//Meridiend //Concept, images & texts by Michael Filimowicz //Interface design & programming by Veronika Tzankova //Compliments to processing.org for the class Button and subclass RectButton code color currentcolor; RectButton rect1, rect2, rect3, rect4,rect5, rect6, rect7, rect8, rect9, rect10, rect11, rect12, rect13,rect14,rect15, rect16, rect17,rect18, rect19, rect20, rect21, rect22,rect23, rect24, rect25, rect26, rect27, rect28, rect29, rect30; boolean locked = false; int mode=0; int x =0; int y = 0; //Images PImage image1; PImage image2; PImage image3; PImage image4; PImage image5; PImage image6; PImage image7; PImage image8; PImage image9; PImage image10; PImage image11; PImage image12; PImage image13; PImage image14; PImage image15; PImage image16; PImage image17; PImage image18; PImage image19; PImage image20; PImage image21; PImage image22; PImage image23; PImage image24; PImage image25; PImage image26; PImage image27; PImage image28; PImage image29; PImage image30; //Fonts PFont font; PFont font1; //Texts String text1 = "There is always the ever-present fear of mechanical failure. Even at the muffler shop when your car is up on the hydraulic lift, there is the worry that the whole contraption might come crashing down, that even with every machine built to spec or even three times the requirements of spec a machine always seems capable of doing us harm. In a house you don’t think that the roof might collapse onto your head, but a battery can always explode acid into your face, a generator might generate shrapnel should its internal combustion combust externally, a winch might stress out a steel cable so that it goes whip-like berserk on deck, a hitch might unhitch so that its towed freight becomes a hurled, inertia-bound projectile. What we need are machines built like stone walls, machines which produce comfort rather than anxiety, machines which last for millennia rather than breaking down just after the warranty expires. We need machines without moving parts. We need machines that do nothing. "; String text2 = "It is still possible to hope\nfor it is still possible\nfor a tree growing\ntoo close to megawatt lines\nto knock out power\nin fourteen states"; String text3 = "Spotted amongst the refuse along the tracks, the natural art museum of crap strewn in the overgrowth, an unimaginable labor, discarding these things here. Not an easy place to get to, this night haunt of graffiti kids and habitat of hole-mammals. Here, one is well-hidden while out in the open- you can piss anywhere you like, listening to cars go by. Barely a place to get laid or high, but enough of one, say the bottles and condoms.\n\nDid I put the mop on the mirror? Or was it like that already?\n\nI discovered this place in an Amtrak car, daydreaming with window frame and its world of passing world. A long, uninterrupted chain of sheet metal and painted rust, the foggy wishdream of the industrial-elemental genie, the hankerings for a tin man youth near the womb of a metal mother, whispers of torn, sooty arms full of hurt and know-how. I came back when the trip was over.\n\nLooking for some contact with the reason for this place, or whatever it is one looks for on such walks through wild city spaces, in this case bordered by a railroad embankment and high fences, a derelict interstice between private property and public thoroughfares, an all-season camp-ground for the unanchored, a destination for the debris. The mop had been dipped in tar, was frozen forever (or until the micro forces spread contiguously across geologic time performed the inevitable transmutations) in its last shape. It's fellow, the broken mirror, displayed the holes and grooves which make such objects, if not useless, at least unwelcome. One might tolerate a crack in a wind-shield, but never in a mirror. There is something too disturbing about a disrupted reflection, whereas the transparency of a windshield makes the crack harmless, and almost invisible. The mirror is on the ground, reflecting sky, branches, and wires.\nThere is no watchman who will stare you out of this place. You will leave when it is time to go. You will know it has been long enough, when the inanimate things cease their telepathy, and the unknown quarry or query that drew you here has moved on."; String text4 = "He does not know that his skin was once a glowing molten syrup. The syrup does not know that it was once separated from its dead twin, the placenta named Slag. The conjoined molten syrup and slag has no memory of being shipped by freight train in unmolten form from a depot in northern Minnesota, nor does Minnesota miss its own flesh which did not wave bye bye. Outside the mining towns the old quarries fill with rain and young people gather there to jump into the quarries’ hold of water. Go up to the edge and look down. If it’s your first time you will probably hesitate but after the first jump you can’t get enough of the three second freefall which does not feel like any other three seconds. In the school auditorium is the annual parade of wheelchair quarry jumpers, the ones who dove in head first."; String text5 = "There are men like bundled twigs leaning against the walls of the alleyways, and the largest puddles you have ever seen making up most of the unpaved roads, and a black greasy substance clinging to every wall and lamp post and corrugated awning- this mold slime is the image track to the humidity you feel with every pore of your skin. You could close your eyes and just listen to the sounds of this town for quite some time, but then you imagine yourself looking odd and out of place, and besides that might leave you vulnerable if some malcontent made a grab for your camera, which of course they wouldn’t because you could eat them for tiffen. You laugh as you remember what the book said- the word “thug” is of Indian origin. You have now recorded maybe five minutes of something you will eventually label “village nat #5”, and you