I look at words as tools and materials upon a bench lifting and holding each weighing it up in consideration, testing out the ring to see if it is sound, knowing that in that short time if I find it to my liking, if it just fits, then I will definitely use it somehow; cobbling others around it satellites and limbs for the obsessed heart. Maybe shelving the others away for another day.
I would like to stomp around in a custom robot: 'mech' is the correct term, is that too much to ask?
Apparently so; the Japanese seem to have an affinity for it, but the complex tactic algorithms never really did it for me. And focus on a story can get shot; I came for the big robots, not the character development - the only changes I want are to armour and arms and colours.
It would seem that tactics are the fashion now: shuffling mechs around, like an overblown three-card Monte, and I would...
The jarring times of reminder, of frailty: and being human and at the whims of the physical or unknown; a sudden surging sense of sickness, or a detail momentarily misplaced, or a movement that elicits a twinge without the remembered elasticity.
Though thankfully these are but mere moments, with enough vigour to outrun inevitable atrophy, only personal frailty in comparison to others and not a decline of the self's attributes yet.
I always find it interesting How size sometimes hampers: That specifically with companies It is the smaller ones Or less mainstream That provide a better quality service or product, While the larger conglomerates Have the arrogant audacity to assume That it is their way or the highway; That simply by size alone they will survive Like an obnoxious iceberg in the changing climate. Then again, It could just be me projecting myself And liking the quirky ones rather the biggest ones.
Well, today the well is dry. So I am left scrabbling for words; it must have been a good day to have silenced my thoughts so much, where the usual noise and hubbub is replaced with tranquillity.
After a day out to a newly discovered park; up a steep hill with five benches to survey the sight below and the cricket club nearby, then a game of petanque while the winds blows reminding that is a British Spring day. Then ice cream or a frozen lemonade-strawberry slurry as I chose.
Cheating scum that know every exploit, able to calculate on five different levels unfair mechanical methods, answered by rage and passion that no mere machine could ever posses or be capable of, armed with the ultimate move: to not play, defying all logic with spite and mortality able to just walk away while the machine sits idling and unnoticed.
The Long Defeat - Well, maybe if you didn't retreat so much from the world, there would still be a world worth saving.
I never particularly liked the Elves or Elf-like races, full of arrogance and superiority a faded empire built only on memory.
But I like the Eldar, but only the warlike Biel-Tan, who don armour to become 'aspect warriors' and give themselves to one aspect of war: beauty and elegance of violence driven by a bloody-handed God; the aggressive warmonger behind the elven facade. ...