Dragon Age II. Wheeee, Dragon Age II.
Now, Yahtzee is a hard act to follow, especially since he seems to mostly just say true things in the most caustic, angry sort of way possible.
And I'm just not very angry.
So ... yeah, this morning I woke up and, over breakfast, I asked Mom, "Hey, would you be terribly upset if I married a combat animation? I think I'm in love."
And she kind of stared at me for a long moment. "Backstab?" she finally asked.
The combat in Dragon Age 2 is pretty much the main and/or only thing about Dragon Age 2. Which ... isn't really bad. It is delightfully fun to wade into combat, jumping about from foe to foe like a giant, angry flea, only instead of sucking out all their blood, you're dismembering them with daggers made entirely of death. Death. Which is, yeah, win.
It's still a Bioware game, mind, so the writing is still good, it just kind of doesn't stand up well against its predecessor...s...es. And it's still a Dragon Age game, so it's still Darker and Edgier to boot.
The plot is just kinda ... there, to facilitate Hawke gleefully reducing all of his/her/its foes to a series of ever-growing, gooey red stains on the ground. Honestly, some of the dungeons got a new paint job. All in red. With some minor variation for organ color and bone.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'ma go dismember all the giant spiders, bandits, and Qunari that decide to get in my way. Life is hard as the Free Marches' only human-shaped lawnmower.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
"Hero"
Decided to poke through my phone's music player until I landed on something meaningful to write about (the Nom Nom Song being right out), and it landed on Nickelback's "Hero."
Fair 'nuff.
An' they say that a hero will save us, I'm not gonna stand here an' wait ....
So, herein we define hero.
Huh, I lived on a Leander street once.
Why the hell should anybody wait for a hero? 'm sure it's great that they're marked by strength and courage and shit, but that doesn't mean other folk can't be courageous or strong. Lotta people're courageous 'n' strong 'n' ... yeah. This ain't workin'.
I'm aware. Typin' out a slur 'ssa habit from bein' all ... y'know. -ey. Roleplay. That'n'. 'ssa good indication of being all ... unfocused. Fuzzy. Fuzzled. MR. FUZZEMS. (The terrible.)
So tired. Feel like I'm fuckin' drunk.
ANYWAY, yeah. Waitin' on a hero seems silly. Guilty pleasure here, I read romance books sometimes 'coz they're cheap, not too brainy, and often fun. Thing that pisses me the fuck off in those books is about half the time, the woman's some helpless incompetent bitch who can't even fuckin' tie her shoes without a MAN standing there helping her out. It's like ... half the reason I quit goin'a church, right? 'coz they wouldn't recognize a family that didn' have a man in it. I ain't got nothin' against men, y'know? Just, don't fucking tell me I need to have one. Fuck you an' your fuckin' "religion" bullshit keepin' good folk from doin' shit with themselves, 'coz they ain't chained to a goddamn bed.
'less they're inta that, y'know.
'n' the hero always gettin' mixed up with the protagonist. What'cha mean, the noble dragon's up there gettin' slaughtered by the wicked knight?
Honestly, though, most stories now days have their heroic sociopath bases covered.
... I think I'm pretty much 'onna have to cut this short t'say simply: Do what the fuck's right, and who gives a goddamn shit if it ain't appropriate or lawful or if you ain't the strongest or bravest person.
An' don't forget, if you do have a hero type person: they ain't fuckin' infallible. Nobody is.
Punch 'em in the fuckin' gut if they can't remember what "right" actually is.
Oh. And not every hero has t'die. There's that, too.
Fair 'nuff.
An' they say that a hero will save us, I'm not gonna stand here an' wait ....
So, herein we define hero.
- a man distinguished by exceptional courage and nobility and strength; "RAF pilots were the heroes of the Battle of Britain"
- the principal character in a play or movie or novel or poem
- champion: someone who fights for a cause
- Greek mathematician and inventor who devised a way to determine the area of a triangle and who described various mechanical devices (first century)
- (classical mythology) a being of great strength and courage celebrated for bold exploits; often the offspring of a mortal and a god
- (Greek mythology) priestess of Aphrodite who killed herself when her lover Leander drowned while trying to swim the Hellespont to see her
- bomber: a large sandwich made of a long crusty roll split lengthwise and filled with meats and cheese (and tomato and onion and lettuce and condiments); different names are used in different sections of the United States
Huh, I lived on a Leander street once.
