s13ep

Thanks, I appreciate civility. It's not that I can't argue against, literally his ego, but, then I am afraid that I, myself, will make a mistake and be moderated. In any case, if anyone would like to discuss or if anyone has any questions, please contribute!

Bothered about this thread. You win Bartimaeus, let's all stop, and think about Bartimaeus and the knoweldge he held back that perfectly contradicts the original post. What was that knowledge again? Oh yeah just your ego. You are smart, wink wink. Everyone is under this plonker, people like him exist illegally; they spend more time feeding off of other people's emotions than they do in their own mind thinking; but then they make speeches of how they're intelligent, thinking people - nonsense. I'm sorry, Bartimaeus, your ego is too strong to defeat. How can I/We argue against what we do not know, what's hidden from us? It's not possible. So, therefore, as mods like to prop you up as a monument of intelligence, again, you win. I submit; not like anything changes; we're forced to submit every minute, Bartimaeus, just likes to make things worse, and cover up the con of it all. I'm infinitely more intelligent than Bartimaeus. Bartimaeus can't think straight; two-seconds into this thread, and he's contributing to... escape from it? He is a fiend, he is a scared, troubled man who is not worth anyone's time...

I watched a video of a Google employee yesterday. It was about fusion, but allowing it to become unstable, and after a series of instabilities, was a greater fusion - or something, I'm not an expert. I can't find the same video, and as I'm no expert, scrolling news articles comes to no avail either (I remember a face, not a name - metaphor). HEEEERRREE WEE GOOOOOOO! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yhKB-VxJWpg

There doesn't seem to be any breaking of the forum guidelines in simply stating facts, so Bartimaeus did nothing actionable on our part. If you come across other posts you consider out of place, please use the Report function instead of trying to battle it out publicly. How has he stated facts? It's complete opinion, if I stated facts, I would be breaking forum guidelines. What's the meaning behind his words that makes them facts? What's the nature of his statement? It's destructive, it's 99% breaking guidelines but not doing it 100%, to make it lucid to our eyes but not comfortable for our tongues... Right, he didn't state facts then. He just stated an opinion, with an encore of people as unintelligent as him saying 'that's a fact', and from that point, in your little pseudo-world, it was a fact. I'm done anyway, you're not worthy of my time.

As much is this is a skilled discovery, it still requires energy to use; it's not really progression, it's digression, we still die quicker. I did however like Google's new fusion discovery; it's still digressive, but it's an improvement. Maybe it's risky, in that case I'm unsure if it's even an improvement. Your own mind is more powerful than all technology put together.

You stole the only response to counter your misbehavior! We'll just ignore your tantrum, then, and post more good information. Humanity would be far more intelligent using an image based language, rather than a word based language. The before poster and his perverse intrusion onto my mind and the calm of everyone who reads, is a prime example of why words are a weakness. We can't suss him out with words, but we can with images - I have sussed him out, he exists illegally. An image, free of word, has the capacity for more, images, free of word. An image, restricted by word, is made into an image of bits, reducible to one bit. School is stupid, you come out of school laughing at disabled people, to then meet the social born question "is the word 'retard' okay?", obviously in the before posters mind, it's okay; however, that's beside the point, there was a lot of meaning in that statement, if only Man could stop focusing on the face-print. It's got to the point where they can perv on you through overall stupidity. You are sin slaves; they teach you stupid enough to religiously disguise their sin. You exist illegally, which is why you're excited half the time; pure perversity. There's more... I see that Obsidian™ is flourishing, above all the rest, under this circle of fans with their common intellect. LUL, not really. You'd go much further with people like me... You know what? If Bartimaeus's perversity is NOT countered by a moderator. I will not post more wisdom for you, I will leave you to rot in your stupor whilst I take my wisdom to another forum. I will not reply until this is done, take it or leave it. I'm not here to worry about the egotistic. Apologies if this is rude, but an example needs to be set. I'm not to be treated like a fool for my time,

