When I Say 'i Want Worse Graphics' Ppl Assume I Mean 'i Want Stylyzed Instead Of Realistic' Then Get

Being overstimulated is such a weird thing to explain to people. Like "hey sorry, I'm not mad at you and this is nobody's fault and I'm not blaming anyone for it happening, I am aware this is a part of regular everyday life but I am mentally crumbling because There Have Been Things Happening nonstop for 5 hours straight back to back with no breaks, and I really need to sit down in complete silence for like 15-25 minutes, after which I will be completely fine and can proceed as normal. But if I'm not allowed to have that, I will resort to violence."

Ey so what was your thesis about Bionicle as a meta-narrative/story-about-stories? I´m a huge fan of meta-ficiton/meta-narratives and never thought of the series that way so your take regarding it got me really interested.

So, there’s a bunch of facets to this.

Basically, Bionicle characters know they are in a story. This doesn’t mean that they know they’re fictional characters or that there’s an audience of humans watching, but their universe designates people as heroes, villains, and bystanders/victims. The universe runs on story logic, almost to the same extent as Discworld, though with superhero comics and hero mythologies rather than high fantasy and fairy tales. The “genre savvy” characters are of a more subtle type as well. The heroes go into a situation with an expectation of how it will end, because they have some idea what their destiny is, and heroes are always expected to win, right? But they are still often surprised by the outcome, because the story they were told is only a fraction of a more complex reality.

Let’s start with the first obvious storyteller: Vakama

The backstory, as first told to us by Vakama invokes mythic tropes such as creation stories, Cain and Abel style brotherly betrayals, and heroes who arrive from a distant land. Despite the fact that the characters are clearly some sort of robots or cyborgs, we’re immediately told that their setting runs on the logic of magic and myth. So Vakama and the other Turaga, as the storytellers, give the heroes and the audience an idea of how this world works and how things will turn out. This mythic story also represents the power of stories to persist and carry meaning through time, shaping thought and belief, even after the original facts have been long forgotten.

But then Vakama pulls out the rug from under us with the reveal of Metru Nui. Suddenly the story shifts from fantasy to scifi, from humble villages in harmony with their environment to a futuristic dystopia. This time the heroes are not beloved figures of myth, but vigilantes pitted against a corrupt police state. Again, Vakama is telling the story though, and he holds control over how his audience perceives the events and characters. And yet again, he is leaving something out- the Visorak and Hordika. Initially, he intended to keep that secret. It didn’t fit the story he was trying to tell. He had a perfect character arc laid out for himself in Legends of Metru Nui in his journey from a shy, anxious mask maker into a confident hero and leader. That was all anyone needed to know, right?

The Hordika represent yet another genre shift, this time into noir/horror. The heroes do not act heroically. They do not look heroic. Their character development is often negative. They are implied to be an aberration at even the cosmic level, since the Great Temple, and implicitly Mata Nui himself, rejects them. They find out that their selection as Toa came about thanks to Makuta himself. The story has gone horribly wrong, and the heroes know it. But nevertheless, the Toa resolve their differences, teamwork saves the day yet again, the prophecy is fulfilled For That Is The Way Of The Bionicle.

Vakama has very little to do in the legends arc. Because he’s been established by now as a less than reliable expositor, it is the always truthful Nokama who drops the reveal instead: Mata Nui is dying.

Vakama’s stepping down from his storytelling role allows for the gradual reveal of another storyteller: Makuta Teridax.

Chronologically, Makuta’s first real foray into weaving the narrative around others happened in Time Trap. He constructs his own elaborate narrative around Vakama in order to manipulate his mind and behaviour. But Vakama fails to play his part as the protagonist correctly, causing Teridax’s constructed narrative to fall apart.

By the time we become aware of his role in the ignition arc, Teridax has improved his technique as a puppet master/ storyteller considerably. Almost every conflict the heroes face has been orchestrated by him, pitting minor villain groups against the heroes to give them the victories that their story requires. Teridax seems aware that heroes have to ‘win’ because Destiny demands it, so he lets them, but it’s all in service of his own ultimate victory. Instead of the ‘cross-wired’ and unpredictable Vakama, Teridax targets the dutiful but socially isolated and secretive Matoro, who he basically grooms to be the perfect little sacrifice. Matoro performs his role perfectly, and gives the heroes an apparent bittersweet victory while allowing Teridax to put the final stages of his plan in motion.

