'

'OK,' Samuel Gold says. I can't tell if he believes my story or not. That's the problem, you can't see inside people's heads. And when I tell the story, it doesn't seem so bad. Like it could be explained.

'Can I ask,' the rabbi says, his voice gentle. 'What day of the year did you move in?'

'The fifth of June. I've been there two months, but I can't see why that's...'

'You moved to Scoylesford, didn't you?' His voice is calm. I nod.

'You said you have a female partner. Forgive me for asking you this, but have you ever made love to a man, Deborah?' I'd slap a bloke for asking me this usually, especially an older man like him. What's happened to me?

'No. No I haven't.'

'You can't go back, Deborah. Because they're going to kill you.'
 
This is the kind of shit I come out with when I am tired:

---

The Tiolonni have this compulsive urge to play "mind games", driving many Pan-Stellar Alliance diplomatic staff to no end of distraction. They may or may not let you know that such a game is going on, whether on their part or that of another Tiolonni. If they do tell you, they will only give you seemingly random parts of the rules of the great game being played, passed along as part of casual conversation. Rules typically range from the baroque to the arcane. Among Tiolonni these mental games provide the playing field for a subtly shifting social hierarchy. The stakes are usually low, but high-stakes games have been recorded to have broken out in Tiolonni history. Humans would call them wars. For these folk all this comes as naturally as small talk does to most humans. Cheating, especially in the mind games, is a grave offence. In less enlightened times any Tiolonni caught cheating were tortured to death and their names subsequently reviled in the eyes of the general public. These days the Tiolonni treat it as a particularly dangerous mental illness.

So when the children of Terra bumped into the fledgeling Tiolonni interstellar empire that had yet to encounter any sapient non-Tiolonni, culture shock was inevitable. To them, we were as a chaotic seething morass of contradiction and hypocrisy. We played games, but as distractions. Conversely, many Terrans cannot help but feel that their Tiolonni hosts are trying to psych them out or worse, actually wear down their sanity.

To say it took a couple of centuries to establish a mutually beneficial diplomatic protocol, would be to gloss over much in the way of steps taken forward and backward.
 
NoXion said:
This is the kind of shit I come out with when I am tired:

---

The Tiolonni have this compulsive urge to play "mind games", driving many Pan-Stellar Alliance diplomatic staff to no end of distraction. They may or may not let you know that such a game is going on, whether on their part or that of another Tiolonni. If they do tell you, they will only give you seemingly random parts of the rules of the great game being played, passed along as part of casual conversation. Rules typically range from the baroque to the arcane. Among Tiolonni these mental games provide the playing field for a subtly shifting social hierarchy. The stakes are usually low, but high-stakes games have been recorded to have broken out in Tiolonni history. Humans would call them wars. For these folk all this comes as naturally as small talk does to most humans. Cheating, especially in the mind games, is a grave offence. In less enlightened times any Tiolonni caught cheating were tortured to death and their names subsequently reviled in the eyes of the general public. These days the Tiolonni treat it as a particularly dangerous mental illness.

So when the children of Terra bumped into the fledgeling Tiolonni interstellar empire that had yet to encounter any sapient non-Tiolonni, culture shock was inevitable. To them, we were as a chaotic seething morass of contradiction and hypocrisy. We played games, but as distractions. Conversely, many Terrans cannot help but feel that their Tiolonni hosts are trying to psych them out or worse, actually wear down their sanity.

To say it took a couple of centuries to establish a mutually beneficial diplomatic protocol, would be to gloss over much in the way of steps taken forward and backward.
Click to expand...

i'd read that.
 
We get back around 10pm. As I unlock the door and walk in, something knocks against my foot, something hard, and then I feel something papery under my shoe. For a second I think something's fallen off the wall, or a cat's got in and knocked everything over in here. That would be the last thing I need, oh fuck. Someone is trying to ring me. My sister probably, with some drama. I'll send her a text later. Families...I love them all to bits but they drive me nuts.

What did that poor guy mean when he said he had let that family down?

I fumble for the light switch. I don't see what I tripped on at first. And then I see it partly unravelled in the hallway. It's one of those old rolls of film, really old ones. Before they even had video tapes. I saw one of them in a museum once. My breath catches in my throat.