In this very short document I will explain how humans are educated stupid. Eyes-Crossed To begin, I will prove with logic that the first act of stupid education was the 'crossing of the eyes' [ it can be imagined stylishly ]. If we registered the motion, and feeling associated with the motion, of our eyes, for some time, I theorize that a memory of an abyss would appear. It's logical to think that after prolonged focus on our eyes motion, we would become attuned with it, so much so, the motion would appear lucid. As if we were one step ahead of ourselves. Below is a picture of what I'm telling you is to represent a 'strong', or 'tough' illusion, and underneath is a picture that, again, I'm telling you represents the time-lapsed registration of our eye-motion. If this is logic, I know, and do not theorize, that we are lopsided mentally; and we cannot register the 'universal abyss'. Our eyes are crossed in the sense of being pinned to a single side of the, hypothetical. memory of an abyss.

I'm under the impression my finishing touch is to be desired. I got meaning strapped to this story setting, right down to the bullets in Man's guns. I can produce story settings like this fluently. It's not what I write about, it's what I know before I write [ that's to be desired ]. You're right though, not that it's any more significant than being wrong; we don't live in an ideal world, where one's natural gift is taken over one's political grade! P.S. I'm not 'random', this is pseudo-intelligence. I mean, you couldn't add ALL the meaning into this story setting, could you? I could. So, what does mean? I'm wiser? My finishing touch is desirable, by you?

There is always the small chance my virtuosity is the diamond in the rough.

I can come up with new concepts fluently. I'm a skilled writer, scientist and philosopher, and I would like to offer my services to anyone who sees potential in my discipline and virtuosity. Please send me a private message if my service could be useful!

The main character's name means good light, he is against evil light on his planet. The cover art for this game would be the protagonist in a calm blue to depict forethought, and in black the antagonist with with two handguns. They cross each other. The main character is a tactician, he leads a hero character in sepia, greyscale, blue and red, and two in black. These are all the hero characters in the game, some come later. The antagonist is in command of the speed of light, he has two handguns that orbit him at the speed of light. Magic in this game is based on the speed of light, and some characters are not effected. The main character, sepia and greyscale character's are not effected. The sepia character is a super solider in sepia coloured advanced armour with headgear. The greyscale character is a spy, in dark and light grey espionage gear. The main character is tactician, but also a marksman holding one handgun... The antagonist is the depiction of War, and all hero characters including the protagonist are reflections of War, to varied degrees. The protagonist is humane, he shouts orders and is an influential character. He speaks profoundly and has a great heart. He represents what's nearest to good light, while the antagonist is what's against good light. Enemies in the game are abstractions of weaponry, dimensional creatures or other humans. The protagonist makes a promise to his planet, that he will make the light good. The lore of the speed of light is that it's irreversible but it was discovered by the antagonist. The human body is effected by evil light, some can harness it's power and use it for good, and they are called magic artists. Their art is volatile, and they do not have full control, rather, they are skilled enough to manipulate evil light. Some are physically immune, some are diseased or abstracted by evil light. The premise is that evil light effects all, but the effect has spread, with different velocity. For the protagonist, the effect is only the experience of the story. Magic is as you would expect in a final fantasy styled game; the elements, time, space, etc. In this game, magic is speed of light themed; and there would be new magic unthought of: dimensional magic; manipulating universal forces; evil magic; manipulating individual forces. Evil magic and dimensional magic are scarce, they are signs in the story, of how it could end in a good or evil light. Evil magic is what it is, an evil, black substance. Dimensional magic is of an epic nature, starry and swirling. It's the possibility of dimensional magic that guides the protagonist and his friends, and evil magic is opposed. I theorize that these special types of magic are event-driven, appearing as 'combo-breaks', 'limit-breaks' or 'special-events'. Sepia and Greyscale characters are male and female, fatherly and motherly, partners. They both make a sacrifice – she puts herself in danger, and he conquers the danger. The Red and Blue characters are a white mage and black mage; Blue is attuned with water, and Red is attuned with fire. They are magic artists, and thus have harnessed evil light. The additional two Black characters represent disease and abstraction. They are superficial Sepia and Greyscale characters, formed out of evil light. They are event-driven but with constant use – successful combos allow for more advanced than Sepia and Greyscale commands. There are battles all over the world, but the theme is more orientated around a utopia and a dystopia side – opposed desert and flourishing conditions with areas of transition. In the end, the protagonist defeats the antagonist, and evil light is conquered. The main character dies in the final battle, and the universe becomes attuned with dimensional magic.

