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"After a 15 year wait, Conal is going to meet his father for the first time. His father Keith is the world’s most notorious criminal, convicted of a crime which changed history itself. Convinced of his father’s innocence, Conal needs Keith’s help to set the record straight. But his quest for justice takes an unexpected turn and Conal soon finds himself confronted with the unimaginable.

"This atmospheric film is the first ever screen-adaptation of the work of award-winning sci-fi author Ken MacLeod."

(Source: Vimeo via io9)

Interesting concept. I’m not sure I understand why quite so many people died, though.

Soon We May Be Mass Producing Human Blood

"Researchers in the UK have developed a technique to culture universal type-O blood from stem cells. It’s the first time scientists have manufactured blood to the appropriate quality and safety standards for transfusion into a human being. It’s a breakthrough that could eventually end blood shortages in emergencies."

(Source: io9)

Tru Blood, anyone?

"Boston’s New Edgar Allen [sic] Poe Statue Is Going to Be Epic"

"Stefanie Rocknak’s design was selected out 265 other artists from 42 states and 13 countries with the proposal for "Poe Returning to Boston":

"His face reflects a mixture of pain, anger and sadness, and from some angles, a subtle sense of hope…he leaves a literal paper trail behind him…His ideas are jumping off the page and cascading out of his trunk; a heart lies just behind him, and an oversized Raven explodes to the south. The Raven, which has become symbolic of Poe’s brooding creative spirit, visually reflects Poe; his coat mimics the raven’s wing, and, like a bird, Poe is slightly pigeon-toed. They are one, heading up-wind towards their final resting place."

(Source: Katharine Trendacosta on io9)

That is pretty awesome.

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I don’t like to construe my sexual orientation, and my long journey to being open about it, as the lynchpin of my psyche. The other day, however, I was thinking about its relationship to my creativity.
In yet another of my many forays into self-dialogue (talking to myself might reasonably be considered one of my hobbies), I commented that I was so deep in the closet when I was younger that — not only was it so dark that the truth was hidden even from me — I’m pretty sure that one foot was firmly buried under a snowdrift in Narnia. Closet, wardrobe. Potayto, potahto.

Anyhoo, for years my imagination was the only arena in which I even came close to being honest with myself about my sexuality. The men and boys who appeared in the often bizarre fantasies of my early years hid their erotism under various fantastical disguises. I have to wonder how different (and perhaps more sparse) my creative landscape might have been without the presence of this Unconscious conflict to fuel it. Maybe I never would have put pen to paper and written my earliest stories had there not been so much hidden away within me that was starving for an outlet.

Honesty might be the best policy, but it seems a little dishonesty can be productive, as well.

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