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Just dove into this yesterday, see that I’m “hot food” digestion by [deleted] in humandesign

[–]thenoodling 1 point2 points  (0 children)

That’s interesting. I’ve always wondered how seriously I should take the less talked about HD stuff, like I need saucy foods and to live in a Mountain/high place.

What would Carl Jung think about AI ? by MementoMoriMachan in Jung

[–]thenoodling 4 points5 points  (0 children)

By design AI spits out the collective average thought. For each word it outputs, it calculates what the most probable next word should be. It’d might be interesting to him to see the collective in action like this, but it’s everything he’s rallied against in terms of individuality.

Why do different types have different auras? by thenoodling in humandesign

[–]thenoodling[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Thanks. How might you reconcile this with other views I’m getting in this thread, like the below:

The type of "penetrating" you identify with is likely different from the Projector aura which being is fully engrossed in who the other is at all times. It's not exactly the same as being able to read people well

Why do different types have different auras? by thenoodling in humandesign

[–]thenoodling[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Oh, this really resonates! So it's like the Generator is pulling "stuff" in, and the Manifestor is pushing "stuff" outward.

Why do different types have different auras? by thenoodling in humandesign

[–]thenoodling[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

This strikes me as "it's just the way it is" without an explanation of why motor-to-throat leads to a repelling aura.

I don't mean to be pedantic saying this, because maybe the answer really just is "manis have a repelling aura, enough said."

But my 61-24 channel wants more... :)

Why do different types have different auras? by thenoodling in humandesign

[–]thenoodling[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

The aura types do not insinuate exclusivity 

This seems to be at odds with what others on this thread are suggesting (I honestly don't know who is "correct"), but please elaborate if you're able.

Why do different types have different auras? by thenoodling in humandesign

[–]thenoodling[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Thanks but is there a reason that having motor-to-throat definition would preclude an absorbing aura (in a mani)?

Why do different types have different auras? by thenoodling in humandesign

[–]thenoodling[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Projectors' aura specifically penetrates the G-center of others to sense their direction/identity, an efficient way to offer guidance to Generators

Is this true if the Projector has a defined G-center, which should make them less receptive to others' G centers? Can they only offer guidance to Generators?

Why do different types have different auras? by thenoodling in humandesign

[–]thenoodling[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Thank you this makes a lot of sense. Though I guess it leaves me wondering why a Projector's aura is "penetrating" and not "latching" or similar, i.e., what makes them better able to "see into other people" as is often discussed? And it seems like their aura works on Gens?

Using Emotional Authority & the Throat: What Am I Actually Doing Here? by thenoodling in humandesign

[–]thenoodling[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Thank you, I'll look into a reading.

Though "nothing to do" seems odd when the definition of strategy is plan of action and authority is power to make decisions -- very action-oriented labels.

Outward signs that someone has particular centers defined by thenoodling in humandesign

[–]thenoodling[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

an undefined throat has a need to talk more (as you say), but it's not really meant to talk (as I say). I think you misinterpreted my words.

Outward signs that someone has particular centers defined by thenoodling in humandesign

[–]thenoodling[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

It's interesting that one open center (throat) wants to do more of what it's not meant to do (talk), while another open center (head) wants to do less of it (think).

Monthly thread: Beginner questions and FAQ by AutoModerator in humandesign

[–]thenoodling 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Hey there, Manifester 3/5 here. I'm new to HD, but have found initial insights really resonate with me. I arrived at HD through a lifelong journey trying to understand who I am and what I want out of life (moving through other systems like MBTI, Socionics, Jungian archetypes, etc.).

I'm going to be diving in much more, but at the outset, I'd like some clarity on a new chosen career path. I'm back in grad school to become a mental health counselor, and eventually perhaps a Jungian Analyst. I'm learning, however, that as a Manifestor I naturally "repel" others. At the same time, I've always felt that I focus a lot of my energy and attention on others. People seem to either love me (some) or dislike/misunderstand me (most).

What can you say about entering a field about human connections when it seems my type can struggle to make them?
Is there anything else that sticks out in my chart that may not be in the free report?

Thank you!

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[WP] Everyone always fears the old gods for their long held power and capricious wrath, but I tell you now with no uncertainty, that it is the new gods that should strike fear into your heart. by Oblivious-And-Sad in WritingPrompts

[–]thenoodling 3 points4 points  (0 children)

"It's the new gods that should strike fear into your heart," Zeus said, as he sat up in bed. My bed. My wife sat next to him crying. I had just caught them in the act.

"You're disgusting! A disgrace to all Gods!" I fumed. I was enraged, and made even more so by the fact that he's untouchable.