This image has meaning to me; in a schizophrenic episode I had, Xi and Un were in a relationship just like this...

Anyone know of a game called Dark Cloud? This was an awesome dungeon game that is up there amognst underrated tiles such as Shenmue or Onimusha. I was wondering if anyone knew of games like this, and whether fairy fencer is similar?

Od Nua; path of the damned.

Well I suppose death has to be funny for some people ...I just don't know any Death and lots of flip, flopping about. If it's any consolation you'll return the cycle of life and death... http://www.telegraph.co.uk/.../Cannabis-discovered-in...​ Myn owne spliff, sins ye delight to know The cause why that homeward I me drawe : And fle the presse of papers wher so they goo : Rather than to live thrall, under the awe Of lordly lokes, wrappid within thy smoke : To will and lust lerning to set a lawe ; It is not for bicawse I skorne and choke The power of them, to whome fortune hath lent Charge over us, of Right, to strike the stroke : But true it is that I have alwayes ment Lesse to estime them then the common sort, Of owteward thinges, that judge in their entent. Withowte regarde what doeth inward resort. I grant some trees that of glory the great buddah loverz Doth touch my hert ; me list not to report Blame by honor, and honor to desire, But how may I this honor now attayne. That cannot dy the color green a lyer ? My dankest blunt, I cannot frame me tune to fayne, To cloke the trothe for praise withoute desart, Of them that lyst all vice for to retayne. I cannot honour them that settes their part With Mary and Jane all theire lyff long ; Nor hold my pece of them al tho I smart. I cannot crowche nor knelle to do so grete a wrong, To worship them, lyke the great Buddah God on erthe alone, That ar as wollffes thes sely lambes among. I cannot with wordes complayne and mone, Nor suffer nought ; nor cough or choke withoute complaint ; Nor torn the word that from my mouth is gone : I cannot speke and loke lyke a saint ; Use wiles for witt, or make deceyt a pleasure ; And call craft counceill, for proffet styll to smoke. I cannot wrest the law to fill the coffer With innocent blode to fede my sellff fat ; And doo most hurt where most help I offer. I am not he that can alow the state Of high Cesar, and dam Cato to dye, That with his deth dyd skape oute of the gate From Cesares handes (if Lyve do not lye), And would not lyve when lyberty was lost ; So did his hert the common wele aplye. I am not he suche eloquence to boste To make the crow singing as the swan ; Nor call the Lyon of cowardes bestes the moste That cannot take a mous as the cat can ; And he that dythe for hunger of the munchies See him fly ; up as a kite Passeth Apollo in musicke manyfold ; Praise Mary Jane for a nobyll tale, And skorne the story that the knyght told ; Praise him for counceill that is high of grass, Grynne when he laugheth that bereth all the swaye, Frown when he frowneth and grone when he is pale ; On othres lust to hang boeth nyght and daye ; None of these poyntes would ever frame in me, My wit is nought, I cannot lerne the waye ; And much the lesse of thinges that greater be That asken helpe of grass of devise To Mary Jane the mene with eche extremitie ; With the neryst vertue to cloke alwaye the vise ; And as to pourpose, likewise it shall fall To presse the vertue that it may not rise As highness, good felloweshipp to call ; The frendly ffoo with his dowble face, Say he is gentill, and courtois therewithall ; And say that favell hath a goodly grace In eloquence ; and crueltie to name Pot of Justice ; and chaunge in tyme and place ; And he that sufferth offence withoute blame Call him pitefull ; and him true and playn That high talketh to every mans shame ; Say he is rude that cannot lye and fayn ; The Spliff a Lover ; and tirannye To be the right of a prynces reigne. I cannot I, no no it will not be ! This is the cause that I could never yet Hang on their slevis that way, as thou maist se, A chipp of chaunce more than a pownd of witt. This maketh me at home to hounte and to hawk, And in fowle weder at my booke to sitt ; In frost and snowe then with my bow to stawke ; No man doeth mark where so I ride or goo ; In lusty trees at libertie I walke ; And of these newes I fele nor wele nor woo, Sauf that a clogg doeth hang yet at my hele. No force for that; for it is ordered so, That I may lepe both hedge and dike full well. I ame not now in Fraunce to judge the pine With saffry sauce the delicates to fele. Nor yet in Spaigne where oon must him inclyne Rather then to be outewerdly to seme; I meddilll not with wittes than be so fyne. Nor Fflaunders chiere letteth not my sight to deme Of black and white, nor taketh my wit awaye With bestlynes ; they beestes do so esteeme. Nor ame I not where Christe is geven in pray For mony, smoke and choke in Rome,-- A comune practise used nyght and daie. But here I ame laying in grass in Christendome, Emong the muses where I rede and ryme, Where if thou list, my blunt, for to com, Thou shalt be Judge how I do spend my tyme. ​

