I know it made it up to #6 at one point. Being a pre-existing fan of both Trigun and This is How You Loose the Time War made this especially enjoyable.
I’m just going to add some more Twitter screencaps I pasted into the groupchat.
The producer of Trigun Stampede. (No word from Nightow yet, I checked.)
A literary agent. To be precise, the agent of at least one of the authors of Time War.
Slate, posting their article about the whole thing.
A frenzy of mutual adoration and signed hardcover offers.
Other authors want in on the Bigolas Dickolas goodness.
Dongwon again.
Saw this on Twitter and HAH.
Bigolas Dickolas is now Alexander the Great.
And finally, the forecast is good for a livestream of Max and Amal watching Trigun.
This is apparently still unfolding! Tumblr “news” is sometimes 5 years old so I wasn’t sure 😂 The latest - it’s up to #3!!
LMFAOO YEAH I JUST SAW IT HIT #3 been trying to keep this post updated but didn’t want to spam, and the speed at which these things have been happening is beautifully astounding so:
trigun, following bigolas dickolas, has also become a trending topic in business and finance
and the situation very much escaping online confinement xD
A significant number of hours later (and too much to summarize):
Time War summary: reached #3 on Amazon overall, #1 (and 2, And 3) in science fiction romance, #3 in lit and fiction, social media presence overseas, and-
printing with a bigolas dickolas sleeve and so much more
And then after tweeting @ dark horse for a potential trigun maximum (trimax) reprint due to the eng verison being out of print for several years by this point:
so everything can now basically be summed by by this tweet!
(I don’t know if i’ll keep updating this thread considering how many branches there are and idk how much more this can escalate, but I’m keeping an eye on the situation so we’ll see!!)
For those asking what time war is about, per Mr. Bigolas’s post: DO NOT look up anything about it. Just read it.
For those asking about trigun, it is an amazing manga, anime adaptation, and new reboot anime.
this is a confession to the star wars fandom because I have to get this off my chest. last summer just for fun I taught myself to read aurebesh and. you fanartists have Got to Continue putting the most Hilarious stuff into the background of your art because it is literally my favorite thing
here’s a couple of excellent things I’ve read since I started keeping a list just last month:
- “I hate drawing lightsabers”
- “Idk what to put here”
- “stupid fucking sign”
- “eat paste, it’s good”
- an entire news article on a phone screen which I actually found really impressive
- a few funny misspellings but the best one so far was ahsoka somehow becoming “asock”
- wanted poster of obi wan that read “wanted for fashion crimes”. the caption translated it as “wanted for high treason”. like blatantly lying to my face. love it.
90 years ago, in 1933, Alfonso Bialetti invented the Moka Express and changed the image of domestic coffee in Italy and perhaps worldwide.
Moka Express is a true example of Italian creativity and of ‘made in Italy,’ and is present in the permanent collection at the Milan Triennale and the MoMA in New York 😍🤩
Interview With Jamison Green. Originally posted on Youtube, by Dr. Lindsey Doe.
TRANSCRIPT: [Jamison Green sitting on a couch, being interviewed by Dr. Doe. He is wearing a suit shirt and a black jacket, and has a grey beard.] JAMISON: When I first transitioned, I thought I was going to go get a sex change, then go home and mow my lawn. I did not ever imagine that my life would change at all, because already people- at least half the time, sometimes more- thought I was male. And so, I figured nothing was going to change, I would just feel more comfortable in my body. I realised that there were all these other people out there who were living in fear and shame, because of their differences. And I thought, that is not right. And so I said to them, I’m going to start using my full name in public, and I’m going to start talking about who we are. Don’t be afraid to change in all kinds of ways. Your self can change. [Jamison and the interviewer high-five.] INTERVIEWER: I’m impressed by what you’ve done. JAMISON: Thank you. END TRANSCRIPT.
Jamison Green was born in 1948. He came out as a trans man the late 1980s and made his transition public, for the benefit of others. He has been an activist since then, and led the FTM community after Lou Sullivan’s death.
His contributions to trans rights have been largely erased by mainstream narratives around trans history.
Mr. Green wrote the book Becoming a Visible Man, exploring his experiences as a bisexual trans guy, his relationships with lovers and family, and his struggle to transition. He was involved in the 2012 documentary TRANS, where he advocated on behalf of trans people, and discussed his experiences with being s*xually assaulted.
my strangest legacy - in high school, for one reason or another (I can’t remember) my friends and I wrote “34 days until March 2nd” on the whiteboard in the drama classroom. It was completely arbitrary but we kept it it up, “30 days until March 2nd” ”23 days until March 2nd” etc. It spread around enough that the entire school is buzzing about what is going to happen on March 2nd. We figure we should think of something and decide to bring in cake. There were about 13 of us in total committed to bringing a cake. On March 2nd, during 3rd period lunch we all entered the cafeteria in a line (the parade of the cakes) and laid them out—a grand cake buffet for everyone in that lunch period. We did it the next year. And after we graduated it kept going.
This past March 2nd was the 9th year they’ve done it. It’s become a school sponsored event. There are t-shirts for this thing every year. March 2nd is cake day. I am a god.
my former teacher sent me a package. it’s the 10th anniversary this year. they’re already getting ready for march 2nd. it’s january.
it’s March 2021 and i’ve been told there will be cake on the 2nd. I was recently sent the t-shirt design for this year. it’s the 16th anniversary and it will be the last March 2nd Cake Day at school for my former teacher who is retiring this year
my strangest legacy - in high school, for one reason or another (I can’t remember) my friends and I wrote “34 days until March 2nd” on the whiteboard in the drama classroom. It was completely arbitrary but we kept it it up, “30 days until March 2nd” ”23 days until March 2nd” etc. It spread around enough that the entire school is buzzing about what is going to happen on March 2nd. We figure we should think of something and decide to bring in cake. There were about 13 of us in total committed to bringing a cake. On March 2nd, during 3rd period lunch we all entered the cafeteria in a line (the parade of the cakes) and laid them out—a grand cake buffet for everyone in that lunch period. We did it the next year. And after we graduated it kept going.