stop the recording. Now there are a dozen people smiling at you with the strangest teeth you have ever seen."; String text6 = "If you are perceptive enough you might learn things that are not in books. And upon learning these things, if you are lazy enough, you can be convinced that you have really learned them by refusing ever to verify through research that things are so. One such unfounded conviction based upon pure observation is that elephants talk to rattling jeeps. What to us humans is an annoying vibration that numbs our butts is to an elephant the initial low frequency ultrasound harmonics of a conversation to be had. As soon as the driver turns off the ignition and the engine goes silent and the frame of the jeep stops shaking, the elephant ceases its glorious surround sound trumpeting and walks away spurned by our rude behavior. How impolite of us to rattle our metal jeep frame in the jungle and begin a conversation with our neighborly pachyderm, who had hitherto been hidden in the tree line and only made her way out of camouflage in order to welcome us to the neighborhood, only to reward such welcoming behavior by turning off the jeep so that we can better hear the trumpeting which will sound no more now that we have shut off the engine and destroyed the whole point of the conversation to be had in the first place. No doubt the elephant thinks it doubly weird that no sooner do we rebuff her conversational advance, sending her butt-towards-us on her way back into the understory, than the driver starts the jeep up all over again, calling out to our spurned friend even as we drive away."; String text7 = "the fishing people arrange themselves \nalong water’s edge line or same thing\nbarnacled concrete pier line \nadmirable the strategists who wedge \nrod upright and curl down to sleep \nletting time do the dirty work \nblanket-wrapped above the watery black \nthe fish too have gathered \nbelow that necklace of dangling sneakers \nthey are doing their evening death thing \nbehind the light-streaked plane dividing \nthe world and the alter world of fish"; String text8 = "If a bomb is dropped on a city, blades of root-clumped grass are not counted amongst the casualties, and for good reason- grass can be murdered with impunity. Likewise, rabbit and squirrel corpses are not tallied because even if they were not the intended target they might have been run over anyway. If someone’s pet dog or cat gets caught in sniper fire, only then is the tragic spirit stirred. Watching someone’s head split open like a watermelon- now we’re in the realm of ethics."; String text9 = "If you dare make eye contact with the children, be prepared to find yourself Lord of the Munchkins. They will be drawn into the force field of your quick look and delayed smile, and as they do not have much to do when their teachers are present (“Children, leave that foreign white man alone, and look at these old dead stone things!”), they will make you the nucleus of their babbling cell. The children who are clumping against you in undulating lines of force like little flecks of metal clinging to what you have always considered to be your magnetic personality have dared to populate this planet without your input and advice in the matter being consulted in the least way. There they are, and there you are, and it would be extremely helpful if you at least had some candy or small coins to move the occasion along."; String text10 = "One cross-section of data revealed a lattice-work of distances and temperatures, elevations, topographical contour, counts of vehicles, personnel, power consumption on locale, emissions into the atmosphere, and mono-touring of communications in- and off-site. \nHe hesitated in looking at the slowly flooding plain. A bend in the river was choked with steel, long and massive remnants of aircraft fallen into the river were piling up there, jamming the river like a dam, so that the entire plain was coming under water.\nJack stood in the field of bodies, and for a moment he couldn't remember where they had come from. It was as if someone had just put them there. The corpses splayed across the dunes, charred and chapped, red in the sun. A sandy wind, pieces of metal, and stenchless, as if the sea had washed the rot away, and all that was left for the bodies to do was decay visually. Jack picked through his pockets, and fingered the compass nervously.\nHe returned to the camp slowly, moving between the bodies with care, pausing to look at each individually, now and then kicking one over to make sure it wasn't keeping anything that he could use. Over a dune he heard the sound of someone playing a guitar. The tune was familiar but unplaceable and looped back to the tonic endlessly, a song that never went far from home.\nJack considered himself a Ramses, \"with his right hand he conquered the enemies who landed on the beach. With his left hand the enemies in the air were slain.\" \nThe missiles are eye candy, nonetheless."; String text11 = "There was once a boy who like many other boys was known to express his boyishness in random acts of cruelty. The boy had a bird cage with two parakeets, one yellow and one green. One day the boy looked at the bird cage in a new way. He saw a possibility he had not seen before, and no sooner had the idea struck him than the means were at hand. He found an empty flower vase and for no reason other than because a choice had to be made he picked the green parakeet. The yellow parakeet was saved because it had not been the green parakeet. The boy placed the green parakeet in the flower vase, cupped the open end with his hand, and like a bartender shook and not stirred the vase back and forth and removed his hand from the opening. The green parakeet flew from the vase and crashed into one wall after another, its sense of space frazzled beyond wing utility as it rammed itself again and again until it collapsed on the sofa the way battering ram parakeets