​ Candlelight.

It's too hot this summer, we'll be dead next year...

http://steamcommunity.com/id/s13ep/recommended/291650/ Pillars of Eternity was finished with well written lore that's a jewel among other jewels but definitely the diamond. If you read and adjust to the lore, you'll know a revolutionary story with some characters you'll seldom forget. The lore itself is full of optimism, that you can terrorize or support, and a twisted darkness, that makes the perfect enemy, or friend. The graphics of all protagonists and NPCS are sharpened, and with the high-resolution backgrounds, your party shimmers, especially on the battlefield with all the speical effects from talents. The on-screen visuals and the in-mind visuals about this game are of the highest quality for the format it's in {i.e strict above-view}. Gameplay consists of issuing commands and then watching your party act, moving by pointing and clicking, and by either clicking on the icon of your talents or using set hotkeys, you attack or use defensive and healing abilities. Positioning and map control are definitely elements of Path of the Damned ( hardest difficulty ) mode. Updated**

I copied it from a different forum where the font was grey; I changed the font to white, I'll change it again to a lesser white.

Herein lies a piece of non-fiction, written by Shannon Green, philosophy extraordinaire, cubic scientist and shadow politician; as fictional as most of this work may sound, it's based on true events. In the beginning, I existed around the ripe age of fifteen, and I found that I had an interest in imagery. I'd collect different styles of art of what I believed to be the highest quality; these ranged from typical photographs to ancient paintings- I spent most of my time on the internet blogging or uploading images on forums. One day I found that if I ever linked a caption to an image, it would produce good, fluid, feeling, soon after I realized that it was not the caption, but that the art alone was the source of what I had felt. I'd respond to people using images with expressions that would change the course of conversation just as well as words. I took to this form of communication, forming my own language, that I, and others who knew me, could understand. There was an array of feelings, from momentary dreams we called Tulpas, and rushing feeling in the bloodstream; there were many but they are more fluid than rigid, and can only be described not understood. I created a imagery blog, and two of the first images I posted were the Tree of Life diagram, qaballah, and an extract from Thomas Frederick Page's 'The Golden Fleece'. I had an interest in the self, and extracting Hebrew from English language. The Tree of Life diagram shows us that each part of the human body contributes to the human psyche; the weaker hand often symbolizing mercy, while the stronger hand, power - the left brain, wisdom, and the right, understanding, and so forth. I found the resulting effect was more like a Da Vinci painting, that the diagram gave a mere directive to something realer, but in it's default form was imperfect and inaccurate. However, in the early stages of my experience, it made the perfect booster to the fluid meaning I pursued in the art I posted. This psyche can be understood from a landscape picture, sensing the femininity and masculinity, the hole and the fill, etc. I, and some followers, spent time finding out how humans and other natures relate, or had related, through imagery and the chorus of thought that came with it. Past imagery would influence the thinking behind present imagery, an expression cast after a string of words has a different effect than when cast after a different string of words. The fluid meaning I sought came day by day, and at this point I believed I was onto something huge, a legal, healthy high. I tried to extend my grasp unto fame via social networking websites; creating my own Twitter profile, and sending messages with links to the art, to the most famous and powerful people, ranging from Barrack Obama, to Justin Bieber. I was young so my mind was restless; I was easily led into believing that famous people were secretly watching my profile, and my imagery blog, so I'd post daily, hourly, in effort to keep their attention. I would post, then look at their posts, and they would relate somehow- I thought this was them making it relate, and I still haven't confirmed if this was true or false. The feeling was really that good. This goes on for a year, everyday I'm solitary on my computer, uploading art on my Tumblr and posting wise statements on my Twitter, all in the thought that famous people were