Is it cheating to use a computer to answer a human question? Or is that precisely what they’re for? Everyone’s a genius in the computer.īreakfast is onions going transparent, greens shriveling, a pair of eggs yellowing on LOW. The result can be blotchy, but from a distance, identical. Dithering is the attempt by a computer program to approximate an unknown color by adding digital noise to smooth out a transition between two known colors. This can be done by either using the closest color (fast), or by using dithering (slow). When a color was detected in an image that was not available, a different one had to be used. At one time, screens were capable of displaying only 256 colors. Some inane, critical thought experiment: could you detect a missing shade of purple?Īnswer: In another way, computer monitors may not always be depended upon for the true representation of a color. So, practicing firm eye-contact, a direct handshake, and value-driving posture. It’s all bullshit until you don’t have to look at the price of food on the menu. That inexplicable internet gold rush energy. San Francisco has been lobbing offers, and they are looking to expand. It ranges from the poetic (bird calls, church choirs) to the mundane (cars idling, air conditioners). So if one wants to know what the sound of the breeze flowing through Grant Memorial Park sounds like, or the quad at Indiana Wesleyan University, or the swimming pools in Gas City, they can. There’s a small tech company being run out of someone’s garage in Marion called Soft.ly, which allows users to upload field recordings to an interactive map. Has the modern world lost its bite? Have we gone soft gummed? Which shirt goes best with a robin’s egg blue double windsor? But here we are, steam-pressing our delicates. As a blacksmith, all problems can be solved with more heat and a bigger hammer. The tiny ants of rust are insatiable they’ll eat anything that shines. Something similar must be happening in the ironing board. Ever tried to start the car when it’s already running? The large gear in the starter begins spinning and jumps forward to grind the teeth off the flywheel. Opening the ironing board sends off high-pitched squeals of metal on metal. Hell, rip three pages for good luck.ģ/1 You are 100% a being of pure light 3/2 Your light is unswerving radiation 3/3 You’re a workhorse on fire, en gallop Rip a page from the flip-a-day affirmation calendar. Fishing contact lenses from their solution. Plucking, clipping, filing, brushing, flossing, gargling, spitting, washing, oiling, shaving, and washing again. Life is absolutely shimmering in the blindspots.Īnd how can a towel just displace water around the skin? As if you threw the cloth into the ocean, it would slip through untouched, like the oily feathers of a duck. In the lining, under the rug, the in-between, out-of-reach, blindspots. It’s constantly sneaking up on you, life.
Cold linoleum and a million pinpoints of mold. Is there nothing else to do but absentmindedly tug on our pubic hair and relive every grade school humiliation? Piss down the drain, genius. That after-the-rain smell is the brain soaking in a pool of oxygen. As water falls, it collects grime and pollutants in the air, leaving it pure.
In the shower, a stray bit of elevator-dialogue floats into the brain, “bread and water can so easily be toast and tea.” And then another one, “all books are self-help books.” Everyone’s a genius in the shower. Some grand mechanic in the chest knows what to do: beat, beat, beat. How can the body want so many things at once? And yet, the body continues to operate the machinations of daily life. The morning tongue is sticky like nearly-dried paint. Stretching the skin, cracking the small bones of the neck, knuckles, back. Ankles click and pop as they drag the legs from room to room. Until coffee burns it off, fog rolls in heavy and low behind the eyes. It churns out tiny yelps and you wake with your dreams dissolving like an antacid in warm water. Fraction AnthemĮven the alarm clock sounds tired. There are so many killer one-liners in this piece that by its end, you’ll be left reeling too. Every beeping device and worrying thought demand attention, sending the protagonist reeling. Associate fiction editor Ben Kinney on today's bonus story: " Life is absolutely shimmering in the blindspots.” So goes Chris Ames' “Fraction Anthem,” but this is a story where competing images come at the reader in visceral detail.
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