Why the hell should anybody wait for a hero? 'm sure it's great that they're marked by strength and courage and shit, but that doesn't mean other folk can't be courageous or strong. Lotta people're courageous 'n' strong 'n' ... yeah. This ain't workin'.
I'm aware. Typin' out a slur 'ssa habit from bein' all ... y'know. -ey. Roleplay. That'n'. 'ssa good indication of being all ... unfocused. Fuzzy. Fuzzled. MR. FUZZEMS. (The terrible.)
So tired. Feel like I'm fuckin' drunk.
ANYWAY, yeah. Waitin' on a hero seems silly. Guilty pleasure here, I read romance books sometimes 'coz they're cheap, not too brainy, and often fun. Thing that pisses me the fuck off in those books is about half the time, the woman's some helpless incompetent bitch who can't even fuckin' tie her shoes without a MAN standing there helping her out. It's like ... half the reason I quit goin'a church, right? 'coz they wouldn't recognize a family that didn' have a man in it. I ain't got nothin' against men, y'know? Just, don't fucking tell me I need to have one. Fuck you an' your fuckin' "religion" bullshit keepin' good folk from doin' shit with themselves, 'coz they ain't chained to a goddamn bed.
'less they're inta that, y'know.
'n' the hero always gettin' mixed up with the protagonist. What'cha mean, the noble dragon's up there gettin' slaughtered by the wicked knight?
Honestly, though, most stories now days have their heroic sociopath bases covered.
... I think I'm pretty much 'onna have to cut this short t'say simply: Do what the fuck's right, and who gives a goddamn shit if it ain't appropriate or lawful or if you ain't the strongest or bravest person.
An' don't forget, if you do have a hero type person: they ain't fuckin' infallible. Nobody is.
Punch 'em in the fuckin' gut if they can't remember what "right" actually is.
Oh. And not every hero has t'die. There's that, too.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
On Beauty
Technically still Wednesday.
So, the other day, a man I've barely gotten around to meeting claimed I was beautiful.
And now he's suggested I define that word.
Beauty.
Huh.
Above all else, it's subjective. "In the eyes of the beholder," goes the old saying, while another, more modern interpretation twists it to, "beer-holder," because after all, like in all subjective things, inebriation alters perception.
So, to put it simply, I am certainly not 'beautiful,' or 'pretty,' at least not to my mind, in part because I'm not a narcissist. Honestly, I rarely think about how pretty anything is, much less my own body. When I draw, it is not an ode to beauty, it is merely the act of recording a thought. Likewise, on the rare occasion that I take a photograph, it is not how beautiful the subject is, but merely that it exists. Technical imperfections may mar a piece, but it is always better that the record exists than that the moment is lost forever.
Beauty, though, is supposed to be more than simple existence, isn't it?
I think the dictionary definition would go something like, "aesthetically pleasing," or "pleasing to witness/behold."
Again, subjective.
I'm not particularly enraptured by the way blood spurts from a severed artery, but a psychopathic serial killer might well find such beautiful. Likewise, I'm pretty sure a burn victim would not share my enthusiasm for fire.
Physical beauty is also a fleeting, transient thing, especially in humans. Even the strongest statue will erode under the constant pressures of time and the masterless elements. While some people may age more gracefully than others, they still age, still wither, still die.
And truly, at that point, it takes a lot of perservatives and either the very most discerning of beholders, or the very least to find a dessicated corpse beautiful.
Rare jewels, with their brilliant colors and their inner fire are almost universally considered valuable, but a desperate junkie would likely trade a fistful of diamonds for its equal in drugs, without even the first hint of hesitation.
Beauty is also not particularly necessary. No human has ever died for want of a painting as they have for want of sustenance or shelter. Despite this, humankind is quick to attach beauty to things of dire necessity. A man in a desert would find an oasis glorious. Humanity also regularly seeks out things they do not need, creating decorations with no other purpose than to appeal to the ever-changing senses.
What is beauty then?
It is transitory, and it is fleeting; a lie perpetrated by our minds to persuade us to enjoy the sensations we experience. It's a lie to break up the dull monotony of continued existence. Many humans spend their whole lives in its pursuit. But then, humans do so often devote their entire fleeting, transitory lives to pointless minutiae.
So, the other day, a man I've barely gotten around to meeting claimed I was beautiful.
And now he's suggested I define that word.
Beauty.
Huh.