do."; String text12 = "What’s the difference between AM and FM? \nAM bounces off the upper atmosphere. \nSo why does it sound so crappy? \nWell, imagine if someone threw a tomato into your mouth. It would taste like a tomato with a little velocity added. Velocity is not normally a parameter associated with the qualities of food, at least when tasting it and not merely feeling it explode and splatter against you. OK, so that’s like FM, a tomato being hurled into your mouth and tasting like tomato times speed and perhaps subtracted for angle. Now, imagine that a tomato was hurled against a brick wall, and you are standing next to this wall with your mouth open and as the tomato detonates on the brick you slurp in some pulpy shrapnel with lots of air between and micro chunks of mortar in addition. That’s AM, the tomato bouncing off the upper atmosphere."; String text13 = "Now and then I would be approached by one of the growth-stunted poverty ambassadors with defunct pretzel legs who paddle themselves about the not-quite-pavement with their knuckles and palms pushing around a rolling platform of wood, their defunct pretzel legs folded under them like a twisted blanket. Long, long ago there were several species of humans walking the Earth at the same time, big dumb Neanderthals like me, with their shiny sandals and bright backpacks, and other humans of the alter-hominid variety, lithe and tiny and hairy in different places. There were also the middling homos, middle-sized and italicized, who set themselves up as middle men and conflict negotiators between the various tribes and who also had to deal with the fact that there were so many species of human being walking around, and everyone knew that the world was only big enough for one of them. All of these human species used tools, and all of them spoke English. No doubt all our stories of giants and dwarves and elves and normal us-humans stem from this era. Back in those Jim Crow days, Homo habilus dared to co-exist with h. erectus, who in turn begrudgingly co-existed with h. sapiens. It was a segregation nightmare for the technocrats, who had just learned that wooden tools do not last in the archeological record and so they had better get on their way to making non-biodegradable plastic tools, and needless to say, their filing cabinets were a mess. No doubt David hailed from Sapien-ville while Goliath was of pure Cro-Magnon stock, which had long since “replaced” Neanderthals like me. One is never quite sure how one ethnic group replaces another, but on the bright side they all loved Mom, because according to all of our art and archeology books every feminine figurine they left behind means exactly the same thing as any other."; String text14 = "Heaven is a cold sun, no heat and all light \nHell is its opposite, all burning all night \nHeaven is a pleasant sight without feeling \nHell is blind charred skin peeling"; String text15 = "Tesla hoped to irradiate the earth’s crust with polar arrays that would permit meridians of electrons to course invisibly vein-like in the ground so that whenever you wanted electrical energy all you had to do was plug your device into the dirt or grass beneath you. Presumably, you could even power his death ray machines by inserting the leads into flower beds, swamps, or tar pits. Each death ray, however, was harmless enough. The beam emitted by any particular tower left everything unharmed, with barely a particle discharged from its nucleus, or hardly a hair nudged on one’s scalp. It was only in the interference zone where two death beams verged and merged that you would get a very elegant diamond of death, a diamond-shape that was the perimeter of crisscrossing, harmless lines of force. Outside the diamond life went on as usual. Inside the diamond-zone, however, where the two beams worked out their phase relationships, indiscriminate atom things occurred."; String text16 = "There was not as much \nas one might like there to be \nin the eyes of boys \nexploding beaver dams \nin the run-offs which were not streams \n\nThe sky brightened slightly \nuntangling the doughy smoke"; String text17 = "And so it was \nThat each zone conjured its anti-zone: \n\nOut of darkness came light \nOut of drought came flood \nOut of lust came vows of abstinence \nOut of a drunken binge came the apologies \nOut of apologies came unmended friendships \nAnd out of friendships came solitude \nAnd so it ever has been \nThat truth was what survived experience: \n\nAnd each truth begat its mini truth \nAnd mini truths begat half truths \nAnd half truths begat white lies \nAnd white lies begat twilight \nAnd twilight begat shadows \nAnd shadows begat metaphors of truth\n and light \n\nEnter- the lab experiment,\na man hatched from an acorn!\n\nMusic Please….\n\nInterview- \n\nSo, what’s it like, being the first human\n ever hatched from an acorn?\n\nWhat do you mean? \n\nWell, your existence is rather unique,\nsome might say miraculous.\n\nSo is yours.";// \n\nBut yours especially so.\n\nNo more so. Unique and miraculous are dead ends.\n\nBut your psychology must be entirely different.\n\nHow so? \n\nWell, you wouldn’t have the whole Oedipal dynamic, for one thing.\n\nWell, sometimes I want to murder the lab scientists and go back to being a simple acorn. Does that count?\n\nRemarkable!\n\nI think it’s because of all that harsh, fluorescent light. So unnatural to acorns- I prefer the opposite end of the Kelvin scale, filtered by swaying boughs. The lab has white ceilings and white floors and white walls, so I have come to hate the color white.\n\nHence the thoughts of murder?\n\nPrecisely.\n\nAnd the yearning for the darkness of the seed?\n\nThe seed was all dreams. Every color was there, though I had never opened my eyes.