I'd put this on the Ear, but I recently had a Glitch Mob feature already and it seems too jarring to put anywhere else.
I dunno. The whole Drink the Sea album is really fantastic ambient music. It is fire-flinging music again. Music for walking and staring at people, daring reality to crack for one minute so you can unleash your life force as a wave of blinding heat and lightning.
Holy shit you guys have I told you about MSPaint Adventures?
I feel like I should become a Homestuck Witness and go door to door, spreading the good news.
I feel that kind of burning urgency.
Muse muse muse muse muse muse muse.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
fire-brandisher of blizzard of ogress of protection-moon of steed of boat-shed
Greetings, programs.
Cataclysm has breathed new live into WoW, using a metaphor that seems strange at first but reveals itself to be perfect when you stop and think about it.
The Buddhists had it wrong, you know. The concept of the Bodhisattva. It doesn't work like that, not anymore.
Know that this, this beam to you, this gold-plated record affixed to the satellite, comes via herculean effort on my part.
This is building the mental equivalent of lactic acid. Tendons are tearing.
The old saying.
Mothers, soft soccer moms, have been known to lift entire city buses to reach their crushed children.
The Ulfheðnar of Norse legend - those 'tasters of blood', those eaters of fire and metal, those consumed by berserkergang.
Was it real, you wonder.
Does that matter, I wonder.
Someone said it was so.
Note that the same attributes (see: the lifting of city buses) have also been associated with those on crack.
Note most importantly that the soccer mom story, the only modern version we have, fails to note the all-important last page of the tale - the one that gives it weight, gives it a humanconditionaftertaste.
Maybe real people can do such things. Maybe they have.
Maybe we should believe these stories again.
That's not the point.
The point is we have forgotten that berserkergang burns you up from the inside out.
We have remembered Odin's blessing, learned thermodynamics, and forgotten the cost.
Or have we embellished old stories, pasteurized them, and forgotten the meaning.
Back to the Buddhists.
The Bodhisattvas with their bodhicittas. The Wisdom-Beings with their enlightenment-wish.
Those who walked the three score miles and ten to Babylon and, and this is important, came back to tell everyone else how.
This is important because it cannot happen.
I'm pretty sure last time that happened we crowned him, nailed him to a tree and pierced his side with a spear in the proper method of sacrifice for Goði Hrafnblóts, for Hangadróttinn, for Geirlöðnir Spear-Inviter Farmr-Galga All-Father God of the Raven Offering Lord of the Hanged Blind One-Eyed Two-Eyed Trickster Mad Screamer Wōden Wôdan Wuotan Wotan Óðr.
Or perhaps not. Maybe I tell a lie. That isn't how it went.
The reason the Bodhisattva concept cannot exist is because I refuse to believe anyone would willingly turn back.
Or rather that the act of going back wouldn't require so much effort as to incinerate you from the inside out, as to consume all of your energy and convert what remaining mass you had into more energy that still wouldn't be enough.
See. It all comes together.
Soccer moms and Odin and Bodhisattvas and crackheads and Berserkers and I.
You can either have your green on this side cake slice imagehope of the way things ought to be, or you can eat your green on that side pacman restofcake reality of the way things are.
Even this reaching burns so much.
Now open it, it's not sealed.
Use like, one finger.
Come on.
Willpower!
There is a special excitement that I've felt only rarely throughout my childhood that is specific to videogames.
Pokemon, usually. Pokemon, WoW, Mass Effect.
It is the excitement before you play the game. The excitement of planning, of theorycrafting, of imagining. It is better than the real game will ever be. It is the excitement of christmas contained on a chip.
It is potential, that urgent reassurance of future greatness that seizes your breastbone and jerks it several inches out in front of you, that worms into your mind and keeps you from falling asleep.
It invariably fades. It would be impossible to live in constant childlike frenzy, and whatever you end up doing pales in comparison to what you dreamed up the night before.
You will burn out at around level 30, a scant six levels before your starter reaches its third evolution, because by then you'll be bored. Your pokemon will languish in their respective boxes until you start again.
You WILL burn out around lvl 10, lvl 30, and lvl 50 because by then you'll have trained the majority of your workhorse spells and you'll be tired of running halfway through an instance with shitty PUGs. Your new troll druid will turn out to be exactly like the last druid you tried to roll.
You will get tired running around the Citadel for those damn Keepers a second or third time. The great spinning galaxies will lose their lustre, and your Engineer+ with Sniper Rifles will become tedious.