Above all else, it's subjective. "In the eyes of the beholder," goes the old saying, while another, more modern interpretation twists it to, "beer-holder," because after all, like in all subjective things, inebriation alters perception.
So, to put it simply, I am certainly not 'beautiful,' or 'pretty,' at least not to my mind, in part because I'm not a narcissist. Honestly, I rarely think about how pretty anything is, much less my own body. When I draw, it is not an ode to beauty, it is merely the act of recording a thought. Likewise, on the rare occasion that I take a photograph, it is not how beautiful the subject is, but merely that it exists. Technical imperfections may mar a piece, but it is always better that the record exists than that the moment is lost forever.
Beauty, though, is supposed to be more than simple existence, isn't it?
I think the dictionary definition would go something like, "aesthetically pleasing," or "pleasing to witness/behold."
Again, subjective.
I'm not particularly enraptured by the way blood spurts from a severed artery, but a psychopathic serial killer might well find such beautiful. Likewise, I'm pretty sure a burn victim would not share my enthusiasm for fire.
Physical beauty is also a fleeting, transient thing, especially in humans. Even the strongest statue will erode under the constant pressures of time and the masterless elements. While some people may age more gracefully than others, they still age, still wither, still die.
And truly, at that point, it takes a lot of perservatives and either the very most discerning of beholders, or the very least to find a dessicated corpse beautiful.
Rare jewels, with their brilliant colors and their inner fire are almost universally considered valuable, but a desperate junkie would likely trade a fistful of diamonds for its equal in drugs, without even the first hint of hesitation.
Beauty is also not particularly necessary. No human has ever died for want of a painting as they have for want of sustenance or shelter. Despite this, humankind is quick to attach beauty to things of dire necessity. A man in a desert would find an oasis glorious. Humanity also regularly seeks out things they do not need, creating decorations with no other purpose than to appeal to the ever-changing senses.
What is beauty then?
It is transitory, and it is fleeting; a lie perpetrated by our minds to persuade us to enjoy the sensations we experience. It's a lie to break up the dull monotony of continued existence. Many humans spend their whole lives in its pursuit. But then, humans do so often devote their entire fleeting, transitory lives to pointless minutiae.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Po-tay-toes
So, I poked a friend with 'what the hell should I write about' because yeah, still completely and totally dead upstairs.
Yeah, so, he's a smart-ass and says: "Potatoes."
So I'd like to talk to you today about something reasonably cheap that tastes awesome.
Potatoes.
Because my brain is mushy.
Need: One-to-many potatoes, your choice of condiments.
So, you take a standard potato. You wash it off, just hot water or something, make sure there isn't any dirt on it, right? Then you stab it a couple of times with a knife, 'til it's got a few holes in it. Wrap it in a damp paper towel, microwave it say ... one or two minutes, flip it over. Microwave it another one or two minutes.
If it feels kind of squishy, it's done. Otherwise give it a minute or so longer.
Then you sit it in a bowl or on a plate or something, cut it open, put on whatever you want. For me that's butter or ranch dressing, shredded cheese, some chopped onion, bacon bits.
Delicious.
Pretty filling, too. Rather cheap. Nice break from 'ramen' when your income is 'little to none.'
Fucking economy.
I am bad at recipes.
Yeah, so, he's a smart-ass and says: "Potatoes."
So I'd like to talk to you today about something reasonably cheap that tastes awesome.
Potatoes.
Because my brain is mushy.
Need: One-to-many potatoes, your choice of condiments.
So, you take a standard potato. You wash it off, just hot water or something, make sure there isn't any dirt on it, right? Then you stab it a couple of times with a knife, 'til it's got a few holes in it. Wrap it in a damp paper towel, microwave it say ... one or two minutes, flip it over. Microwave it another one or two minutes.
If it feels kind of squishy, it's done. Otherwise give it a minute or so longer.
Then you sit it in a bowl or on a plate or something, cut it open, put on whatever you want. For me that's butter or ranch dressing, shredded cheese, some chopped onion, bacon bits.
Delicious.
Pretty filling, too. Rather cheap. Nice break from 'ramen' when your income is 'little to none.'
Fucking economy.
I am bad at recipes.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Job and Joblessness
... hilarious.
Remember that whole job business I got employed at?
Yeah, so. Through literally no fault of my own, that's no longer a ... thing. As of May 15.