\n\n[Music please….] \n\nWhen people look at me, all they see is a former lab experiment, a man who once was an acorn. Oh, how I long for an invasion, so that I may join a Resistance and become brothers with my fellow man! \n\n[Cut to footage of tree- any will do, so long as followed by shots of acorns on the ground. In the soundtrack can be heard footsteps, crunching on crackly leaves.] \n\nFade to (non-fluorescent) white-"; String text171 = "But yours especially so.\n\nNo more so. Unique and miraculous are dead ends.\n\nBut your psychology must be entirely different.\n\nHow so? \n\nWell, you wouldn’t have the whole Oedipal dynamic, for one thing.\n\nWell, sometimes I want to murder the lab scientists and go back \nto being a simple acorn. Does that count?\n\nRemarkable!\n\nI think it’s because of all that harsh, fluorescent light. \nSo unnatural to acorns- I prefer the opposite end of the Kelvin scale, \nfiltered by swaying boughs. The lab has white ceilings and white floors and \nwhite walls, so I have come to hate the color white.\n\nHence the thoughts of murder?\n\nPrecisely.\n\nAnd the yearning for the darkness of the seed?\n\nThe seed was all dreams. Every color was there, though I had never \nopened my eyes.\n\n[Music please….] \n\nWhen people look at me, all they see is a former lab experiment, a man \nwho once was an acorn. Oh, how I long for an invasion, so that I may join \na Resistance and become brothers with my fellow man! \n\n[Cut to footage of tree- any will do, so long as followed by shots of acorns \non the ground. In the soundtrack can be heard footsteps, crunching on \ncrackly leaves.] \n\nFade to (non-fluorescent) white-"; String text18 = "Sometime later \nThe bomb craters \nMade good fish ponds"; String text19 = "not slowing down \nfor train track thumps \nthe occasional blood dream \nof skunk and possum and deer \nunited at last in the brotherhood \nof burst corpus \nyes a guilty flattener of turtles \nwindshield collector of bug debris \nthe sheriff asleep at Dairy Queen\na speed trap taking his nap \nencircled by a midnight frog choirs \ndrainage ditch dirges"; String text20 = "The boys knew how to stand with pitchforks, neither weapons nor tools in their hands, but scepters and wands. They could make the hay obey. They were lords of the grass, but I had no way with hay. \nAn instrument of torture in my hands, injecting splinters into fingers, straining wrists and elbows, palm skin whitened and curled. My haystacks were slumped masses, giant bristly amoebas in the dirt. Theirs were perfectly scooped golden domes, singing of geometry while mine sobbed for shape. \nWhere I rashed, they tanned. While I hungered and thirsted, they but chewed on stalks. The day went on like this, roped off and quarantined like evidence of nostalgia. \nI won hands down in all other contests, such as walking down to the river, stirring a cup of tea, picking up a comic book, waking up or buying produce in the street. They could not compete with these deeds, being out of my league. The girls would not notice them, so long as I was around. I stank of the pheromone America, the superpower aphrodisiac. Thus I had to be beat with the hay contest. \nSo they stole sheep when they became men, and smuggled them across the border at night, trading for rifles and grenades. They invite me to come along when I visit. I decline, of course. And so once again, they win."; String text21 = "Father of stone, Mother of paint, \nDivided by the dark band between \nThe shadow arch or ligament \nKeystone dad, Global mom \nStructural and foundational, in the walls, Orwellian \n\"Thalia,\" it is my hope, belongs to the lineage of \"Thalassa,\" the sea for the Greeks. \nAnd what a good face for a Neptune, in the Hall of the Sea. \n\"Mira,\" says my Spanish neighbor, as though she’s translating. \nWhat is most amusing about this Gaia is the grid-lines, the latitude and longitude of her love, or our love for her, and the funny sense that the earth as shown here has eastern and western poles as well. \n\nOf course, Mira was added much later. Mr. Thalia arrived on the scene first, just as the architect planned. But over time the dark, empty hemisphere under the Neptune keystone became unbearable. The citizens would avert their eyes in fear, anguish, or perhaps just some incomprehension. There was no Hercules here, throttling a lion, no Ajax racing his chariot, no Indian grasping sheathes of wheat, no local fauna frolicking in the prairie, void of the fear of man. Just a flat, hemispherical plane. Over time the people could no longer accept the empty shape. It was a matter of some importance."; String text22 = "Writing in the sky. That's what I’m doing standing on this bridge that seems to have been built there for the purpose. The miles of train lines are the ray beams of market forces, supply and demand metalicizing out of abstraction into tonnage and mass, distance and wear and tear. Not one train is moving, they are spokes or radii, converging or emanating, depending on your visual bias. Below, a dog is barking, one of those all day barking dogs tied to a tree in an unfenced yard. There's a metal plate covering a pothole that sends a needle into my temples with each car that passes over it. It is cold and I am careful not to exhale in front of the lens. The chimneys and vents pump visible air into invisible air. Large chunks of bridge side have crumbled away, leaving rebar exposed in tentative, dead end shapes. \n\nMy landlord at the time was a train conductor. Or was he an engineer? The guy who drives it. He had discovered the contemporary novelty of surround sound speakers mounted in the ceiling. Intermittently throughout the day he tuned into his tele-preachers and turned up the volume so the audio blared down onto the back of his neck. “A nice sonic experience,” he said, looking at me as though for the right signal. His ceiling was my floor. Our floor plans were different, my bathroom above his living room. So sometimes my toilet would evangelize, quoting sometimes from the testaments, sometimes from Adventist ad lib. My toilet declared scriptural matters in a manly and public