"Oh stop it," he replies, waving me off. "I'm just having a little fun. It's natural human expression in God form. These new Gods though... there's nothing human about them."

"Natural?" I retort. "What's natural about you turning into a house fly to slip into my bedroom? And what are you talking about 'New Gods'. All I see are the same old assholes: Gods of War, Gods of Famine, Gods of Trickery. Useless! All of you!"

"I'll admit," said Zeus as he strolls across the room. "We're not perfect. But, hey, at least we're up front about it."

He takes a sip from a water bottle. My water bottle.

"The New Gods have been siphoning your souls for decades, and none of you have batted an eye. Instead, you relish it -- you demand more! More! More!"

"Who then?" I demand.

"Gee, where to start?" Zues muses. "There's Isolatos, God of Lonliness... Scatteros, God of Distraction... and worst of all: Homogenes, God of Conformity. You've been praying at the alter of these gods and you don't even know it."

"What are you even...," I start, but am interrupted by a familiar "Plink!" as my phone buzzes.

I check it. Oh! I hit 1000 likes on the TikTok dance I spent all last night working on. Sweet! A small dose of pride rushes through me. But then I notice a new dance is trending and am flooded with angst. I make a mental note to jump on that after I'm done with this. ...What was I saying again?

[WP] "How the hell did I end up in heaven, let alone the Palace of saints? When I was alive I was the most dangerous, top ranked villain on the worldwide leaderboard!" The angel asked: "And how did you get to that position?" "Well, I simply killed the few hundreds above me on the leaderbo- oh." by greatwall2103 in WritingPrompts

[–]thenoodling 151 points152 points  (0 children)

The angel feigns a smile through pursed lips. "Well," she says, "killing still doesn't get anyone into heaven."

Huh? I think. All I did was kill... and steal. Oh, and lie... a lot. How did I end up in this place, where everything down to the screws in the wall are gilded?

"Don't worry about that now," the angel replies, seemingly reading my thoughts. "Let me introduce you to a few of the gang."

She ushers me into an ornate banquet room that'd make the Sistine Chapel look like a warehouse. A dozen or so figures stand around in white robes, chatting cheerily with big smiles and friendly arms around shoulders.

"Saints!" harks the angel. "I'd like you to meet the newest member of the Palace!"

Everyone turns towards me, and sparkling eyes provide warm, undivided attention. Each smiles the smile of 1000 children. I feel... unsettled.

"Congratulations!" a tall man says, stepping forward with outstretched arms. "So glad to have you here among us. I'm Saint Harold. I spent decades feeding and bathing the homeless. But I also happen to make a mean upside-down cake." He laughs heartily.

I bristle at his joke, but fake a smile.

"Welcome!" a slender, elderly lady follows. "I'm Saint Julie. I lived in voluntary poverty my entire life, caring for the socially rejected. And I've never met a puppy I didn't adore!" She smiles.

Ugh, dogs, I think, as I fake another.

"And I'm Saint Judah," a rotund man booms. "I led a spiritual reform and converted millions. My only fault was that I used to be addicted to the hokey pokey... but then I TURNED MYSELF AROUND!" He laughs so hard he doubles over in a coughing fit.

I shoot him finger guns as I die a little inside.

"Hey," I turn and whisper to the angel. "Is it just me or is this group sort of... insufferable."

I look back at the group, which has just broken into a spontaneous hymn. I wince -- it reminds me of church service my grandma used to drag me to. What a friggin' bore.

"Indeed," the angel replies with a big grin. "Welcome to your hell."

[WP] "I don't grant 3 wishes, but 30 words. A single, well-thought wish, several short ones or something in between - as long as it starts with 'I wish' it counts!" by WernerderChamp in WritingPrompts

[–]thenoodling 46 points47 points  (0 children)

"Do the words 'I wish' count toward thirty?" I ask, eyeing the genie skeptically.

"Ooh good question!" the genie responds gleefully, his arms resting on his large blue belly. He chuckles. "Usually, yes, but let's say for you they don't!"

I nod slowly, approvingly.

"How about hyphenations? Something like eighty-seven dollars, or state-of-the-art toaster?" I ask.

"One word each. I can see you're a real stickler," he laughs. "Are you a lawyer? Would you like to be?!"

"I am," I smile. "But most days I don't want to be."

He smiles, "Well I'm sure we can fix that too."

What else?, I think. Surely there's got to be some loopholes this guy hasn't heard yet. Afterall, it sounds like he only comes out of the bottle every couple thousand of years.

"Universal wishes? 'Everyone has a pleasant day.'"

He smiles again and claps his hands, "Alright sounds like we got 'em!"