But it's okay, because later on you'll get that old feeling again, that physical tightening around your lungs and the fire up your brain stem.
It will come again. It is cyclical.
In time you find out that most things are.
But not enlightenment. By its very design, it hates circles.
.....so how do I explain 円相?
Cataclysm has breathed new live into WoW, using a metaphor that seems strange at first but reveals itself to be perfect when you stop and think about it.
The Buddhists had it wrong, you know. The concept of the Bodhisattva. It doesn't work like that, not anymore.
Know that this, this beam to you, this gold-plated record affixed to the satellite, comes via herculean effort on my part.
This is building the mental equivalent of lactic acid. Tendons are tearing.
The old saying.
Mothers, soft soccer moms, have been known to lift entire city buses to reach their crushed children.
The Ulfheðnar of Norse legend - those 'tasters of blood', those eaters of fire and metal, those consumed by berserkergang.
Was it real, you wonder.
Does that matter, I wonder.
Someone said it was so.
Note that the same attributes (see: the lifting of city buses) have also been associated with those on crack.
Note most importantly that the soccer mom story, the only modern version we have, fails to note the all-important last page of the tale - the one that gives it weight, gives it a humanconditionaftertaste.
Maybe real people can do such things. Maybe they have.
Maybe we should believe these stories again.
That's not the point.
The point is we have forgotten that berserkergang burns you up from the inside out.
We have remembered Odin's blessing, learned thermodynamics, and forgotten the cost.
Or have we embellished old stories, pasteurized them, and forgotten the meaning.
Back to the Buddhists.
The Bodhisattvas with their bodhicittas. The Wisdom-Beings with their enlightenment-wish.
Those who walked the three score miles and ten to Babylon and, and this is important, came back to tell everyone else how.
This is important because it cannot happen.
I'm pretty sure last time that happened we crowned him, nailed him to a tree and pierced his side with a spear in the proper method of sacrifice for Goði Hrafnblóts, for Hangadróttinn, for Geirlöðnir Spear-Inviter Farmr-Galga All-Father God of the Raven Offering Lord of the Hanged Blind One-Eyed Two-Eyed Trickster Mad Screamer Wōden Wôdan Wuotan Wotan Óðr.
Or perhaps not. Maybe I tell a lie. That isn't how it went.
The reason the Bodhisattva concept cannot exist is because I refuse to believe anyone would willingly turn back.
Or rather that the act of going back wouldn't require so much effort as to incinerate you from the inside out, as to consume all of your energy and convert what remaining mass you had into more energy that still wouldn't be enough.
See. It all comes together.
Soccer moms and Odin and Bodhisattvas and crackheads and Berserkers and I.
You can either have your green on this side cake slice imagehope of the way things ought to be, or you can eat your green on that side pacman restofcake reality of the way things are.
Even this reaching burns so much.
Now open it, it's not sealed.
Use like, one finger.
Come on.
Willpower!
There is a special excitement that I've felt only rarely throughout my childhood that is specific to videogames.
Pokemon, usually. Pokemon, WoW, Mass Effect.
It is the excitement before you play the game. The excitement of planning, of theorycrafting, of imagining. It is better than the real game will ever be. It is the excitement of christmas contained on a chip.
It is potential, that urgent reassurance of future greatness that seizes your breastbone and jerks it several inches out in front of you, that worms into your mind and keeps you from falling asleep.
It invariably fades. It would be impossible to live in constant childlike frenzy, and whatever you end up doing pales in comparison to what you dreamed up the night before.
You will burn out at around level 30, a scant six levels before your starter reaches its third evolution, because by then you'll be bored. Your pokemon will languish in their respective boxes until you start again.
You WILL burn out around lvl 10, lvl 30, and lvl 50 because by then you'll have trained the majority of your workhorse spells and you'll be tired of running halfway through an instance with shitty PUGs. Your new troll druid will turn out to be exactly like the last druid you tried to roll.
You will get tired running around the Citadel for those damn Keepers a second or third time. The great spinning galaxies will lose their lustre, and your Engineer+ with Sniper Rifles will become tedious.
But it's okay, because later on you'll get that old feeling again, that physical tightening around your lungs and the fire up your brain stem.
It will come again. It is cyclical.
In time you find out that most things are.
But not enlightenment. By its very design, it hates circles.
.....so how do I explain 円相?
Saturday, September 18, 2010
RS NAND Latch (Memory Cell)
The "About The Author" section in 1984 by George Orwell struck me with equal force as the book itself. I don't know what the traditional blurb is supposed to sound like. Usually you don't read them, you just look for the picture.