service manner, bolted to the floor, jolted by heaven. The porcelain cavity served to amplify and focus the preacher's voice, playing a kind of Aaron to the broadcast Moses, a fortunate proselytizing conduit for my landlord who was interested in my salvation as well as my rent. Perhaps he intended to continue his landlordage in the afterlife, and was lining up his customers in advance. Fortunately, he needed only a few minutes of that acoustic immersion at a time, or else I would have had to complain, or figure out some way to mute a toilet when not in use. \n\nOrientation- you are facing east, a slab of overcast extends to Lake Michigan. Most of these tracks must soon dodge to the south. Some will dead end at a river or canal. An order of parallels temporarily constrains their solo, scribbling courses. A sea of space will open before them, but there will only be one way to go. One way, and no other way."; String text23 = "When an army is marching down the streets of some town or other, you hear that lovely rhythm of synchronized boot steps, syncopated with the rattling of chain mail and the clank of hilts in their scabbards bumping up against the breastplates and the lilting beat of the saddle buckles. But in the desert, when an army marches, you hear only the clanking, and not the low, resonant, steady tattoo of boots on pavement. There is just the wind and the jangling, and the stupid squish of sand."; String text24 = "In the dark the forest increases. Nodes of bulblight streak the blackness between moonlit trunks. Laughter and untuned guitars complement the cricket chorus with the broad strokes of people at play against the acoustic horizon of insects on autopilot. Above collar or beneath sleeve, the mosquitoes find flesh with the accuracy of hunger. A path of compacted sand, bounded by railroad ties, is illuminated at intervals by the green blotches of staked lamplight. Jess pauses on the steps to her tree house. She thinks about biomimicry, the subject of a book she saw a cute guy reading. She thinks that steps are a lazy solution for grasshopper legs.\nThe tree house sways under her steps as she walks around the small room, hiding her wallet behind a vase, grabbing the flashlight, popping a breathe mint. The tree houses on the grounds are not built into the trees but rather out of them. Each is a two-story structure, a single small room on stilts, four six-by-six posts holding aloft a small, enclosed eight-by-eight room, complete with glass windows, electricity and a screen door. It rocks and creaks under foot to the smallest of movements. From inside the treehouse Jess’s view is midway up the spikey palmettos and the branches of live oak with their remnant-arrays of Spanish moss, dripping and fuzzy. Jess’s tree house is named the Pool Hut, because it is the closest one to the spring fed pool, a surprisingly deep hole in the ground bounded by raised railroad ties, complete with diving deck and rope swing. \nShe has been wearing the same jeans for three days. Tomorrow she will throw them in the laundry, which is housed in a wood-framed dome with Celtic abstractions mingling with Navajo motifs on the wall panels, which make their hybrid meanings here on the coast of South Carolina. She has three pairs of jeans on this trip, and she is recovering from her nightmare about the hermit with the lawn mowers."; String text25 = "There was a mosque in town and every morning the calls of the imam penetrated my sleep and threw a blanket of song across my dreamy non-thoughts and I was back in Cairo all over again, because rural India like urban Cairo was full of dawn-time rooster song melding into imam prayers, and those sunrise choirs of beast and man are the most beautiful I’ve ever heard, and of course are utterly unrecordable. Upon waking in Cairo I would be satiated with well-being, even while roaming absentmindedly to the bathroom picking the caked traffic soot from my nostrils. And upon venturing out into the crowded shadeless bustle and honking smoggy thoroughfares of that city, I’d be quite puzzled by that feeling of peace because where are all those roosters I heard in my sleep all morning? They are either invisible H.G. Wellian roosters, or they live on the rooftops, dwelling upon that psychic seam where the sky gods meet the shoddy construction gods. In the mountains of southern India, however, solidified exhaust does not clog the sinus passages, and one knows exactly where to find the roosters, as they are there in the open for the seeing and hearing, if not for the kicking and taking. For they are speed bump and football roosters, for they are everywhere."; String text26 = "Vinosakisapadalous is remembering the light shows of his youth, the illegal cherry bombs and the legal sparklers wielded by the spinning children, the days before the invention of streetlights when things were allowed to appear in the night, not driven from sight and condensed into the shadows where joggers tread at their own risk and anything capable of eating a citizen has long since been cordoned off limits, stuffed with saw dust and labeled Do Not Touch, and he is thinking about his brother the god of vodka who works two jobs just to get by and wouldn’t it be cool if they teamed up again, just as in the old days, to blow the roof off the roofless amphitheaters and remind people how to forget themselves to remember themselves, those nights that never ended but what ended instead was the consciousness of night and then there was consciousness of day. The god of wine does not remember when he became the god of wine- he blames the god of vodka for that one- but he does remember the mangy hordes of vagabonds who outnumbered the border patrol and the day they went underground and the lean years of opening taverns with money earned from pimping runaway slaves. He remembers that loose time when taxes went uncollected but the aqueducts still worked."; String text27 = "in the zeppelin's