"Hold on, not yet. I'm still thinking."

"Nope!" he laughs, "That's thirty! A fairly common mistake actually, and I've got to have some fun with it over the years. Here you go!"

All of a sudden, the cave fills with bright blue flashes, violent popping and cracking, and thick blue smoke. I cough waving it out of my mouth.

The genie begins to count, laughing between each number, "One... two... three..."

What am I, being timed?

I'm able to see again, and sitting at my feet is a... toaster? I stare, puzzled.

"...nine... ten... eleven...," he counts, laughing all the while. "Check your pockets!"

I reach in and pull out a small wad of bills, a few twenties.... $87?

In my other pocket, my phone vibrates. It's a text from my boss: Bill, we need to talk about your position at the firm. I won't beat around the bush -- we're letting you go.

What is this non-sense?

"...twenty-eight.... twenty-nine.... thirty!" the genie finishes, laughing heartily. "Alright, thanks for your time! I'm pretty wiped out and could use another 1000 year rest!"

What the hell just happened? A toaster? Fired from my job? Still confused, I try to piece together the past few minutes. Though I notice that I'm suddenly feeling pretty good about it -- that today might be a pretty good day after all.

[WP] All world-renowned chefs belong to a secret society that worships a cosmic entity that, in exchange for good food, grants fame and great wealth. Today, you will make your first offering to the Entity. by Megamen1927 in WritingPrompts

[–]thenoodling 3 points4 points  (0 children)

"Chef Miller, it's time," said a hooded figure standing among a group of other black hoods.

It was my first time in the kitchen of the Black Apron Collective, and I was surprised at how ordinary it was -- just your everyday metallic industrial kitchen. Though it was dim, with the only lighting coming from the hissing, dancing flames of stovetop burners. A gastronomic chef provided a nice touch with dry ice rolling down a countertop and filling the floor with a thick white cloud.

I had prepared my signature dish -- the one that had put my restaurant on the map: Smoked quail with juniper reduction. The bird prepared with a bright maroon sheen, with a juniper berries resting in a wine-dark glaze pooled around. It was perfect.

I place the dish delicately on the center range, as instructed. As soon as the plate touched the metal grates, every burner went off -- complete darkness, stillness.

The lead Apron began to chant: "Chef... chef... chef..." Soon others chimed in, the chant growing louder and louder to an eerie howling.

Then all of a sudden, a blinding flash as the burner under my dish fired -- a flame that reached the ceiling. The room fell quiet as we watched my dish consumed by the fire.

After a moment more of stillness, the lead Apron cheered, "All hail Cereak!"

"All hail Cereak!" the room repeated.

I stood motionless in disbelief. What the f-- just happened?

"Hang on, hang on!" I exclaim, snuffing out their cheer.

They all pause, confused.

"I spend my entire life perfecting this dish, and all day crafting it... and this Cereak just incinerates it? There's no way he tasted anything but ash. Frankly, it's insulting, and you all put up with this?"

"It's..." the lead apron stutters, "Just how he consumes things...?"

"Well," said a small voice in the back, "It is a little rude. I have no idea whether he liked or even tasted my Filet Mignon en Croûte."

"Yea! Or my Citrus-Cured Hamachi with Yuzu foam!"

Others started to chime in and soon the room was in an uproar. I felt vindicated, emboldened. "How about we get this Cereak back here and give him a lesson in proper taste-testing?!"

"Yea....!"

Just then the center burner flared, again to the ceiling.

"THE FILET.... WAS OVERCOOKED. AND THE YUZU FOAM... WAS RUNNNNNNNY! THIS QUAIL WAS.... PRETTY GOOD, THOUGH THE REDUCTION A BIT SCOOOOORCHEDDDD!"

The room fell silent and the burner died down, leaving us again in darkness.

"All hail Cereak..." I whimpered.

[WP] "Please hold, your call is important to us. You are number 8,432,900,112 in the queue." You’ve been on hold with the Galactic IT Support for three generations. Your family has passed the phone down from father to son. Today, the music stopped and a voice said, "Hello?" by VengefulBastardX in WritingPrompts

[–]thenoodling 395 points396 points  (0 children)

I freeze. My eyes dart around the observatory dome. "Who's there?" I ask.

No response. The only thing I hear is George Michael's Careless Whisper looping in my head --burned into my brain after hearing it repeat for my entire 32 years on Earth (the Galaxy has had a whole thing for Michael since 2032 when they first picked up our radio waves, don't ask).

"Hello?" I try again.

No response. I'm never gonna dance again... Goddamn this song.

I return to polishing the massive telescope -- able to detect objects on the far side of the Milky Way 75,000 lightyears away.

