Showing posts with label The Other. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Other. Show all posts

Tuesday 29 August 2023

Draw





Will Tenneray and Abe Cross are 
two famous gunfighters who are 
getting old and need Money. 
Cross tried his luck at gold prospecting but failed. 
Tenneray works at the local saloon where he 
capitalises on his past fame to 
"sucker fools into 
buying drinks". 
The Town expects them to 
become enemies and kill each 
other in A Gunfight but the two 
aging gunfighters start 
liking one another. 
Desperate for Money, 
Tenneray suggests to Cross to 
put on a show for the townsfolk 
and fight in an arena for money. 
The proceeds from 
the ticket-sales would 
go to The Winner of 
The Gunfight. 

Both men like the idea of a paid 
show but hate the possibility of 
one of them killing The Other.




Thursday 18 April 2019

OTHERSTIDE EVE


“ My real problem was that while everyone else in the universe could call The Doctor ‘Doctor’ , his own Family would obviously call him by his real name. 

Fortunately The Doctor's disgrace came to the rescue. 

His incensed Family had struck their embarrassing renegade's name from the House's records.

It was just the Law of Irony that brought him neatly home to Lungbarrow on his nameday (some very Russian influences there), which just happened, purely coincidentally, to be the Feast of Otherstide as well. 

Only, The Other doesn't have a name either…

I do like the fact that The Doctor eventually became the very thing he had planned to avoid. 

The Family wanted him to be President of the High Council, but were, of course, otherwise occupied when the event actually happened.

Yet another triumph for the Law of Irony. ”

Excerpt From
Lungbarrow
by Marc Platt



The World as Forum for Action is “composed,” essentially, of three constituent elements, which tend to manifest themselves in typical patterns of metaphoric representation. 



First is unexplored territory – the Great Mother, nature, creative and destructive, source and final resting place of all determinate things.  


Second is explored territory – the Great Father, culture, protective and tyrannical, cumulative ancestral wisdom. 




Third is the process that mediates between unexplored and explored territory – 
The Divine Son, the archetypal individual, creative exploratory “Word” and vengeful adversary. 

We are adapted to this “World of Divine Characters,” much as the “Objective World.” 

The fact of this adaptation implies that the environment is in “reality” a forum for action, as well as a place of things. 

Unprotected exposure to unexplored territory produces FEAR. 

The Individual is protected from such fear as a consequence of “Ritual Imitation of The Great Father” – 
as a consequence of the adoption of group identity, which restricts the Meaning of Things, and confers Predictability on Social Interactions. 




When identification with the group is made absolute, however – when everything has to be controlled, when the unknown is no longer allowed to exist – the creative exploratory process that updates the group can no longer manifest itself. 




This “restriction of adaptive capacity” dramatically increases the probability of social aggression and chaos. 


MISSY’S COLOURS

Rejection of The Unknown is tantamount to “Identification with THE DEVIL,” the mythological counterpart and eternal adversary of the world-creating exploratory hero. 

Such rejection and identification is a consequence of Luciferian Pride, which states: 
All that I know is all that is necessary to know.’ 

This pride is totalitarian assumption of Omniscience – is adoption of “God’s place” by “reason” – is something that inevitably generates a state of personal and social being indistinguishable from HELL. 

This Hell develops because creative exploration – impossible, without (humble) acknowledgment of the unknown – constitutes the process that constructs and maintains the protective adaptive structure that gives Life much of its acceptable meaning. 




“Identification with The Devil” 
amplifies the dangers inherent in group identification, which tends of its own accord towards pathological stultification. Loyalty to personal interest – subjective meaning – can serve as an antidote to the overwhelming temptation constantly posed by the possibility of denying anomaly. 

Personal interest – subjective meaning – reveals itself at the juncture of explored and unexplored territory, and is indicative of participation in the process that ensures continued healthy individual and societal adaptation. 

Loyalty to personal interest is equivalent to identification with the archetypal Hero – 

The “Saviour” 

– who upholds his association with the creative “Word” in the Face of Death, and in spite of Group Pressure to Conform. 

Identification with The Hero serves to decrease the unbearable motivational valence of the unknown; furthermore, provides the individual with a standpoint that simultaneously transcends and maintains the group.”

Tuesday 12 December 2017

Otherstide Eve : Perfectly Innocent Fun & Games - 'Til Somebody Loses anEye

D

 In one movement, they turned their backs.

'Goodbye, Lungbarrovians,'
he called. 'Don't worry. I don't ask for your forgiveness. Time runs in circles. I have other families!'


He looked away across the slope to his companions. Close by, the Director of Allegiance was standing with several of his agents.

'If I keep my job,'
Romana said, 'I'll have Lord Ferain suspended on a charge of misdirection of power. I'm going to have the Agency doors thrown open to Public Register Video for a full investigation.'


'What it is to have power,'
said the Doctor.