windows the aquarium city \nshows a gold onion dome unspiraling \nblossoming for docking atop a new office tower \nsuspicious and gaudy in 1928 \n\nwhen travelers with visas and faith in their telescopes \nsporting new lenses and shiny screws \nconspired with mapmakers in the viewing lounge \nto designate a continent's armpit \n\na little capital went a long way on the map \nin each grid cell were dots, penciled names \nmost would never lay eyes \non the actual earth therein \n\nwhich was for churning anyway, or \ntrawling, drilling, paving, filling, piling \nthe heat and the boiling begat \na foam you can walk on \n\nin eddies under the bridges \nwhere the city synthesizes its shadows \nto combat the homely flickering glow \nof ten million entertainment centers"; String text271 = "meanwhile an arsonist's skyline effects \nreplays in the valley of rooftops \nthe black fountains of smoke and ash \nfade into blue, bluer, black \nwhere antique space-stations rustless in their orbits \nbear witness to terrestrial accumulations of motion \nmute holocausts of sun tuck heat into vacuum \nburning antennas in 2001 \n\nwhen two escalator strangers smile through blue windows \nhiding their heat beneath clothes which sting \nthere is memory in the paralysis \nof a ride between two points \n\nthey cross between the gleam and the corners \nthat was the dream of the swamp-sellers \nthe escalator loops and the lovers embrace \nthe empty space which swells between them"; String text28 = "Gables of zigzagging foliation, through which wound corrugated gutters in which trickled clear, slightly acidic rain water. At each obliquitous corner a tripod was mounted, one leg welded to the tip of the zag, and the other two zigging equidistantly therefrom and welded likewise. These tripods supported cupolas in rotation. In continuous counter-clockwise revolutions, these barrels were the infamous slow-motion centrifuges, wherein, by some fraud of calculation, force was made cumulative, so that, upon descent into the drum one was hardly aware of the pirouette. But after an hour or so in the drum the centrifugal forces would have added up to such a quantity that one would be unable to extricate oneself from those lovely walls which depicted the human form with such flat accuracy. Once so trapped there was no escape. The forces will continue to build until the blood vessels burst and all organs, organized now at the dorsal end of the organism, are smoothed out into a shape much like that of flap jacks. Eventually the flesh itself warps and liquefies and the molecules forced, slowly, minutely, in single-file fashion, into the porous surface of the walls until the entire body is thus subsumed."; String text29 = "You have to forget before you remember, what goes down will come back up whether or not an effort is made, no borders between an imagined and recollected world, for at the boundary of boundaries is zero, even in the brain’s electro-chemical nebulae, adjacent to the microwave background of the Big Bang as it permeates each one of us. For now this happens to be a single bit of particular desert amongst vaster, anonymous, nondescript, unincorporated desert superimposed as the backdrop to one little patch of familiar desert, some outpost like this, latitude unknown and longitude suspected. We are stranded and wild ones, mere barbarians and enfranchised to nothing. The authorities high-tailed it out of here long ago, the deputies lost the sanction of their deputy-hood and so wandered off with the nomads like so much human tumbleweed, you should have seen how directionless, how without compass the elected were that day, when it first came on the news that the gods had lost favor with the capital, and the capital ceased to be the epicenter of empire, and the ring of empire without its epicenter ceased to be a ring, and here we were without allegiances and alliances, without law and precedent, without future and all the invisible solidifiers. How so many of us blanched, became ghosts of once-assured selves and took on a pall the color of these sands, no, even whiter than the whitest of sands, not their actual complexions which were blushed and wet with sobbing, but the white pallor of their souls, so white no prism could split those withdrawn intensities, a collapsed ball of white, the sudden vanishing of the enterprise, the embarrassment of that grand posture which justified our orbit at the perimeter of the world, the white fear as our particular outpost was jettisoned into free undefined space, like some metaphorical billiard ball in a hypothetical science lesson, our coinage instantly without currency, our borders in dispute, our language unofficial. While we await the news of a viable jurisdiction announcing itself, and the Capital Abbreviated Name of what power we shall adhere to, I have not talked to my mother in months."; String text30 = "Dionysovich meanders along the cobbled side streets, his eyes protected from the morning sun’s laser beams by his cool black shades, and the 19th century Austrian architecture is beguiling in its sooty pastels and peeling stucco and the rooms look so pleasantly dark through the lace curtained windows, the smell of kishka and apple dumplings wafting past his nostrils. In this town there are twenty eight churches and seven brothels, one hooker joint for every four houses of god and he is already beginning to like this town. There are four elderly and inebriated men gathered under a tree in a plaza gawking at the line of young Ukranian women selling cigarettes to motorists. He is happy to reject the overtures of the old men for spare change but he does his duty as the god of vodka and calls upon the great unity of remembering and forgetting, invokes the names of the saints of numbness and the gargoyles of uninhibited speech and behavior, the muses of spontaneous singing and the dwarves of pissing in public, the alchemical bonding of synapse gap and alcohol