Luverly Ideabirds!

Ideabird 8/31/12

Her dolphins were bored with their routine at the water park, so she asked her brother, a bicycle maker, to make some toys for them. His first attempt was a type of wheeled sled they could swim into and drive around the bottom of their pool. The press was so good, and the dolphins so happy, that they started work on a real bike that they could drive around the park. It had a body-sized tank and water cleaning filters, and a see-saw platform they used to self-propel around the visitors. The park was a huge success and each dolphin had his or her own bike. Until one day the dolphins swam out into the countryside to see the world for themselves.


Valerie responded 9/7/2012:

Ideabird is a charming concept. I love the story about the dolphins and bikes.

Ideabird 8/30/12

Been gone the last week while getting kids back to school and working on a movie script. The last script I wrote involved too many special effects, and is currently beyond my means. This one is two people walking through the beauty of San Francisco. Stayed tuned for news. RIght now I am backfilling, so expect a batch at once. Tony

Ideabird 8/29/12

It was tragic that the Presidential nominee's son was killed in a car accident before the convention. Then the President's sister passed away from food poisoning. An agent discovers a link between the two, and as the relatives of both men start dying, he tries to track a killer who seems determined to take out both families, while leaving the the two candidates and their security detail alone.

Ideabird 8/27/12

A young college student starts getting messages from his own future-self. They are in the form of his own voice in head as he's falling asleep. He's told the technique is becoming available to the rare few in the future, and he had to tell himself an important message. But as the student starts acting on the voice, the voice becomes more shrill in tone, saying the future is being re-written. Finally the voice stops, and he is left wondering if it was real.

Ideabird 8/24/12

Our witness to Chinese history tells his children nothing about his past he has buried it completely. His daughter has the opportunity to study in America, and she implores her father to go with her. She knows nothing of his time in the uprising, and knows nothing about the uprising, since the government has buried it so deeply. In San Francisco Chinatown they come across a replica of the Spirit of Democracy statue, and the story comes out.

Ideabird 8/22/12

The factory worker from the last posting returns to China, and uses his skills to get into university. He wants to follow the democratic ideals of Sun Yat Sen and create a better democracy in China than America. He becomes involved in the Tiananmen uprising, and manages to escape unnoticed. He returns to his village and lives silently, broken.

Ideabird 8/20/12

1988, and a worker at a rural Chinese factory becomes obsessed with the cable car Christmas ornaments he produces out of straw. He works and plots to accompany a shipment into America, and he arrives in San Francisco, where he sees cable cars and how casually his village's work is thrown away.

Ideabird 8/17/12

His imagination never stopped, and it haunted him. He built up stories, movies, songs, plays, operas in his mind, but never had the time to record them. They say that each story is like your own child. Everywhere he went he saw the ghosts of all those children unborn, the stories never told. A number would remind him of a character he meant to write. A sunset would remind him of a film he meant to shoot. He loved those pieces he'd created, but everywhere he was haunted by those dream unwritten. And he knew that even the paltry half-life they had would perish with him.

Ideabird 8/15/12

Two stories told simulataneously: Two boys, aged 9 are in a mass of children trying to get from one place to another. The first is during the age of the crusades, and he hopes to get to the Kingdom of God in Jerusalem to find his father. The Second hopes to get to the magical city of New York to find his Mother. Both must use all their skills to survive as they watch the children around them captured, killed, prostituted, or changed into monstrous people in order to survive.

Ideabird 8/13/12

He grew up with frequent drills about where to hide when the government came for them. As a six-year-old he listened sternly, waiting for the day, and made his own secret hiding places in the woods. He was playing hide-and-seek with the other children in the Family one afternoon when the heat lulled him to sleep under the hollow tree. He never heard the attack, the gunfire, the other children crying when the government agents rounded up the surviving Family members. When night came and hunger woke him there was no one in the remains of the compound, but he could see soldiers in black patrolling the fence-line.

Ideabird 8/10/12

They were two lonely people throughout college, each on their own paths. He held a new doctorate in rocketry, she in exobiology. Their paths crossed during the interviews for the Enceladus probe, and they formed a tenuous friendship. Saturn's icy moon was constantly venting snow directly from a liquid interior. The probe, on a 25 year mission, would return a sample to Earth, looking for biological markers. They married soon after the probe flew through the snow curtain, more out of need for companionship than love. Even their children couldn't quell their interior loneliness. When the probe returned they were living separate lives in separate houses, drinking quietly in the evenings. She was the first to notice that the DNA in the returned sample was rewriting the bacteria they fed it. She wasn't sure how she was infected, but she suddenly was able to telepathically sense the sample, the bacteria. Soon she would be in telepathic contact with every living creature on Earth. And beyond. Soon loneliness would be wiped out forever.


Papa responded 8/1/2012

Delicious, may I have seconds, and a larger portion, please?

Brokenminthoughts’ take on 8/3/12

I can't tell you how honored I am the BrokenMindThoughts is expanding some of these ideas for himself. Take it away, BMT!  TJ

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Ideabird 8/3/12 - My story

theideabird:

The vomeronasal organ (VNO) is a secondary chemical reception organ (like smell) in many mammals, and possibly in humans. Unlike smell, it only registers chemical messages, pheremones, from your own species. There is much debate over whether adults still have them, or if they’re reabsorbed into the body as we age. In any case, the genes appear to be there, even if not expressed. The gene gets expressed, and we all suddenly have six senses. We learn not just to receive these pheremonic messages, but that we can communicate with them, creating something as beautiful and primal as music, but in a new sense.