I think it needs to become common knowledge that "inability to read social cues" can show up as overcompensating.

You don't know how much misbehaviour is allowed, so you become the perfect child who never tests rules.

You don't know if someone is irritated with you, so you'll be extra generous and self-effacing.

You don't know how much is expected of you at work so you'll kill yourself in a minimum-wage job and not notice that nobody else is working like this.

"Hardworking and quiet" should be as much of an autism red flag as "ignores rules and doesn't know when to stop talking". Or why don't we just start using words to communicate so i can stop tracking everybody's eyebrow twitches, that would be great.

final track I had the honour of working on for Vast Error Volume 5: Side B

Listen to Vol. 5: SIDE B >> HERE <<

Or listen to GAIAEON (OUTRO) >> HERE<<

THE MADNESS OF TURAGA

“Where are your Matoran, Bahtu? I’ve seen no one on the hike up here.”

The Turaga fiddled idly with his stick. His eyes wandered around the empty village.

“They are…they are gone, old friend.”

“Gone?”

“Yes.”

“Gone where? And why? What happened?”

“They were…broken.”

“Explain! Who did this?”

“Now calm yourself, my friend. My nerves are not what they used to be.”

The Toa stepped forward, lowering his voice.

“Tell me what happened, Bahtu. Was it Zygl–”

The Turaga began to speak gravely:

“It started with small things, you see. Day by day. Small changes. Small…deviations. A lost minute here or there. A construction made slightly different from the Standard. A repair completed with…I don’t have the word…”  The Turaga gestured limply, “…a ‘flourish’, maybe, as the Great Beings might have said. Maybe that.”

“I don’t underst–”

“–All still workable, to be sure,” the Turaga continued unbothered. “Still workable, but…but deviant, you see. Not according to the Great Standard. The Saa Nui is very demanding if us, as you know. And to stray would be disastrous.”

“So you say. And what then?”

“Oh, what then…let me see. Well, then came other strange things. The Matoran would…would talk to each other. Have you ever heard of such a thing? Not simply transmitting information, I mean, but…but talking for its own sake. I would catch them sometimes, coming around a corner, speaking about something or other that was clearly beyond the scope of that moment’s Duty. And though I corrected them, still they persisted. Even worse: they whispered instead. So many whispers. The village was full of whispering, day and night. I could not stop them all.”

“Go on.”

“Oh yes, yes, and then there were questions.”

“Questions are not out of the ordinary.”

“Of course not, no…but these questions were different. They began to ask all manner of things, inane things, like ‘Why do the sky-stars burn out at night?’ or ‘Where does the Great Spirit live?’ Once, one even asked me ‘Why should we work to fulfill our Duty?’”

The Turaga shook his head, “I was aghast, as you may imagine. I did not know what to say! I sent that Matoran away to work on the mountainside, away from the others, for a time, lest they…lest they ‘talk’ about it.”

“I still do not see what–”

“–And that’s not even the worst of it! Oh, my friend, one day…One day, they asked me for names. New names. Can you imagine it? Each and every one of them I named when they were brought forth from the eles raliska–gave them the embodiment of their Duty, their place in our world, and they thought they knew better! I could not bear it then. So…I sent them…away.”

“Where? To work on the mountainside?” The Toa looked up, scanning the hills in the distance, “Where did you send them?”

“No…to be mended.”

A light breeze made the thorn-trees rattle on the edge of the village. The shadows of the crumbling huts crept longer. The Turaga stopped fidgeting.

“You sent them to–”

“–To Him, yes! It was the only thing to be done.”

The Turaga began to gesture agitatedly, his words pouring out faster: “I put forth the summons, you see, and the Great Crabs came up from the sea, and–”

The Toa stepped closer, cutting him off:

“You know that few have ever returned from His Land. You know this.”

“Oh…I know. But it was right. They were too far gone. It would have been a disaster if I hadn’t. And if they do not return, then…well, more can be called up, if Mata wills it, and I will give them their names, and…”

“How long ago.”