Very depressed over the whole business. Been crying on and off, feelings of worthlessness, that whole jazz.
Deciding if the weather's actually nice for once to go out to a park, go walking around and such. Day off tomorrow regardless.
Remember that whole job business I got employed at?
Yeah, so. Through literally no fault of my own, that's no longer a ... thing. As of May 15.
Very depressed over the whole business. Been crying on and off, feelings of worthlessness, that whole jazz.
Deciding if the weather's actually nice for once to go out to a park, go walking around and such. Day off tomorrow regardless.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Games: Video, Vampire
3/9/11
Trying out this InkPad app.
In which I decide to live up to my claim of NOT being a Slender Man blog. (My deit(ies)y, Ava and Reach. Feel bad for them.)
So, I've gone back to playing Vampire the Masquerade - Bloodlines again. Not a bad game, by far. Buggy at base game, but that's what player-made mods are good for. I wouldn't willingly play Oblivion without the Unofficial patches, and I can't play VtM-B without one; trying to do so caused a game-breaking "you shall not pass" style bug, where my progress was stopped by a kind of Groundhog Day cutscene loop.
Very frustrating.
So, as you might be able to guess, my very favorite old World of Darkness vampire to play is Malkavian, because they put the "crazy" in Crazy Awesome. They're literally an entire clan full of Cassandra Truths and Power Born of Madness.
And in a video game with limited dialogue choices, they REALLY capitalize on the potential to see the future and pretty much outline the entire plot in the first act, while being circuitous enough in their speech patterns that you only really figure out what you mean by what you're saying after the event you're referring to has already happened. The difference between a normal playthrough and a Malkie playthrough is significant enough that it's definitely worth doing... Though if you're averse to spoilers, you should avoid it on first playthrough. Sometimes, the Malkavian ISN'T that difficult to comprehend, especially if you know your pop-culture and mythology.
I bring all this up as a wonderfully shameless plug for my Malkavian Let's Play, incidentally. You should totally check that out.
4srs.
Actually it sucks. So meh.
Trying out this InkPad app.
In which I decide to live up to my claim of NOT being a Slender Man blog. (My deit(ies)y, Ava and Reach. Feel bad for them.)
So, I've gone back to playing Vampire the Masquerade - Bloodlines again. Not a bad game, by far. Buggy at base game, but that's what player-made mods are good for. I wouldn't willingly play Oblivion without the Unofficial patches, and I can't play VtM-B without one; trying to do so caused a game-breaking "you shall not pass" style bug, where my progress was stopped by a kind of Groundhog Day cutscene loop.
Very frustrating.
So, as you might be able to guess, my very favorite old World of Darkness vampire to play is Malkavian, because they put the "crazy" in Crazy Awesome. They're literally an entire clan full of Cassandra Truths and Power Born of Madness.
And in a video game with limited dialogue choices, they REALLY capitalize on the potential to see the future and pretty much outline the entire plot in the first act, while being circuitous enough in their speech patterns that you only really figure out what you mean by what you're saying after the event you're referring to has already happened. The difference between a normal playthrough and a Malkie playthrough is significant enough that it's definitely worth doing... Though if you're averse to spoilers, you should avoid it on first playthrough. Sometimes, the Malkavian ISN'T that difficult to comprehend, especially if you know your pop-culture and mythology.
I bring all this up as a wonderfully shameless plug for my Malkavian Let's Play, incidentally. You should totally check that out.
4srs.
Actually it sucks. So meh.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Green Eyes
Not a lot going on in my head right now. Oh! Kitty.
We have a kitty!
Temporarily anyway. You already knew that if you were following my Twitter feed.
I am highly allergic to kitties. And dogs, and pretty much every animal except for goats, bunny rabbits, and black ants. I'm pretty much allergic to the state I live in, actually ... none of the grasses, but all of the weeds and about half of the trees. Swear, I should just keel over from exposure.
She's adorable, and very sweet personality-wise, though. 's been declawed. I'm sure she has to belong to somebody, and I wish they'd take her back before I get too attached.
We really can't afford a cat, no matter how sweet she is.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Surprisingly Not Dead
Still late, though. Sorry 'bout that. Look up and it's 6PM and realized I hadn't yet posted this.
AND THEN IT WAS TOMORROW.
Sooooo.
I'm a child of the modern, fear-mongering media. You know, the one that's happy to remind you, constantly, that not only are psychopaths real, but they look like anybody else, right up until they cut your skin off and wear it as a suit, all the while pretending to BE you.