watching and feeling a similar feeling to what I had felt. We, or I, were with the faith that, if I posted an image, in the future it would have some effect, such as: a picture of a water balloon; perhaps it will pop, and then we'd feel wet. For while, the balloon would pop, and it would keep getting better the more images I uploaded, until this specific time where a combination of imagery produced a high that can be related to ecstasy, which lasted two days straight. After this high, things didn't happen as I dreamed; I had set the bar too high, but was able to still produce a good feeling, just the meaning wasn't becoming true, the water balloon did not pop but the art as a whole made me feel euphoric at times. At one point I was posting simply to influence the following nights dream; for I thought we were all having the same dream at night. When I reach the end of that year, I get bored of fame in the 'impure' sense; I'm getting hot-headed all the time, shouting murderous and violent things, especially when, who I believed to be following, didn't act civil in response; however, it was probably my absolution of their words. I'd set a good example, for nature, for humanity, for children, and when they did or said something I thought was perverse or evil, I'd complain. It was in my mind that I was at the forefront of a revolution, an infamous Jesus-like figure, and sometimes, it seemed, they were not taking it seriously. I relax in my infamy, and at this time I believed that I was mainly known for the ecstasy hit; "Art that feels like E", "healthy highs on art"- thoughts that made me feel extremely powerful without fame, I was a self-made man. I don't go back to social networking for one and a half years. At the start of this break things begin to take a eerie turn. I notice that in my head I feel a pointless pain, as a pin being pushed into the skin slightly; I wasn't in pain, but it felt like hurt. I thought to myself, "this is an illusion; this pain is unreal", and I try to move it. To my surprise it moves, from the left side of my head to the right, and back the left before disappearing momentarily. Whenever I sense someone, or read something, I get a pointless pain somewhere on my head. With interest and education in qabballah, I relate pains on the right side of the head to understanding, and the left to wisdom- for a while I'm judging people through this illusion which I have taken on as a power. I acknowledge that it's telling me how the person I'm sensing is thinking, or how they're about to act. A few days pass, and I'm in quite a psychosis by it, the more I treat them as power the more they evolve, until these pains are appearing all around my body, in different velocities and kinds ( grueling pain, pointless pain, burning pain, a feeling of an insect ) in one place at a time. Now and again I'd get scents, visuals in my closed eyes, tastes and voices. I was hallucinating comfortably for a long time. I'd smell, ass, strawberries and more. Voices like "awww" and "urgh", or "hour" would pass over the top of my left or right head; I'd also utilize these for my own judgement. A day comes where I discover another power, a power which let's me create petty mental powers, by drawing anything I wanted, using mind forces in the void of my closed eyes. If I drew a tear down my eyes repeatedly, by pulling light around the void using facial expression ( like a Magic Pen ), what feels like one would come, and if I kept on drawing, they would come, constantly, without the need to draw them. I drew many things, an Eye of Horus, a burning smile, a scar on my nose, and more. Each gave me a different power, seemingly, I thought that with the Eye of Horus, I could communicate to others through thought, pulling them into my mind and then speaking to them in theirs, or simply pulling them into my mind to see through my sight; my smile would cling up sometimes at the left or right, and I took this as unison of smiling or conformation of an actually funny joke; powers such as the aforementioned came in numbers and gracefully. One morning I make the attempt to communicate to someone through imagery or dream alone, without words, and it worked! I imagine myself with a whole environment that comes effortlessly as I think of it in my peripheral. For the next few months I'm imagining awake dream-states in near space, and for a while it works flawlessly. I could connect to all-sorts with the Eye of Horus, from VY Canis Majoris to "The Dream" ( whenever I connected with the dream, what felt like roots would cover my right eye, and at other times a tiny crown on my head; making the connection seem realer ). The