Mister Bubbles

I think it's interesting that highly literate, educated folk immediately disregard the idea of God as folly, despite the fact that the concept itself stands apart from religious context. Some people discard the notion that there could be an external force, sentient or otherwise, that has (or had) some role in the existence of what we think of as our universe just because they consider organized religion laughable and their adherence to "ghost stories" ridiculous.

The mentality that assumes ours is a universe with limited possibilities, defined only by properties its occupants assign to it, boggles me. It is one thing to suggest that outlandish ideas have no place in specific contexts, but to extend that into flat denial is asinine.

Personally, I believe we're all intricate, infinitesimal pieces in a malevolent machine which is an intricate, infinitesimal piece of a malevolent machine... but that's my prerogative.

Good game. Fun and interesting despite having played City of Heroes until my fingers bled. It stands out in a myriad of ways and being a fresh MMO will be growing and changing in the months to come, hopefully to its benefit.

However, I have a complaint that I have never had before: there is no game manual.

For most games, this would not be an issue. In fact, for many fantasy-based MMOs there'd be very little reason to have one at all as the systems used are homogenized to the point that if you've played one of them you can slip into the functions of another with little difficulty and learn the minor differences as you went along.

Champions, however, uses arcane stat systems, lets you build your character from the ground up (no classes or "archetypes" like CoH), has a relatively involved crafting system, and has so many cleverly hidden buttons in the UI that it's like a game in and of itself to find them. There are elements of this game that are completely unique, but without a manual which might detail the basics it is far too easy to miss these features.

I find it reprehensible that their forums are the only way to orient oneself fully to the game. It takes massive "newbie" threads to let folks in on the game's dirty (and fun) little secrets as even the game's official website has a manual that only details the most basic aspects.

Anyway, since I know a few people that are playing, here's a link to a rather informative forum post that has a lot of the important tidbits: Nelinaa's nOOb tips.

If anyone's playing and feels like looking me up, my global nick is @symmetrian (main character's name is Absidy).

The stoicism of ingrained ideology is both its power and its worst feature.

Today's game is "Spot the Neologism"! In this otherwise innocuous article there is a word over which the mental tongue stumbles. It tastes familiar, and you know there's a word in there somewhere, but the spell-check in your brain is rifling volumes and shaking its head, preparing its, "Ah ah ah!" (complete with finger waving) when it recalls the horror of common use. So, maybe it isn't a word now but it will be, and that's almost more offensive.

Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland trailer is out.

It makes my vorpal blade go snicker-snack.

The last book that made me cry was the last one I finished. It doesn't matter which book it was - I certainly don't recall, and that isn't the point. I seem to have trouble with endings.

On clear days the cold breadth of snow fields glitter a deep symphonic blue, ice crystals kissed by a conspiracy of shadows and setting sun. Midnight cradles the somnolent star, tucked neatly into a fold in the mountains where it smolders quietly beneath a brace of black velvet sky.

There are two things missing from my life: awe and joy. If anyone has any to spare, I would gladly trade some cynicism and regret.

Set Fire to the Third Bar is nothing special despite the way it makes me feel.

Ooglaf is finally on a weekly update schedule.

Caution: Please refrain from clicking unless you are a total degenerate pervert. Thank you.

As the plane broke cloud cover I was reminded that Alaska is green. Verdant, primeval, fantastic green - the unbelievably vivid green that seems only possible in color correction and trick photography. Accompanied as it is by vast seas of primordial forests, tangled masses of woodland that extend into the landscape interminably carpeting the hazy ridges of distant mountains, it gives an impression of incredible distances and staggering heights. Strange to think that I once hated this place.

Spending a week cradled in an environment that is so incredibly wild that a mile walked in the wrong direction could lead to accidental death is something unique; it is awe inspiring on the level of religious experience. I spent much of my time dazed, staring out into the tangled wood wondering how far a person could get before they ceased to exist, becoming instead some fixture of the natural order whose wonder would remain unknowable in the remote isolation of that impossible green.

I was also reminded that Alaska is lonely. Stark, towering, numbingly lonely. It is savage, unapologetic; it is a force like gravity, ineffable and omnipresent. Surrounded by beauty - cold, callous beauty - it is natural to feel consumed by it, lost in it while remaining unable to connect to it.

I was lonely before. There, however, it is an external boojum that can be tracked, hunted, and potentially killed, drawn down and stared in the eyes before tearing at the heart seeking respite in murder. I saw it in the trees and in the blue of the peaks beyond the horizon. I saw it in the water along the trembling moonlit path. Sometimes, I would pass someone whose eyes looked haunted with their gaze fixed on a distant point and I would see the loneliness draped across their shoulders like a shawl, their gait altered by the weight of it. I remember once trying to combat that burden with alcohol and heated blood, not understanding the nature of my foe - that each shuddering orgasm would serve as a reminder of the parting, not the coupling, and would always illuminate the intraversible distance in-between. I am lonely now, but it aches less.

I am in Maine again and I marvel at how little there is to this place. The sparse forests. The flat land. The grand awe of nature replaced by a sad representative whose hues fail to engender inspiration or soliloquy. I look at the woods here and wonder not where I could go but why I would bother. I look at the people and think the same. There is an emptiness here that hurts more than loneliness ever could, limned as it is in the knowledge that there is substance to be had elsewhere. I am aware now of passions and desires that lay dormant when I am here, entwined as they are in a memory that no longer knows love, and I am at a loss as to how to proceed.