'Whoa, what's this,' Grace says. 'Why would someone send us this?'

'Probably a kid playing a prank,' I shrug. I pick the film roll up in my hand, try and wind it back so it's neater. There's a number written on the central wheel, or whatever that thing is, but it's so faint I can't read it. As I'm winding it back a piece of paper falls out. I bend down to pick it up. My breath catches in my throat; I'm shaking and don't know why. There's a note on it, in red, spidery handwriting.

 welcome to your new home :)
Enjoy the movie and have fun!
 
A favourite pastime of nearbaseline philosophers is to pontificate on the differences between the gods of old that we imagined, and The Powers That Be that we ended up building.

In contrast to the capricious entities of the human mind that frequently played sick games with the lives of mortals, the Powers largely show an overwhelming indifference to the fates of individuals. We're just not that interesting to the kind of consciousness that considers the Far Beyond to be its home turf, if not merely the stepping stone to some even greater mode of existence located beyond the furthest toposophic landscapes.

Which is not to say that the Powers never act; indeed they would never have gained such a moniker were they totally inactive as far as modosophonts are concerned. But the Powers are very much concerned with the Big Picture, and this can mean not intervening when certain segments of Terran civilisation decides to pursue the grandest of follies, and at other times it can mean that the full force of the Powers is brought to bear against the obstacles to their goals, be they individuals or entire civilisations.

Inscrutability is a characteristic that the Powers share with the gods of old. Don't ever try to make complete sense of a Power's actions; it's as futile as an amoeba trying to grasp the mind of a human.

Perhaps the most notable difference is with regards to worship. The gods of old demanded it, whereas the Powers discourage it, up to and including insulting would-be supplicants to their faces. The idea that a "deity" might despise the entire idea of being a focus of of veneration has provoked more than one crisis of faith in beings that have spent their entire lives building up systems of belief.
 
Here's a creation myth to serve as prologue to my sci-fi epic that I haven't got entirely figured out yet. The idea is it's a deliberately constructed myth created by human colonists for the benefit of those born on the new world, and to create a basis for a religion that turns hard determinism into something benevolent in the hopes that this will foster the development of a happy and ethical new race of people. It's a bit clumsy because I wrote it in my head while I was on the bus, but I think the idea is in there somewhere...

There was a Void. There was a Seed. There was a Star.

Within the Seed was all that lives and dies, but only the Star could awaken it. Between and beyond and above and below the Seed was forever void. Between and beyond and above and below the void was the Ether, and in the Ether slept the Gods.

The Seed needed a Star, and the Star needed a Seed. Only the Gods could bring the Seed home through the Void. But the Gods still slept. And so the Seed fell through the Void, and would fall forever.

Within the seed lay thirteen Mothers and seven Fathers. Everything else that lives was waiting beside them in the dark but it was without form.

After time without time the first Father awoke. He looked for a star and found none. He looked to the Fathers and saw that they slept. He looked to the Mothers and saw that they slept. He watched and waited for a star, for he could not return to his sleep. The lonely Father grew old as he waited and watched. He grew weak in his sorrow and he grew cowardly in his fear. He knew that to wake the Mothers and Fathers was forbidden. He knew that if they woke they would die before they reached a Star, as he himself soon must. He knew that without the Fathers and the Mothers all else that lives would remain in the Void and without form for all time. But in his weakness he could not bear to die there alone. And so the lonely Father woke the first of the Mothers. And so the war began.

The lonely Father and the first Mother fought. The Mother was wounded and weakened and knew that she would soon die. The lonely Father fled from her in his grief, but there was only the Seed and the Void and he could not hide from what he had done. The first Mother screamed and the lonely Father wept, but the lonely Father was deceived. His eyes were closed in weeping, and his ears were filled with screams. He didn't hear the first Mother as she awakened the next three Mothers.

The first thing the awoken Mothers saw was their sister, wounded and dying. The first sound they heard was her words, and her words were the story of the lonely Father's cruelty. The Mothers held their fallen sister and they told the lonely Father to cast himself out into the Void, to become nothing, to give up his hope for a new Star.