The ability to sense someone else’s feelings or chemical became a problem quickly. It was a known fact that people lie. Our lives are based on lies. We lie to ourselves, we lie to others, others lie to us and we are okay with it. We endorse it, we enjoy it because it makes our lives simpler. When we speak to the bank teller and they tell us “We can’t do anything about this, sorry”, we believe them and reach some form of acceptance upon leaving. When we ask our supervisor at work about a certain activity and they explain it to us, we trust them to know what they are talking about. When we ask our friends for advice, we trust they tell us the truth.

The VNO changed all that, or at least started to. A push of extremist neo-moralist surged with the changes. They called the sensing organ an inhuman thing, an intrusion on privacy and freedom. People were meant to be secretive, to have a peace of mind when talking to someone that they could hide behind a wall of smiles and speeches. We had our excuses but no more.

Jack was a Neo-Moralist and he joined the movement proudly. He was one of the first adults to develop the VNO. He could not stand having to experience and feel everyone’s feelings, everyone’s desires, and hidden perceptions. He found it repulsive. He found it repulsive to the point where he sought to have the organ removed. Alas, it was joined too closely with the brain to be removed safely.

He was approached by a police officer once, he mused, the stink of a bad day on him. The officer asked him about his driving skills and the speed he was going but he knew all too well the cop did not care for any of it. He wanted to finish the bad day, get a ticket into his quota, and the cop did not particularly like the way Jack looked either.

There was a whiff of a broken heart. Sounds like his girlfriend cheated on him with a guy that looked like me, great. Already disappointed and angry, Jack gave the cop a bad time. And this is why I’m a Neo-Moralist. This is not worth it.

When he returned home, he got on the internet and talked to his friends on a forum, discussing his negative experience. How nice it is, he thought, not to have to feel what they feel, not to have to know if they’re lying or not, not to have to watch one’s feelings and chemical outputs.

He slumped down and relaxed, sighing. The Neo-Moralists were sure to win this one. No one should have to be subjected to this. The propagandists call it beauty, but it’s horror. They call it a path to empathy, Jack calls it a path to perpetual hate.

Ideabird 8/8/12

A push is on to make skyscrapers more visible to birds. Glass is invisble to them, and millions are killed each year when they run right into them. One blowhard real-estate magnate (with an incredibly bad toupee) refuses to spend any money on stupid birds, and goes on air to jeer at the bird lovers. He later decides to take a relaxing cruise. His ship sails into the Atlantic, into the triangle of ocean east of Bermuda, and disappears forever.

Ideabird 8/6/12

In the future there will be a coffee table book, probably printed on recyclable plastic that feels like paper, showing all of the landscape photographs taken by Martian rovers and how they've been built up. The McMurto Panorama will be completely gone, though, since the spot where the photo was taken is in the middle of a building in Podkayne city. Of course they will still be called coffee tables even though coffee was replaced years ago with stimu-jump.

Ideabird 8/3/12

The vomeronasal organ (VNO) is a secondary chemical reception organ (like smell) in many mammals, and possibly in humans. Unlike smell, it only registers chemical messages, pheremones, from your own species. There is much debate over whether adults still have them, or if they're reabsorbed into the body as we age. In any case, the genes appear to be there, even if not expressed. The gene gets expressed, and we all suddenly have six senses. We learn not just to receive these pheremonic messages, but that we can communicate with them, creating something as beautiful and primal as music, but in a new sense.

Ideabird 8/1/12

Algorithms run many aspects of human trade now, from Amazon and McDonalds auto-purchasing their items to wall street trading houses. Very few people know China has been secretly using them instead of bureaucrats for a while now. Until one day when a faulty line of code releases all the irrigation water in the Three Gorges Dam at once, washing away everything from Hubei province to Shanghai into the sea.

Brokenmindthoughts Writes Back

So, I definitely wasn’t aware of the history of the project so that’s great to hear! I like the idea of writing that ubiquitous setting and painting something over it! That’s very inspiring especially for a children’s book :) It reminds me of Robot Dreams by Isaac Asimov. No, not the book but actually the cover and just the title itself. I remember having that book for years before I started reading it (and realized it was just I, Robot updated ;) ). It made me think and just the image and the title inspired me to write stories of my own. What DID robots dream about? Was it love? Was it upgrades? Was it escaping their slavery? idk. But I get the point now. My response was actually triggered by a redditor that mentioned how he has a million stories that he cannot all write out because when he starts writing one, he has an idea for 10 more and when he starts one of those, he has an idea for 10 others and so on. So a response was that it wasn’t a story that he had just an idea, and an idea takes a lot of work to be converted into a full story, a story that can take on a full shape, that can become a novel. It’s not just “oh, this stuff happens”. It’s a continuous line of questions like “Then what?”, and “why?”, “how did that become relevant?” and so on. :) Anyways, I wouldn’t mind transforming those ideas on TheIdeaBird into short stories (flash fiction) just for exercise. I feel like it helps me be creative. I have a million things to do (from web development projects, to hobby stuff, to taking care of my family, to work, and to trying to figure how not to stress) but I can commit to something like a story a week haha. It doesn’t really pay bills unless you can self-publish it ;) if it gets on io9 after that, you can make quite a good chunk of money. ;) And reading your own stories, that’s pretty cool. I’ve always wanted to read my poetry since I feel like only I know where to put the stress, where to make pauses and so on. :) Anyways, good night!

© Tony Jonick 2013