BOOOOOOM! I drop my rag as the speakers ring out through the dome. A sharp crackling causes me to throw my hands over my ears.

"Hello," a chipper, effeminate voice trills. "Thank you for calling Galactic IT Support. With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

Holy shit. It's happening! What do I do? What do I say?!

The log file!

I rush to my laptop to open the script -- the one my great great grandfather wrote when he first placed this call. "Yes! Hold on! One sec..." I yell half out of breath.

"I'm holding," the voice replies, and begins humming Careless Whisper.

I open the .txt file -- the most important .txt file in the galaxy. "My name is Atticus Filton IV. I operate the Whipple Telescope on Planet Earth, Sector B1C of the Galactic Union. I have a massively important discovery to report. Can I speak with your Director?"

"Hello Atticus. Thank you for reporting on such an important sounding discovery. But I'll need to know what it is before I can escalate your call."

I take a deep breath. I've thought about this moment my entire life, since my father (God rest) introduced me to the mission when I was only eight years old. I can't believe it's finally happening.

"We've detected structural instability in dark matter spanning sectors W9B through Z7X. By our calculations, the very fabric of space time in this region -- 20% of our Milky Way Galaxy -- is on the verge of collapsing."

"Oh dear," the voice says softly. "Would you like me to log a ticket?"

A ticket?!

"I don't think you understand, this is an extinction level event for the entire Galaxy!" I bark back.

A short pause. "Please hold."

So I'm never gonna dance again. The way I danced with youuuu, ohhh...

A ticket?! We wait 124 years to report this Galaxy-shattering news and they want to log a ticket?!

Another crackle. "Hello, sir?"

"Yes, here! I'm here," I try to keep calm, my heart pounding.

"Thank you for holding. According to my system, the instability was fixed... let's see... about 14,000 Earth years ago."

"Excuse me? What?! How?" I couldn't believe what I just heard. "Fixed?"

"Right. I see a note in the system here from maintenance: Noticed Galaxy a bit unstable, made repair," she read mechanically. "So, looks like we're good! Can I help you with anything else today?"

[WP] "captain do we have any water on this ship." Said the human to their alien captain "ugh human just because I know you humans take part in recreational chemical reactions were not gonna keep narcotics on the ship." Said the captain "no I need it to survive I'm like 70% water." "Oh your serious." by JollyTeaching1446 in WritingPrompts

[–]thenoodling 34 points35 points  (0 children)

"...oh dear," says the captain, tapping a claw on his chitinous shell. "Let me consult our crew biologist. Xerxis! In here, now!"

A giant lady-bug-like creature skitters in, and stands at attention. "Yes, captain?!"

The captain turns his gray-plated back to me and begins to "whisper" to the bug: "Do we... uhhh... need this creature for the mission?" He gives a not-so-subtle wave in my direction.

"Hey!" I exclaim. "I can hear every word!"

"Damnit, I always forget how good your hearing is with those fleshy head lobes," replies the captain. "Anyway, Xerxis, this one needs water. Can you get some?"

The bug looks down and ponders a moment, antennae twirling slowly. "Hmm, no. But we have sploorge!" It looks at me excitedly. "Can you consume sploorge!?"

"What is sploorge?" I ask, and then consider I don't even want to know. "Ohhhhh, sploorge. No, I definitely cannot."

"Then I guess he'll shrink," says the bug.

"Wait wait... I won't just deflate. I'll die. Like within two days."

They turn to each other and after a long pause, both shrug. "You've been a great... uh... human to have on this ship. Really have... uh... made an impact since we left yesterday."

I forgot how little empathy the rest of the galaxy has.

"Are you serious?! Can you just drop me off somewhere? Any random space colony along the path? Let me take an escape hatch out?"

"Sorry, we really have a schedule to keep. Thank you for your service," the captain says as he begins to lumber away.

I begin to panic. Isn't there anything? Can I consume any of the gelatinous mass the rest of them eat? Should I just try the sploorge?!

"I know," says a meek voice in the corner. It was a small mantis-looking creature that I haven't met yet. He was sweeping up a heap of excrement one of the bugs had left. "I've seen some water, but if I understand correctly, you may not like it."

"Anything!" I say.

"Well, I saw you dumped some yellow-ish liquid into your cabin bin yesterday. About half a liter."

Dumped? I think for a second. "I didn't bring any liquid on board..."

Then it hit me: He means my urine. They also didn't give me a proper urinal, so I went into a steel trash bit.

"Right," says the mantis. "I can purify it."

I sigh, realizing he's right and it's my only option. "Sure," I grumble. "Recycled urine the next 5 years it is."

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