The lonely Father demanded justice. He demanded that three more Fathers should be awoken to hear his case, and agreed that he would go out into the Void if all those who heard the tale said that it must be so.

So three Mothers and three Fathers heard the tale of the dying Mother, and the tale of the lonely Father, and they all saw with their own eyes the tale told by the Mother's mortal wounds. The Mothers called the lonely Father liar and killer and swore that he must be cast out, but the Fathers would not have him cast out. His virtues, said the fathers, outweighed his cruelty and his weakness and his folly.

The Mothers saw no virtue in the lonely Father, nor in those who would spare his life. The lonely Father had laid hands on the first Mother and put all the life of the Seed in peril. The Mothers woke more Mothers, and the Fathers woke more Fathers, and they fought with words and then with hands and then with the Seed itself and with the foundations of life. The Fathers were strong, but there was one who would not fight for the lonely Father or against his sisters. All the Mothers fought, for they had no choice. And the Mothers were many, the Fathers few.

The first Mother died with the sounds of battle ringing around her, and with the hand of the brave Father who would not fight held in her own. We name her Aisha. Another Mother fell, wounded, and she soon died with no hand to hold. We name her Anya. These names are remembered.

The brave Father saw Anya laying silent and still and he rose to his feet in rage. Gathering around him all the power of the Seed, he went to the other six Fathers and cried out to them that he would end the war. The Fathers believed he would cast out the Mothers and stood aside to let him. Instead he cast himself out and each of the other six Fathers with him. He lived long enough to speak a single soundless word into the Void. The word is not known but it is remembered. The name of the brave Father is remembered. We name the brave Father Hector.

The Mothers took their fallen sisters Aisha and Anya and gave them to the Void. Still the Gods slept, and could not see, and could not help. The seed fell on into the Void and eleven Mothers returned to sleep burdened by sorrow.

Through endless space and time the Seed fell and the Mothers slept. When they awoke they were falling towards a Stone warmed by the light of a Star. The Stone they named Stone and the Star they named Star. When they came to Stone and saw it they chose the Mountain and the Forest and the Fields and the Lake as the home of the new life they carried with them. And the seed opened in that place.

As the Mothers watched new life rising they saw that it must be protected. They sang the first song and the first song woke the first God. The Mothers asked the God to protect the moment of the Seed coming to Star and of the new life rising on Stone. But the God did not care for Stars or Seeds or Stones or Mothers. The God cared only for the song, but he knew that without the Mothers coming to Stone with all their sorrows and joys the song could not be sung. So the God reached back through time and space and fixed in the firmament forever all those things that would bring the song to him. And so the God made a Void. And the God made a Seed. And the God made a Star.
 
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The first chapter of the final book of my horror trilogy, from what's going to be the villains pov. I decided to do something different this time with the prologue...

mojo pixy

Liza2002: hey sexy ;)

Me: Hey you. Long time no speak. I was just thinking about you the other day x

Liza2002: how r u not spoken to u in ages

Me: I'm good, I broke up with that girl I was seeing lol

Liza2002: lol really??

Liza2002: what happened babe

Me: we had an argument

Liza2002: so does that mean you are single now :p

Me: you dirty dog lol you are terrible

Liza2002: well are you ;)

Me: yea I am haha

Liza2002: I miss you x

Me: haha. Where have you been all my life?

Liza2002: I could ask you the same question

Me: Well, I'm not sure I should tell you the answer.

Liza2002: ha why not x

Me: I have to be so careful what I say. But look at my photos. Im sure you can work it out. ;)

Liza2002: ok

Liza2002: OMG

Liza2002: why am I not surprised @ you Hayley

Liza2002: I hope u are staying safe

Liza2002: out there

Liza2002: x

Me: I am dw about me.

Liza2002: you always were a bit of a rebel

Liza2002: always went further than everyone else

Me: ;)

Liza2002: I have a new job

Liza2002: But not sure I should tell you what it is

Liza2002: I get the feeling if I tell u

Liza2002: you will be angry with me

Me: try me

Liza2002: lol

Liza2002: nah

Me: why would I be angry with you liza

Me: unless you are working for idk

Me: Goldman Sachs or something

Me: or mossad haha

Me: lol

Liza2002: nah hahahahahaha x

Liza2002: lol but you won't like it

Liza2002: r u there

Me: yeah I am here

Liza2002: maybe its easier if I don't tell u

Liza2002: lol your not gonna like it

Me: no go on tell me I am interested now. Im always interested in u x

Liza2002: lol Hayley seriously

Me: ???