At which point, they'll look kind of like YOU, not anybody else.
So, right, where was I going with this?
Ah, yes, the Mythos, because my brain has latched onto that like a starving man might latch onto a stripper covered in delicious cake.
Being, as I am, conditioned toward a certain level of mistrust for my fellow man (and wo-man), it should come as no surprise that the High Octane Nightmare and/or Paranoia Fuel that is the Slender Man has a special place inhell my heart, even if I dismiss the Man Himself as false.
Proxies.
Casual bystanders (read: the people who came here to find out how to leave Gilneas before the plot says you can (protip: you can't)) are probably going, "double-you-tea-eff, mate, what's a proxy?"
And I am an endless font of exposition.
Proxies are average (or not) people who've been brainwashed by Slendy to act for him - willingly or otherwise. In a sense, they are Slendy ... By proxy, hence the name.
See, even if there IS no Slender Man, that's terrifying to me.
For instance, say somebody takes the whole thing even a little bit more seriously than I do, and decides that not only are they being stalked, they're being Hallowed or whatever, and now they're brainwashed and crazy.
So of course the only logical thing to do is hunt down other Runners with a knife.
A) They succeed at the stabbing and the killing and the murder, and continue doing so until either they kill themselves or get arrested.
Or:
B) They fail, getting killed/injured by a Runner who takes it just as seriously as they do. Legal/moral/my god what have I done to follow. Same deal if it's just a prank getting out of hand, honestly, with even more "My God What Have I Done." Seasoned to taste, with just a hint of vanilla to cover up the stench. OF DEATH.
Horrifying, innit?
Hell, you could be a proxy.
I could be a proxy. I'm not, but you certainly don't know that.
Also I come off as creepy, I think.
Sometimes.
AND THEN IT WAS TOMORROW.
Sooooo.
I'm a child of the modern, fear-mongering media. You know, the one that's happy to remind you, constantly, that not only are psychopaths real, but they look like anybody else, right up until they cut your skin off and wear it as a suit, all the while pretending to BE you.
At which point, they'll look kind of like YOU, not anybody else.
So, right, where was I going with this?
Ah, yes, the Mythos, because my brain has latched onto that like a starving man might latch onto a stripper covered in delicious cake.
Being, as I am, conditioned toward a certain level of mistrust for my fellow man (and wo-man), it should come as no surprise that the High Octane Nightmare and/or Paranoia Fuel that is the Slender Man has a special place in
Proxies.
Casual bystanders (read: the people who came here to find out how to leave Gilneas before the plot says you can (protip: you can't)) are probably going, "double-you-tea-eff, mate, what's a proxy?"
And I am an endless font of exposition.
Proxies are average (or not) people who've been brainwashed by Slendy to act for him - willingly or otherwise. In a sense, they are Slendy ... By proxy, hence the name.
See, even if there IS no Slender Man, that's terrifying to me.
For instance, say somebody takes the whole thing even a little bit more seriously than I do, and decides that not only are they being stalked, they're being Hallowed or whatever, and now they're brainwashed and crazy.
So of course the only logical thing to do is hunt down other Runners with a knife.
A) They succeed at the stabbing and the killing and the murder, and continue doing so until either they kill themselves or get arrested.
Or:
B) They fail, getting killed/injured by a Runner who takes it just as seriously as they do. Legal/moral/my god what have I done to follow. Same deal if it's just a prank getting out of hand, honestly, with even more "My God What Have I Done." Seasoned to taste, with just a hint of vanilla to cover up the stench. OF DEATH.
Horrifying, innit?
Hell, you could be a proxy.
I could be a proxy. I'm not, but you certainly don't know that.
Also I come off as creepy, I think.
Sometimes.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Note to Self
Do Not Taunt Cthulhu.
So, I mentioned a while back that I was going to purchase ( X ) contacts, and also that I work at a call center, right?
So, Wednesday I forked over the $170 to buy the contacts as a kind of joke/taunt, because apparently, I don't like life, or living, or continuing to not be dead/insane (perhaps one, then the other?)
Right, so I should also mention here that all calls at my call center are recorded. All of 'em.
So, finally, I set Slendy as my background pic on a whim, since the last person who had my computer was a massive XBox fanboy, specifically Halo, which I don't like enough to want to see every day. Still question the wisdom of that decision every time my screen saver goes batshit fucking insane while I'm out on a lunch break.