This past March 2nd was the 9th year they’ve done it. It’s become a school sponsored event. There are t-shirts for this thing every year. March 2nd is cake day. I am a god.
my former teacher sent me a package. it’s the 10th anniversary this year. they’re already getting ready for march 2nd. it’s january.
it’s March 2021 and i’ve been told there will be cake on the 2nd. I was recently sent the t-shirt design for this year. it’s the 16th anniversary and it will be the last March 2nd Cake Day at school for my former teacher who is retiring this year
This is a school that gets 95% of its funding from the government. Jesus christ. I really think we need to just go back to feminism for babies 101 just as a cultural movement because apparently we’re still having the “are girls allowed to wear pants at school” debate. To be clear, the sc declined to hear the case leaving the decision of the lower courts to stand which sided against the school. So that’s nice at least. But Jesus Christ.
Gotta love a government funded school that every day has your child recite that they’re going to guard against the stains of falsehood such as listening to experts relying on rational arguments. Making it out of this current wave of christian nationalist assault on education is gonna be so fucking rough
so I started a new anxiety medication this past week and so far it’s been going very well except that I have extremely vivid dreams and apparently sleep texting. I seem to have sent this at 3am and i have no memory of it
It is almost five centuries ago, and the girl who will one day be a swordswoman is lying in the red-tinged mud. She can’t get up—broken bone? severed tendon? She can’t tell. She’s yet to cultivate her palate for pain. Her enemy towers over her, a cataphract mailed in screaming steel and poisoned light. His warhammer falls, and it is death, forever death, death unconquered and unconquerable.
“No,” says a part of her. She is not even seventeen years old. Her body is mangled and broken, wound piled upon wound piled upon wound. A dull kitchen knife is her only weapon, though she lost that in the mud the second her grip faltered. Her enemy is no thing of this earth. And yet—
“No. It is not death, forever death, death unconquered and unconquerable. It is only a hammer, falling. It is only ‘an attack.’”
And the girl understood.
~~~
It is the better part of three centuries ago, as best the swordswoman can reckon, and she is beset on all sides by foes. They are not monsters—just mountain bandits, or highland rebels, as one cares to see it. But they outnumber her by dozens, and even an exceptional swordswoman might struggle against but two opponents of lesser skill.
From in front of her, beside her, behind her they advance, striking from every angle with spears and blades and axes. Others fill the air with arrows, sling stones, firepots. It would be effortless, to parry any single blow. It would be impossible, physically impossible, to defend against them all.
“No,” says a part of her.
“You are not outnumbered. You do not face 'multiple’ foes. It would be impossible to defend against every attack — but there is no 'every’ attack. Only one.”
“Oh,” the swordswoman said. And it was, in fact, effortless.
~~~
It is eighty years ago, or thereabouts. A coiling spire of stony flesh and verdigrised copper throbs like a tumor on the horizon, coaxed from the earth by spell and sacrifice. It is the tower of a sorcerer-prince, and a birthing place of abominations.
Seven locks of rune-etched metal are opened with her single key. Wretched shapeling beasts, grown by sorcery in vitreous nodules, flee wailing from her, absconding before she even draws her blade. Demons sworn to thousand-year pacts of service find the binding provisions of their agreements unexpectedly severed.
These things dissatisfy the sorcerer-prince. He waxes wroth. He makes signs of power and chants incantations. With a flask of godling’s blood, he draws the binding sigil inscribed upon the moon’s dark face. With cold fire burning in his eyes, he speaks the secret name of Death. It is a king among curses, all-corrupting, all-consuming, and it falls from his lips upon the swordswoman.
“No,” she says, and she turns it aside with her blade.
The sorcerer-prince’s brow furrows. How did she even do that?
“Parried it.”
But—
“With my sword.”
No—
“See, like this.”
Stop—
“Well,” the swordswoman finally says, “I figured that if I just…looked at it right, and thought about it, and construed your curse as a kind of attack…then I could block it.”
That’s not how it works at all!
“If you insist,” says the swordswoman, shrugging, and decapitates him.
~~~
It is now. It is the end. Death couldn’t take the swordswoman, not when she’d spent all her life cutting it up. At times, Death might sidle up to one of her friends, or peer down into a grandchild’s crib, and she’d just give it a look. That’s all it took, by then.
Heartache couldn’t take her, either. Bad things happened to her, and they hurt, and she lived in that hurt, but if it was ever more than she could take…she’d just, move her sword in a way that’s difficult to describe. And she’d keep going.
Kingdoms fell, and she kept going. Continents crumbled and sank into the sea. Her planet’s star faded and froze. She started carrying a lantern. Universes were torn apart and scattered, until all that had been matter was redistributed in thermodynamic equilibrium. With one exception.
But now it is the end. There is no time left; time is already dead. The swordswoman has outlived reality, but there is simply no further she can go. This is not a thing that can be blocked. This is the absence of anything further to block.
“No,” says the girl who will one day be a swordswoman. “This isn’t the ending.And even if it was, it’s not the ending that matters.”
The swordswoman looks back at who she was, at the countless selves she’s been between them. She looks forward, at the rapidly contracting point that remains of the future. She grasps the all of linear time in her mind, and sees that it is shaped like a spear.
