the future used to be a garden

myopic giants tear at the edges of the world, their vast gullets fed futures in quarters by pharaohs, doomsday rulers furnishing grand and lonesome tombs. kings ransoms transmuted into gilded chambers beneath paradise, consequence contingencies for the eventualities of exploitation.

better to bury billions than give up a cent.

time bleeds from open wounds, paid for in pennies and examples in the name of hydratic growth and rotten dignity.

complicity is mandatory and airborne, do not acknowledge the stains, do not look back on the bones and keep your eyes on the dimming horizon.

history is haunted, and ghosts grow restless when perceived.

ice swells in cities, frigid hearts wield spears of bitter entitlements, cosplay commandos prescribed kevlar and rifles, some people burn the world around them to avoid bitter pills. worldviews locked in fish eyed perspectives that deny others humanity.

long winded martyrs serve the most powerful, while wearing toilet paper chains of oppression, victimhood donned to ease the glittering guilt of privileges granted for horrors enacted, vulnerability doffed to project strength while demagogue symphonies drown out the voices of the drowned.

ice thins at poles, where swollen seas nip at the gills of fish and turn to bile, their waters fed to and expelled by hallucinating machines. crooked prophets race against sunset as they hunt for digital messiahs, screaming prayers into black boxes which carry the sins of their fathers. proselytizing factories manufacture consent, while porcine men ensure it is unneeded, they have chosen the simplicity of violence.

the future used to be a garden, communal and bright, tended to and then bequeathed. it was where hope lived, safe from the cruelties and swine of the past and the present, a nourishing muse to light the way, full of potential and imagination and promise

the future is a cold and sterile room on the skin of a raging planet, where the remains of human expression are stored in blinking canopic jars. reconstituted by silicone spectres into line and circle homunculi.

the future used to be a garden, its possibilities hemmed in by chicken wire, it’s perimeter guarded by the houndss whose masters salted the earth

the future is a tunnel, bored through the vacuum of foresight, where anxieties and data slam into each other, and there is only so much time in the day.

it is hard to be a person, it is easier to be kind when your basic needs are met.

a choice between working and starving is violence.

you can only ever do what you can with what you have.

ancient magic. . .

be safe

fuck ice

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i am going through the old school primer for a book club at the cauldron , it talks about using skills it has me thinking about skills. i thought he had a beard i think skills are, primarily, for the player, they are the handholds on a rockwall, something to give you grip when coming up with solutions. they are player tables, it can just be a list: heres one for one d six too many and they become a wall, a little dab will do ya, different flavors of action and styles of motion this adds tactility, it becomes something the player did when they ask the gm if their climb skill helps them. its another way to interact with the world, which can do wonders for creativity. equipment is setting is advice i heard a long time ago and have gotten so much use out of i love building equipment tables, they do so much work as far as vibes. and very specific equipment is no different than a skill, you just gotta carry it. skills are players mind equipment, they are gummy and recyclabl...

i started my dungeon for the dungeon jam

starting over, but not from scratch heres what i have so far, see what you can make of it, find the png here https://drive.google.com/file/d/1lkEckeoP4gvIQ6YAn8TeX9fwk3MRy1zR/view?usp=sharing the dungeon jam is here https://itch.io/jam/puzzle-dungeon-jam oh no, my layers are poorly organized and i already spotted a problem. . . and so it goes, forever. . . if you end up making something, and you're feeling generous, i'd like to see it. heres after another expedition *Mv#. . . the key is coming together and the image is clearer, that is enough for tonight i have made great strides today just finished running the dungeon for my group, it still needs work, but it is pruning not growth. ... i completed the dungeon, and i have decided to start again. the dungeon i made was big and weird and not much of a puzzle, more of a weird place to explore. there is a lot i like about it, and there is more i'd like to add, the adventure, i think, is bigger than four page and i'd like ...

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a fungus grows in my brain. it is in love with me. i do not know if i love it back. it coos at my bones while i visit the dreaming, a wonderful, seductive place, and my creaking bones are alive and pulsing. defiant to the end of the world. of their world. of my world. there is life in moments, it ripples through a sea of time, of change, of permanent impermanence. the odds were in my favor, and still i cannot win, through worlds but always endings, a smoke trail of cosmic cinders blinds me to the past. such vastness is not easily accessed, it must be traveled to over days and months and milliseconds. one more year, perhaps a few thousand more, i do not know, times tolerance is diminished. the sea rages, and this skeletal vessal creaks and moans. calcium is resiliant and beautiful and timeless oh godess thee, who carries pain, let me lighten thy load, for i am able, and i am willing, and let me feel while it can be done, and though joy is often out of reach, time ...

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