So, I come back from lunch on Friday, March 4, and I get pulled pretty much immediately to do a meeting.
When I get back to my desk, I find I've been logged out, so I log back in and take a call. About two minutes in, there's massive audio distortions in the phone line, followed by a disconnect.
This continues for the rest of the day, and for select computers even into today, Saturday, March 5.
Shortly after all this started?
The satelite radio sees fit to play: "I always feel like SOMEBODY'S WATCHIN' MEEEEEEE!" just for emphasis.
All I could manage was a kind of horrified giggle.
Now, I'm willing to chalk this up to the phone people being there and fucking around.
But still.
Creepy ass coincidences freaked me out.
Still no Slender Man SIGHTINGS in Iowa though~
So, I mentioned a while back that I was going to purchase ( X ) contacts, and also that I work at a call center, right?
So, Wednesday I forked over the $170 to buy the contacts as a kind of joke/taunt, because apparently, I don't like life, or living, or continuing to not be dead/insane (perhaps one, then the other?)
Right, so I should also mention here that all calls at my call center are recorded. All of 'em.
So, finally, I set Slendy as my background pic on a whim, since the last person who had my computer was a massive XBox fanboy, specifically Halo, which I don't like enough to want to see every day. Still question the wisdom of that decision every time my screen saver goes batshit fucking insane while I'm out on a lunch break.
So, I come back from lunch on Friday, March 4, and I get pulled pretty much immediately to do a meeting.
When I get back to my desk, I find I've been logged out, so I log back in and take a call. About two minutes in, there's massive audio distortions in the phone line, followed by a disconnect.
This continues for the rest of the day, and for select computers even into today, Saturday, March 5.
Shortly after all this started?
The satelite radio sees fit to play: "I always feel like SOMEBODY'S WATCHIN' MEEEEEEE!" just for emphasis.
All I could manage was a kind of horrified giggle.
Now, I'm willing to chalk this up to the phone people being there and fucking around.
But still.
Creepy ass coincidences freaked me out.
Still no Slender Man SIGHTINGS in Iowa though~
Friday, March 4, 2011
Black Leaves
In which I attempt to draw something I have no means of experiencing personally, nor any real desire to do so. I uh ... I don't recommend staring at it too long. I've actually lost time just looking at it.
So, transcribe, because that's a Friday tradition:
A PATH NO FEET WERE EVER MEANT TO TREAD, NOR EYES TO SEE. IT IS THE BEGINNING AND THE END
YGGDRASIL IS ALL AROUND.
IT IS ALL PLACES AND ALL TIMES.
EVERYWHERE
NOWHERE.
IT IS BUT A BLACKENED PAPER CUT-OUT OF WORLDS ENTIRE WHICH HAVE NEVER BEEN - COULD NEVER BE - YET ARE
EVEN A GLIMPSE OF TOTAL PERSPECTIVE LEADS TO MADNESS
OF COURSE IT WOULD BE BLACK.
BLACK IS A MIX OF ALL COLORS.
HOW COULD ONE BE SATISFIED WITH THEIR INCONSEQUENTIAL LIFE THEREAFTER?
IT DOES NOT REFLECT LIGHT. IT CONSUMES.
I guess now would be a good time to mention that I don't ... really think a lot when I draw. It's part of the reason I draw so infrequently. Pretty much, I decide what I want the structure of it to look like, and then extrapolate subconsciously. So, more or less, don't blame me, I don't really remember drawing half of this. And no, I don't really know why I wrote that up there. It just ... seemed like a good idea I guess.
Or do blame me. You know, whichever.
I get the feeling some of the imagery was influenced by this here comic I read now.
Bonus points if you can tell me what the hell it means, 'coz I really can't.
So, transcribe, because that's a Friday tradition:
A PATH NO FEET WERE EVER MEANT TO TREAD, NOR EYES TO SEE. IT IS THE BEGINNING AND THE END
YGGDRASIL IS ALL AROUND.
IT IS ALL PLACES AND ALL TIMES.
EVERYWHERE
NOWHERE.
IT IS BUT A BLACKENED PAPER CUT-OUT OF WORLDS ENTIRE WHICH HAVE NEVER BEEN - COULD NEVER BE - YET ARE
EVEN A GLIMPSE OF TOTAL PERSPECTIVE LEADS TO MADNESS
OF COURSE IT WOULD BE BLACK.