Terry Pratchett's says he used to work a million different jobs and likes banana daquiris.
Oscar Wilde's says he was flamboyant, brilliantly witty, and known for his splendid epigrams.
George Orwell's says he was a man of intense feelings and fierce hates.
He hated totalitarianism. He was critical of communism, but considered himself a socialist. He hated intellectuals, but was a literary critic. He hated cant and lying and cruelty in life and in literature. He had the conviction that modern man was inadequate to cope with the demands of his history.
In the essay "Why I Write", Orwell lists "four great motives for writing" which he feels exist in every writer. He explains that all are present, but in different proportions, and also that these proportions vary from time to time. They are as follows:
1. Sheer egoism- Orwell argues that many people write simply to feel clever, to "be talked about, to be remembered after death, to get your own back on grown-ups in childhood, etc." He says that this is a great motive, although most of humanity is not "acutely selfish", and that this motive exists mainly in younger writers. He also says that it exists more in serious writers than journalists, though serious writers are "less interested in money".
2. Aesthetic enthusiasm- Orwell explains that present in writing is the desire to make one's writing look and sound good, having "pleasure in the impact of one sound on another, in the firmness of good prose or the rhythm of a good story." He says that this motive is "very feeble in a lot of writers" but still present in all works of writing.
3. Historical impulse- He sums this up by simply stating this motive is the "desire to see things as they are, to find out true facts and store them up for the use of posterity."
4. Political purpose- Orwell writes that "no book is genuinely free from political bias", and further explains that this motive is used very commonly in all forms of writing in the broadest sense, citing a "desire to push the world in a certain direction" in every person. He concludes by saying that "the opinion that art should have nothing to do with politics is itself a political attitude."
In other news, the new pokemon suck. They all look the same, they're all angular and inorganic and composed of flat, rounded shapes. The legendaries are overpopulated and indistinguishable and meaningless.
There are hardly any new shapes - it as if the previous generation was disassembled into lego parts, recolored, and built again into a new 150.
I will still buy White. The day I don't buy the new pokemon will be a very different day indeed.
Terry Pratchett's says he used to work a million different jobs and likes banana daquiris.
Oscar Wilde's says he was flamboyant, brilliantly witty, and known for his splendid epigrams.
George Orwell's says he was a man of intense feelings and fierce hates.
He hated totalitarianism. He was critical of communism, but considered himself a socialist. He hated intellectuals, but was a literary critic. He hated cant and lying and cruelty in life and in literature. He had the conviction that modern man was inadequate to cope with the demands of his history.
In the essay "Why I Write", Orwell lists "four great motives for writing" which he feels exist in every writer. He explains that all are present, but in different proportions, and also that these proportions vary from time to time. They are as follows:
1. Sheer egoism- Orwell argues that many people write simply to feel clever, to "be talked about, to be remembered after death, to get your own back on grown-ups in childhood, etc." He says that this is a great motive, although most of humanity is not "acutely selfish", and that this motive exists mainly in younger writers. He also says that it exists more in serious writers than journalists, though serious writers are "less interested in money".
2. Aesthetic enthusiasm- Orwell explains that present in writing is the desire to make one's writing look and sound good, having "pleasure in the impact of one sound on another, in the firmness of good prose or the rhythm of a good story." He says that this motive is "very feeble in a lot of writers" but still present in all works of writing.
3. Historical impulse- He sums this up by simply stating this motive is the "desire to see things as they are, to find out true facts and store them up for the use of posterity."
4. Political purpose- Orwell writes that "no book is genuinely free from political bias", and further explains that this motive is used very commonly in all forms of writing in the broadest sense, citing a "desire to push the world in a certain direction" in every person. He concludes by saying that "the opinion that art should have nothing to do with politics is itself a political attitude."
In other news, the new pokemon suck. They all look the same, they're all angular and inorganic and composed of flat, rounded shapes. The legendaries are overpopulated and indistinguishable and meaningless.
There are hardly any new shapes - it as if the previous generation was disassembled into lego parts, recolored, and built again into a new 150.
I will still buy White. The day I don't buy the new pokemon will be a very different day indeed.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
And So Summer Comes To A Close
What part of I'm Insanely Bored don't you people get? How many more inane accomplishments in The Worlds Of Warcraft do I have to achieve before you give me something to do?THERE AREN'T THAT MANY DRAKES LEFT.
In other news, Mr Oizo.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Friday, July 23, 2010
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