The retreat from Tenochtitlan has turned into a bloodbath. Your powder is wet, your armor is heavy, and the Mexican jungle is closing in. Ahead, a pyramid waits for its next offering. Behind you? The relentless beat of Aztec war drums. I am bringing PsychScape Historical to Con of the North starting tomorrow night! I’ll be running three standalone, fast-paced one-shot sessions of "Nextlahualli of Eztli" (Sacrifice of Blood). Whether you are a veteran or new to the system, these sessions are designed to throw you straight into the tactical and psychological grit of survival. Join me for a session: 📅 Friday, Feb 13th @ 6:00 PM 📅 Saturday, Feb 14th @ 11:00 AM 📅 Saturday, Feb 14th @ 6:00 PM In this world, your mind is just as much a battlefield as the mud beneath your boots. Outthink the pursuit, or become part of the history of La Noche Triste. Read the full briefing and secure your spot here: 🔗 https://www.man-of-ages.com/blog-posts/the-drums-are-beating-will-you-be-the-sacrifice

James Bond is more than just a fictional spy; he is a perennial archetype of masculine hyper-competence and social dominance. While modern interpretations have tried to "humanize" the character with layers of doubt, the original Bond established by Ian Fleming’s novels and Sean Connery’s films provides a rigorous blueprint for personal and professional authority. To turn Bond into your personal coach, you must look past the gadgets and cars to the internal psychological fortress and the external social execution that make him a "wonderful machine". Here is the unfiltered protocol for navigating intergender dynamics, workplace power, and internal discipline. 1. The Inner Citadel: Stoicism and Outcome Independence The foundation of Bond’s authority is a profound psychological resilience. Fleming’s Bond is defined by a "cold-blooded pragmatism" and an unwavering commitment to duty. This is not a flaw; it is a survival mechanism. - The Dichotomy of Control: Bond focuses entirely on his preparation—assembling his weapons and training—while accepting the possibility of death. In your life, this means directing energy only toward actionable tasks and ignoring external noise you cannot influence.   - "Never Job Backwards": Regret is viewed by Bond as a "death-watch beetle in the soul". He treats every situation as "memoryless," much like a deck of cards in a casino. The fact that your last professional setback was a disaster has no bearing on how the next "hand" should be played.   - Outcome Independence: Central to Bond’s success is the state of being entirely unattached to the result of an exchange. He walks into every meeting or interaction with the willingness to walk away, which creates a natural, high-status aura.   2. Social Architecture: Frame Control and Presence In social dynamics, Bond’s most potent weapon is "Frame Control"—the ability to define the perspective through which an interaction is viewed. In any given situation, the individual with the strongest "subjective reality" dominates the interaction.

In an era increasingly dominated by digital effects, AI-driven tools, and synthetic realities, it's time we re-evaluate what truly constitutes cinematic artistry. I propose that any major film award should exclusively honor films that embrace and excel in analog filmmaking. This isn't about being Luddites; it's about preserving a human craft, celebrating tangible skill, and recognizing the profound difference between a meticulously constructed reality and a digitally rendered one. Filmmaking, at its heart, has always been a craft of hands, eyes, and tangible materials. From the tactile process of loading film into a camera to the meticulous art of cutting on a moviola, every step in the analog process demands a deep understanding of light, shadow, texture, and timing. It's a dance between the artist and the physical world, where limitations often breed the most astonishing innovations. Think about the sheer ingenuity involved in practical effects. These aren't just "old-fashioned" methods; they are a testament to creative problem-solving and engineering. When an explosion rips through a miniature set, or a creature suit brings an impossible being to life, there's a weight, a presence, and a certain magic that digital approximations often struggle to replicate. The imperfections become part of the charm, the humanity of the endeavor shining through. Consider the groundbreaking work in films like Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey. Made almost 60 years ago, its visual effects remain breathtaking and deeply immersive, precisely because they are the result of visionary analog techniques: - The "Star Gate" Sequence with Slit-Scan Photography: That iconic, mind-bending journey through light and color wasn't a computer rendering. It was achieved through slit-scan photography, a brilliant in-camera technique. A camera moved parallel to a narrow slit, behind which transparencies with abstract patterns were slowly manipulated and illuminated. The long exposures and precise mechanical movements created those stunning, streaking light trails – a purely optical, handcrafted marvel that still captivates audiences today. - The "Dawn of Man" Sequence using Front Projection: To place prehistoric humans (and elaborate ape suits) so convincingly in the vast African plains, Kubrick employed sophisticated front projection. Instead of traditional rear projection, which often looked flat, front projection beamed pre-shot background footage onto a highly reflective screen, perfectly aligned with the camera. This allowed actors to perform in front of the projected image without casting shadows, seamlessly blending them into a believable, expansive landscape. It was a sophisticated optical illusion, executed with astounding precision.

The way an artist "talks" to his audience is actually dead simple: He expresses himself not by what he says, but by what he has the balls to leave out. It sounds like a mystery, but it’s just tradecraft. When an artist looks at a subject, something hits him. It gives him a "thrill." Maybe it’s the specific curve of a woman’s silhouette, the sharp folds of a silk dress, or the raw texture of a New Mexico arroyo. It could be a long-unremembered dream or a splash of color hanging in a storm-broken sky. Whatever it is, his job is to hunt down that "thrill" and pin it to the canvas for the rest of us to see. The Art of the Edit The giants—Pyle, Sargent, Wyeth, Frazetta, and the greatest of them all, J.M.W. Turner—didn't just record what was in front of them. They edited it. Even when they painted the same subjects, the results were worlds apart. Monet famously said, "We follow the one called Turner," yet his work was his own because his selection was his own. As Andrew Loomis puts it in these pages: "The lens sees too much. The eye selects." A camera is a mechanical snitch. It sees every distracting mole, every stray thread, and every irrelevant detail with the same cold, boring focus. But the mind of a painter is selective. Directing the Eye An artist speaks by deciding what matters and what doesn't. He says: - "Look here—this is the soul of the image." - "Ignore that—it’s just noise." By piling detail onto a beautiful face, or amping up the contrast on a muscular horizon, he forces the viewer’s eye to move exactly where he wants, when he wants. He’s pointing you toward that "Shock of Truth" that hit him in the first place. The Tool is Irrelevant It doesn't matter if you’re using a burnt stick, a camera, or a Neural Network and a keyboard. When you’re prompting an AI, you’re still an artist if—and only if—you are emphasizing the essential and de-emphasizing the garbage. If you just take the "slick" image the machine spits out without choosing what to highlight, you aren't an artist; you're just a bystander.