BLACK IS A MIX OF ALL COLORS.
HOW COULD ONE BE SATISFIED WITH THEIR INCONSEQUENTIAL LIFE THEREAFTER?
IT DOES NOT REFLECT LIGHT. IT CONSUMES.
I guess now would be a good time to mention that I don't ... really think a lot when I draw. It's part of the reason I draw so infrequently. Pretty much, I decide what I want the structure of it to look like, and then extrapolate subconsciously. So, more or less, don't blame me, I don't really remember drawing half of this. And no, I don't really know why I wrote that up there. It just ... seemed like a good idea I guess.
Or do blame me. You know, whichever.
I get the feeling some of the imagery was influenced by this here comic I read now.
Bonus points if you can tell me what the hell it means, 'coz I really can't.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Reality
I want to get this off my metaphorical chest before anyone comes here for the wrong reasons:
I started this blog on a whim, with the off hope that I might scrounge up some additional cashflow while writing it. Hence the ads (which have become increasingly more depressing, I might add), and the donate button, especially.
This is not another ARG.
This is not a blog specifically started up to document the Slender Man wandering around my house being all spooky and demanding my twenty dollars (I don't even carry around cash ffs).
This is just me writing about whatever happens to be in my head, and yeah, the Mythos has kind of a way of embedding it in peoples' subconscious minds, but I am not writing about it because I want to be ... I don't know, linked somehow to it, leech off its fame, whatever. I'm writing about it because it happens to be there, and I can't really tell my subconscious mind to stop fucking with me.
I don't plan to lie to you about anything. There aren't any secret clues or mysteries to be found here. Sure, I'll omit things - leaving my exact location/name for privacy/security reasons, for example - but I'm not going to lie about anything and then pass it off as reality.
Even the backwards writing and the coughing is easily explained rationally: I've been able to write like that for ages, and it just struck me as the thing to do for that post. And, well, I'm allergic to this entire fucking state. I've always got a minor sinus infection of some sort going on.
This is just me writing about my boring life.
Now, that doesn't mean I plan on, I dunno, going out and telling other people to stop having fun with their ARG, or even to point out that it IS an ARG anywhere else. Hell, for all I know, having never met the people out there or the Man himself, it might well not be, which is a good thought for never sleeping again, now isn't it? Believe me when I say the uncertainty of that has ....
huh. I kind of got distracted reading comics and stuff and completely forgot where I was going with this.
I actually don't think any of that really needed to be said, but since I've got massive writer's block due to not ... really having a ton of stuff going on in my head, this'll have to do.
'Til Friday.
Being sick is really leeching my brainpower.
I started this blog on a whim, with the off hope that I might scrounge up some additional cashflow while writing it. Hence the ads (which have become increasingly more depressing, I might add), and the donate button, especially.
This is not another ARG.
This is not a blog specifically started up to document the Slender Man wandering around my house being all spooky and demanding my twenty dollars (I don't even carry around cash ffs).
This is just me writing about whatever happens to be in my head, and yeah, the Mythos has kind of a way of embedding it in peoples' subconscious minds, but I am not writing about it because I want to be ... I don't know, linked somehow to it, leech off its fame, whatever. I'm writing about it because it happens to be there, and I can't really tell my subconscious mind to stop fucking with me.
I don't plan to lie to you about anything. There aren't any secret clues or mysteries to be found here. Sure, I'll omit things - leaving my exact location/name for privacy/security reasons, for example - but I'm not going to lie about anything and then pass it off as reality.
Even the backwards writing and the coughing is easily explained rationally: I've been able to write like that for ages, and it just struck me as the thing to do for that post. And, well, I'm allergic to this entire fucking state. I've always got a minor sinus infection of some sort going on.
This is just me writing about my boring life.
Now, that doesn't mean I plan on, I dunno, going out and telling other people to stop having fun with their ARG, or even to point out that it IS an ARG anywhere else. Hell, for all I know, having never met the people out there or the Man himself, it might well not be, which is a good thought for never sleeping again, now isn't it? Believe me when I say the uncertainty of that has ....
huh. I kind of got distracted reading comics and stuff and completely forgot where I was going with this.
I actually don't think any of that really needed to be said, but since I've got massive writer's block due to not ... really having a ton of stuff going on in my head, this'll have to do.
'Til Friday.
Being sick is really leeching my brainpower.
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