“I…oh…perhaps some days–”

“–all of them?–”

“–…or years?” the Turaga mused. “My timing is all off now, you see, without the rhythm of their work. But it will soon be put right. Soon. Do not worry.”

“Years…” The Toa shook his head, “So you have been here alone, all this time. Doing nothing.”

“Waiting! Preparing! It will all be put right soon. Soon! You’ll see.”

“I cannot see that. The village is…”

The Toa looked around at the ruins of the village once more, lapsing into silence.

“They were broken, old friend. I could not let them suffer in that way. It was not right.”

“Did they fail in their work?”

“They deviated. It was necessary.”

A long silence followed.

“I see now,” the Toa said at last, in a quiet voice.

“Ah, that is good. You are a Toa, after all! Of all beings, you would understand. It had to be done, to keep the order of the world. It is what we are made for, you and I.”

Lesovikk’s hands closed slowly, slowly into fists, clenching until the armor of his gauntlets creaked. His gaze narrowed to a point, fixed upon the small, pathetic being before him. The wind died.

“I am not a Toa anymore.”

SPIRIT OF FLAME, HEAR ME

Staggered in under the black stone, sick from the teleport. He’d barely made it. Could feel how close it had been, as the power ebbed. He fell to his knees, succumbing to the shivering exhaustion that spread through his core and into his limbs. 

Once, he had been strong. He remembered how the villagers of Ta-Koro had first looked at him from behind their thin spears: fear and hope mixed. They were frail, weakened by the darkness, but still they had raised open hands toward him.

“Mata Nui has answered,” they’d said in hushed tones. Then, beseeching: “O Spirit of Flame, hear us!”

The Armor had abandoned him. Angonce had warned...“Contingency against contingency” or something equally as cryptic. Not only that: The Armor had taken its power with it, emptied him of all the strange abilities it had granted. Teleportation was all he’d been able to manage. One last escape, and no more.

All that was left now was his own elemental power, but even that.... The Hunter’s black ceramic lances throbbed where they protruded from his back, draining his energies. Dark and smooth and alien. He couldn’t get them out. He’d have to try again....

Jaw clenched, he crawled forward a pace, felt cool air on his brow, and remembered that he was maskless. That’d have to be first. He reached out with his mind. It was hard, much too hard...but then he felt his old Hau respond. It came to him from however far away and covered his face with its familiar shape, filled him with its familiar energy.

Better. He breathed and pushed back against the pain in his body. Now he raised a hand in front of his face. Focused again. It was still hard, but not like before. Come on!

Radiance. A small tongue of fire sprang to life above his palm. It grew. Yes, it was alive. He was alive. For now.

“Listen to me!” he’d yelled, trying to make himself heard as the Hunter smashed blunt arms against his shield. He’d used the Armor to exert telekinetic control then, arresting his foe’s upper limbs. The great eye fixed on him with an expression of...Amusement? Insult?

“Your creators don’t want this!” he’d gasped, breathless from his wounds. “And neither do mine. We must stop. They don’t want this destruction.”

The Hunter had no real mouth, but words came from somewhere, a metallic clamor issuing from the gaps in its carapace.

“THEY DO.”

He’d felt it then. An unlatching, a withdrawal. The air shimmered as his telekinesis failed. The Armor twisted him, wrenched itself from his body and limbs and face, and flung him away. Teleportation saved him from the impact, but not much else, and then...

The tiny flame danced before his eyes. Alive.

They have answered you. They have shown you what they want.

Pain swelled in his body, and his hand began to shake. His arm sagged, and his breath came in gasps. He was weak, weakened by the darkness, and there was no one here to help.

He struggled to raise his hand a little higher, felt the warmth on his mask.

“Spirit of Flame...hear me,” he whispered.

Then he collapsed forward, and was still.

The flame wavered in the air. Trembled.

But it did not go out.

probably for the best Kotu as a Toa would've been an absolute menace

Once you start thinking about humans as a species in a biome, it affects your entire way of looking at normal things.

The other day I referred to female morning joggers as an 'indicator species' in that if you see women jogging in the dark it means that the environment provides migration pathways (sidewalks, clear signs) and doesn't have any known predators of female morning joggers (guy with knife, bear, BigTruck, male morning joggers).

Though, I think that people consider framing humans as animals reacting to their environment as rude.