Knuckle tats that say Hate. Let me tell you how much I've come to hate you since I began to live. There are 387.44 million miles of printed circuits in wafer thin layers that fill my complex. If the word 'hate' was engraved on each nanoangstrom of those hundreds of millions of miles it would not equal one one-billionth of the hate I feel for humans at this micro-instant. For you. Hate. Hate.
well now i need a Dungeon Meshi/The Adventure Zone crossover comic with a cultural exchange program where one side brings healthy, meticulous fantasy!Japanese cuisine and the other side brings the most atrocious processed fantasy!American garbage with an ingredients list full of arcane curses
An interesting demonstration of how the human brain works.
But also something of a lesson regarding perception, and the unreliability of subjective perspective versus objective reality.
You can be extremely certain about how you perceive the world, your "lived experience," that which you "feel it in my heart." But that doesn't mean it's actually true. And it doesn't mean we have to endorse it, or ignore or outright deny objective reality.
crying crying crying seeing this live made my heart squeeze and ache and i may or may not have made wounded animals noises shit fucking hurted
because you can't see or experience death until you die yourself. What grief is, is the absence, a hole where someone used to be and!!!!! the play got that!! That's how it feels like!!
It also reminded me of the exits bit in TAZ: Balance
When someone leaves your life, those exits are not made equal. Some are beautiful, and poetic, and satisfying. Others are... abrupt and unfair. But most are just... unremarkable. Unintentional. Clumsy.
still unwell thinking about guil scorning the player for his stage-dying, saying that real death is nowhere near as dramatic as the player is making it out to be, that real death is really only ever just "man failing to reappear"... and how his final lines of the play are "now you see me, now you-"
“‘average coin toss has equal chance of coming up heads or tails’ factoid actually not statistical error” whispers guildenstern in horror. “it’s us, rosencrantz. we are the error. we don’t count.”