Liza2002: ok

Liza2002: if I tell u you might not speak to me again

Liza2002: and I don't want that x

Me: no lol it'd have 2 be bad for me not to do that

Me: you are working for a battery chicken farm lol

Liza2002: are you alone

Liza2002: ????

Me: yes

Liza2002: ok

Liza2002: does anyone read ur messages

Me: don't think so lol why the secrecy babe x

Liza2002:


Liza2002: it will explain what is happening

Liza2002: its best I don't say on here just watch and u may understand

Liza2002: watch it

Me: OK babe

Me: I will x
 
Thought this might have been a bit heavy for the bandwidthz thread:

A FUTILE PRAYER TO AZATHOTH

O grand and indifferent cosmos
In thine blind idiot flailings frustrate
The designs of the malign and perverse
Though you do not hear me, and cannot comprehend
I still beseech thee, O cosmos
On the off chance maybe you might fuck up the shit of someone I don't like
 
FESTIVE NOSTALGIA
Your mobile phone,those shopping malls
Long nights spent legless with your pals
Pub festive meals with turkey slabs
Replacing Friday night kebabs.

A world apart from Christmas past
When only wind-up clocks ran fast
Santa time was very special
Treats were modest not commercial.

Raisins spread and then de-seeded
Plea to sample not conceded
Spicy warmth of Christmas Cake Mix
Bowl cleaned out by laughing kid-licks.

Christmas Day dawned full of promise
Your cousin Kate plants bad-breath kiss
Dad and uncle overeating
Shortly all the lot are sleeping.

Today sophistication rules
With laptop, smartphone, not for fools
Every year amongst the gabble
Phones lose out to dear old Scrabble.
 
This is one of the last things I wrote lol

Sitting at my computer, I opened Boris's emails and noticed that there were 200 all on the same subject, and more were arriving every few minutes. Usually I just deleted them, they just said things like 'important' and 'urgent' and I just turned off. When I was an adviser to Michael Gove's education department, I learned that if it is said to be urgent it probably isnt, a very important rule of politics.

I had a text and for a surprise, it was from the man himself.

'Hi Dom, I'm with Matt and Boris. I've got 3 grams of Peruvian white here. Are you coming?'

I got up from the computer, my shirt experiment would have to come to an end so I picked up a new one from the wardrobe. As I got ready and checked myself in the mirror I remembered that it was my wife's birthday next month. I would have to organise something for it and was not sure I could leave it to the last minute. Maybe we would go to Durham again.

I walked out of the door, one phone in each pocket and two in my holdall, which made me feel like a renegade hacker, and went to meet the boys. Govey always has the best drugs.

'Sorry darling,' I wrote to Mary. 'I've got to meet the prime minister, Michael Gove and Matt Hancock urgently.'

'OK, darling, is it about Brexit?' came the reply.

'It's about that new coronavirus everyone is talking about,' I replied on WhatsApp, thoughts of SARS-COV-2 occupying my mind. It was the only thing I could think about. 'We need to go through the pandemic preparations and make sure everything is in order. I don't think this is the Big One but you never know.'

'OK,' Mary replied. 'By the way, the little one's asking about going to a castle.'

I would like to go to a castle too, I thought as I approached Govey's flat and rang the buzzer. Boris was annoying when he was on coke, but he was easy to handle, if he acted up I'd swiftly put him in place. Matt Hancock was like a psychopathic puppy at times, it was funny to watch.

'It's Dom,' I said, and the door opened, I walked to the lift and pressed the button for the third floor. The interior of the building was a little down market for my taste but Gove had invested in this flat purely for the purpose of having somewhere to sample South America's most sought-after export when the pressures of state became too much.
Click to expand...
 
dont know if this goes here - but i wrote a short monologue for this online project and an actor performed on webcam - went ok (despite no opportunity to rehearse/direct etc) . Enjoy anyway - (or not)

 
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