'You'd know.'
She grabbed his arm and tried to steer him away as Ferain started towards them.


The elderly man caught up with the Doctor. 'Has she told you why she summoned you yet?'


Romana scowled. 'Go away, Ferain.'


'Has she told you about the mission she's arranged?'


'I changed my mind,'
Romana said. 'The Doctor's not involved.'


'What mission?'
said the Doctor.


'To Skaro,'
Ferain said.


'Cairo?'


'No, Skaro.'


The Doctor shook his head. 'Is this some new Skaro? Or the one that I destroyed with the Hand of Omega?'


Romana flailed her arms. 'I said it doesn't matter!'


Leela and Chris and Dorothée were drawn in by the sound of the argument.


Ferain stood smugly back while the Doctor and Romana argued.



'No, Doctor. I'll get someone else to go.'

'If it's the Master's remains, then I should be the one to fetch them.'
'It's too dangerous!'


'What could be worse than facing my miserable Cousins! Filling in forms with Lethbridge-Stewart? Lunch with the terrible Zodin. . .?'

 
Ferain said, 'But it's true. The Matrix predicts a ninety-six percent chance of fatal injury.'

 
The Doctor closed his eyes and said quietly, 'Then that leaves me with a clear four per cent margin.'


'Don't be so Otheringly flippant!'
snapped Romana.


The Doctor laughed. 'You should see yourselves. The President and the CIA locked in your eternal skirmishes. One side always tilting at the other.'


'That's how the balance of order is maintained,'
said Romana.


The Director of Allegiance smiled grimly. 'It has been that way on Gallifrey ever since the Intuitive Revelation.'


'But you must be so bored,'
said the Doctor. 'Buried in a state of perpetual Harmony, no wonder you play these games.'


'And what will you teach us with your manifold wisdom?'
said Ferain. 'Whoever you are or were?'

 
The Doctor met the old man's eye. The wind stilled.


'What do you want, Ferain? What do you want me to be? Shall I reveal my blazing power? Might that not fry you to a crisp? Shall I sweep away evil and chaos? Reorder the stars in their courses? 

Banish burnt toast forever?'
 
He paused.


'Well, I won't. I wouldn't if I could. Who do you think I am?' He thumbed his chest. 'I'm me. The Doctor. What I have been, someone might have imagined. What I will be, how can I tell? I'm not immortal. I shall go to this Skaro, collect the Master's remains and bring them back to President Romanadvoratrelundar.'


'With such backing,
' said Ferain, 'how can she fail?'

 
The Doctor's eyes flashed. 'Be quiet, my lord. And remember your place!'

 
The birds had stopped singing.


Ferain was silent.


Romana cleared her throat. 'Please be careful.'


The Doctor eyed her sternly. 'The Daleks. The Master. Romana, who have you been talking to?'

***


They stood in a line beside the TARDIS. 


'Please,' the Doctor said,'I didn't ask to be seen off.'

 
'Tough,' said Dorothée. 'You'd better have these.' She fished her last battered box of teabags out of her pocket. He took them and hugged her tight.


He looked fondly at Leela for a long time, peering into her eyes as if he recognized something there.


'This love thing,' he mused. 'Interesting. A father from Gallifrey and a mother of Earth stock. That's an unusual pedigree.'

 
She pushed back her hair and said awkwardly, 'I don't have  anything for you, Doctor.'


'Just call him after me.'

 
She looked startled and then nodded.


'Who exactly is the terrible Zodin?' butted in Chris. 'Some sort of Galactic megalomaniac emperor?'

 
The Doctor's eyes went misty. 'Zodin was a celebrated sword-swallower at the Grand Festival of Zymymys Midamor. She had an amazing trick with a scimitar.'

 
Chris grabbed the Doctor, lifting him off his feet in a monstrous bear hug.


'Roz bet me that I'd never dare do this,' he said. Eventually he put the Doctor down again and picked up his hat for him.


'Give my love to Bernice,' said the Doctor, squeezing Chris's hand.


'And ask her if she wants to lecture at the Academy here,' said Romana.


She turned to the Doctor.


'I know. I'll be careful,' he said.


'I want you to have this.' She slipped a metallic object into his hand. 'It's my sonic screwdriver.'

 
He smiled. 'Thank you, Madam President. I shall see you soon. Back at the Capitol.' He walked to the TARDIS, a small figure clutching his presents. He turned his key and went inside.
 

One by one they moved away.
 

'Will he come back?' said Leela.'

'Dorothee!' The Doctor's head re-emerged from the door. 'I just remembered. I haven't been Merlin yet!'

He vanished and the door closed.


'What?' chorused the others, as Dorothée began to laugh.


The light on the TARDIS flashed like a bright idea.


A flock of startled birds rose from the trees as the TARDIS grated out of existence.


Then they were alone on the sunny mountainside.