molecule, and the nymphs of ogling at the unattainable women and girls who will always stir the boy within these drunk geezers, the boy at the bottom of the well, the well at the bottom of the bottle, the bottle at the bottom of the barrel, a barrel, coincidentally, with the same cubic volume as a coffin."; String instructions = "Press buttons for images. Press on images for text."; void setup(){ background (0); size (1200,800); //loads font font = loadFont("customFont.vlw"); font1 = loadFont("font2.vlw"); //loads images image1 = loadImage("1.jpg"); image2 = loadImage("2.jpg"); image3 = loadImage("3.jpg"); image4 = loadImage("4.jpg"); image5 = loadImage("5.jpg"); image6 = loadImage("6.jpg"); image7 = loadImage("7.jpg"); image8 = loadImage("8.jpg"); image9 = loadImage("9.jpg"); image10 = loadImage("10.jpg"); image11 = loadImage("11.jpg"); image12 = loadImage("12.jpg"); image13 = loadImage("13.jpg"); image14 = loadImage("14.jpg"); image15 = loadImage("15.jpg"); image16 = loadImage("16.jpg"); image17 = loadImage("17.jpg"); image18 = loadImage("18.jpg"); image19 = loadImage("19.jpg"); image20 = loadImage("20.jpg"); image21 = loadImage("21.jpg"); image22 = loadImage("22.jpg"); image23 = loadImage("23.jpg"); image24 = loadImage("24.jpg"); image25 = loadImage("25.jpg"); image26 = loadImage("26.jpg"); image27 = loadImage("27.jpg"); image28 = loadImage("28.jpg"); image29 = loadImage("29.jpg"); image30 = loadImage("30.jpg"); imageMode(CENTER); color baseColor = color(102); currentcolor = baseColor; color buttoncolor = color(204); color highlight = color(153); // Define and create rectangle button buttoncolor = color(18,18,16); highlight = color(0); rect1 = new RectButton(810, 205, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); buttoncolor = color(51); rect2 = new RectButton(860, 205, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); rect3 = new RectButton(910, 205, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); rect4 = new RectButton(960, 205, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); rect5 = new RectButton(1010, 205, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); //second line buttons rect6 = new RectButton(810, 255, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); rect7 = new RectButton(860, 255, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); rect8 = new RectButton(910, 255, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); rect9 = new RectButton(960, 255, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); rect10 = new RectButton(1010, 255, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); // third line buttons rect11 = new RectButton(810, 305, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); rect12 = new RectButton(860, 305, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); rect13 = new RectButton(910, 305, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); buttoncolor = color(227,164,2); rect14 = new RectButton(960, 305, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); buttoncolor = color(51); rect15 = new RectButton(1010, 305, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); //fourth line buttons rect16 = new RectButton(810, 355, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); rect17 = new RectButton(860, 355, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); rect18 = new RectButton(910, 355, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); rect19 = new RectButton(960, 355, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); rect20 = new RectButton(1010, 355, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); //fifth line buttons rect21 = new RectButton(810, 405, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); buttoncolor = color(134,133,130); rect22 = new RectButton(860, 405, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); buttoncolor = color(51); rect23 = new RectButton(910, 405, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); rect24 = new RectButton(960, 405, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); rect25 = new RectButton(1010, 405, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); //sixth line buttons rect26 = new RectButton(810, 455, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); rect27 = new RectButton(860, 455, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); buttoncolor = color(10,1,1); rect28 = new RectButton(910, 455, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); buttoncolor = color(51); rect29 = new RectButton(960, 455, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); rect30 = new RectButton(1010, 455, 40, buttoncolor, highlight); smooth(); textFont(font1); text (instructions, 810,690); } void draw(){ stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); // textFont(font1); noStroke(); stroke(255); update(mouseX, mouseY); rect1.display(); rect2.display(); rect3.display(); rect4.display(); rect5.display(); rect6.display(); rect7.display(); rect8.display(); rect9.display(); rect10.display(); rect11.display(); rect12.display(); rect13.display(); rect14.display(); rect15.display(); rect16.display(); rect17.display(); rect18.display(); rect19.display(); rect20.display(); rect21.display(); rect22.display(); rect23.display(); rect24.display(); rect25.display(); rect26.display(); rect27.display(); rect28.display(); rect29.display(); rect30.display(); } void mouseClicked(){ if (mouseX>=120 && mouseX<=650 && mouseY >= 75 &&mouseY<=625){ background(0); fill(80,80,80); textLeading(30); textSize(14); if (mode ==1){ text(text1, 200,200, 390,650); } else if(mode == 2){ text(text2,30,300,600,700); } else if (mode == 3){ text(text3,200,60,400,700); } else if (mode == 4){ text(text4,250,250,300,700); } else if (mode == 5){ text(text5,150,60,500,700); } else if (mode == 6){ text(text6,200,150,400,700); } else if (mode == 7){ text(text7,20,250,600,700); } else if (mode == 8){ text(text8,20,300,600,700); } else if (mode == 9){ text(text9,250,200,350,700); } else if (mode == 10){ text(text10,200,150,400,700); } else if (mode == 11){ text(text11,20,250,600,700); } else if (mode == 12){ text(text12,20,250,600,700); } else if (mode == 13){ text(text13,150,150,500,700); } else if (mode == 14){ text(text14,500,600,600,700); } else if (mode == 15){ text(text15,200,200,400,700); } else if (mode == 16){ text(text16,30,270,600,700); } else if (mode == 17){ text(text17,20,20,600,700); text(text171,330,20,600,700); } else if (mode == 18){ text(text18,630,550,600,700); } else if (mode == 19){ text(text19,300,250,350,700); } else if (mode == 20){ text(text20,20,200,600,700); } else if (mode == 21){ text(text21,20,200,600,700); } else if (mode == 22){ text(text22,100,120,600,700); } else if (mode == 23){ text(text23,120,300,600,700); } else if (mode == 24){ text(text24,150,150,500,700); } else if (mode == 25){ text(text25,150,200,500,700); } else if (mode == 26){ text(text26,170,240,600,700); } else if (mode == 27){ text(text27,30,50,600,700); text(text271, 400,380,600,700); } else if (mode == 28){ text(text28,30,230,600,700); } else if (mode == 29){ text(text29,150,120,500,700); } else if (mode == 30){ text(text30,150,200,500,700); } } } void update(int x, int y) { if(locked == false) { rect1.update(); rect2.update(); rect3.update(); rect4.update(); rect5.update(); rect6.update(); rect7.update(); rect8.update(); rect9.update(); rect10.update(); rect11.update(); rect12.update(); rect13.update(); rect14.update(); rect15.update(); rect16.update(); rect17.update(); rect18.update(); rect19.update(); rect20.update(); rect21.update(); rect22.update(); rect23.update(); rect24.update(); rect25.update(); rect26.update(); rect27.update(); rect28.update(); rect29.update(); rect30.update(); } else { locked = false; } if(mousePressed) { if(rect1.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect1.basecolor; image(image1,395,350,550,379); mode = 1; } else if(rect2.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image2,395,350,420,550); mode =2; } else if(rect3.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image3,395,350,365,550); mode =3; } else if(rect4.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image4,395,350,550,135); mode =4; } else if(rect5.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image5,395,350,550,350); mode =5; } else if(rect6.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image6,395,350,550,350); mode =6; } else if(rect7.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image7,395,350,550,331); mode = 7; } else if(rect8.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image8,395,350,550,364); mode =8; } else if(rect9.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image9,395,350,365,550); mode =9; } else if(rect10.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image10,395,350,361,550); mode =10; } else if(rect11.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image11,395,350,550,309); mode =11; } else if(rect12.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image12,395,350,550,309); mode =12; } else if(rect13.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image13,395,350,550,309); mode =13; } else if(rect14.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image14,395,350,550,309); mode =14; } else if(rect15.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image15,395,350,550,309); mode =15; } else if(rect16.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image16,395,350,550,309); mode =16; } else if(rect17.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image17,395,350,550,309); mode =17; } else if(rect18.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image18,395,350,550,494); mode =18; } else if(rect19.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image19,395,350,550,309); mode = 19; } else if(rect20.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image20,395,350,550,309); mode =20; } else if(rect21.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image21,395,350,529,550); mode = 21; } else if(rect22.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image22,395,350,550,343); mode =22; } else if(rect23.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image23,395,350,550,390); mode =23; } else if(rect24.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image24,395,350,550,287); mode =24; } else if(rect25.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image25,395,350,550,354); mode =25; } else if(rect26.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image26,395,350,434,550); mode =26; } else if(rect27.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image27,395,350,550,143); mode = 27; } else if(rect28.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image28,395,350,361,550); mode =28; } else if(rect29.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image29,395,350,536,550); mode =29; } else if(rect30.pressed()) { background(0); stroke(252,184,8); line (790,0,790,800); currentcolor = rect2.basecolor; image(image30,395,350,550,367); mode =30; } } } class Button { int x, y; int size; color basecolor, highlightcolor; color currentcolor; boolean over = false; boolean pressed = false; void update() { if(over()) { //cursor(HAND); currentcolor = highlightcolor; } else { currentcolor = basecolor; //cursor(ARROW); } } boolean pressed() { if(over) { locked = true; return true; } else { locked = false; return false; } } boolean over() { return true; } boolean overRect(int x, int y, int width, int height) { if (mouseX >= x && mouseX <= x+width && mouseY >= y && mouseY <= y+height) { return true; } else { return false; } } } class RectButton extends Button { RectButton(int ix, int iy, int isize, color icolor, color ihighlight) { x = ix; y = iy; size = isize; basecolor = icolor; highlightcolor = ihighlight; currentcolor = basecolor; } boolean over() { if( overRect(x, y, size, size) ) { over = true; return true; } else { over = false; return false; } } void display() { stroke(255); fill(currentcolor); rect(x, y, size, size); } }