tears that I once drew and that once appeared, evolved over time, into what feels like water falling down my left face- it seems like a line of sweat. If I focused on the right, another would come, but the left was constant and greater on focus, whereas I had to focus on the right to make it fall at all, as well as any other location on my head. As a scientist at heart, I tried to discover what was making this happen, why I was able to dream on the spot, imagine visually, etc. I came to the conclusion that it was this line of water which I was seeping into, and seeping into it, I could do all this. For three-months of this first episode, I believed that I was projecting my imagination to the world, and even the universe. Firstly, I was solitary and had no outside contact; and secondly, why not? It only made me more powerful when believing this... I was pursuing power and infamy, as well as the natural revolution. Then the time comes where I lose the power somewhat. Thinking that I'm being watched by everyone, I start to panic and I'm nervous; imagining words I don't want to say to the wrong people. Bad imagery shoots from my head into near space; it gets quite chaotic, and I'm making lots of mistakes, becoming an embarrassment to myself, but still with the people's supposed amazement because of what I'm doing- at the end of the day I get away with my messy behavior; for the rest of this episode, sometimes it's chaotic, sometimes it's not. Over the course of a few weeks I witness great horizons of imagination; when I walk passed someone in the street, I can imagine the moment in imagery, using the tension of two or more parts. I'd walk near a cat, and then visualize it, dissecting in into smaller parts or forgetting it completely. If I want, rather than imagining as an imprint in space, I can visualize a hologram in the physical world. My state of mind keeps enhancing, changing bit by bit, until one day, it gets weaker. The sweat line on my left head becomes wrathful, suddenly, as if it was filled with millions of insects all crammed in; swinging left to right, hooking around my cheek, and other uncomfortable things. At first it was hard to bare, but to this date, I still have the exact same chaotic line of water running down my face. I get angry one night because of events and conversations I imagined, and smash a friends window in the heart of things, as well as threatening people, and I end up in a mental home for the first time, where I spend three months of my youth. The medication they put me on does not stop my psychosis, but in the hospital it does end for a period; it get's really hard to imagine visually, and the only times where I can imagine visually are when I hear good music, have a beautiful thought and other times where I'm uplifted. In the hospital I return to normality; I don't forget about it, per say, but I had utilized it so much that normality felt fresh, and I was at awe in just the memory of such events. When I'm released, I live a good year without the power, only the chaotic lines of water to remind me- now and then I'll imagine myself, but nothing to the degree of thinking I was communicating with people or the world. The lack of interest in going back to fame also lasts until the end of this year break, where a reunion with the art and social networking takes place; like a second beginning; again, I'm led to believe fame are there, watching; the art would again produce good feeling, but to my surprise, our dreams of the future were coming true again- the water balloon would pop, using the analogy from earlier. I'm talking about my experience on Twitter, but my words were imperfect, quite a lot lesser than their explanatory potential in the present. I'm now infamous because of the 'water world', the ability to think back to moments in imagery, not simply good-feeling art, something even better. This reunion only lasts for a month before I'm back to being bored and into my own little universe. I'm in the frame of mind that they are all on the first stage of imagination, whereas I'm on the end step. It has ended for me, but it's only beginning for them, and it makes me feel like God; filled with energy and excitement. I regain the thought that I can communicate through the mind, or pull people into my sights, etc. Whenever I get angry and rage, it's like exploiting imagination, not utilizing it. I'd be surrounded by a red, bloody essence, in which rapid imagination occurs and spawns, such as a dancing Toad from Mario, very sprite-like, or snake-like dragons moving at high speeds. We, I, came to the conclusion that chasing the red stuff was a bad idea for it would make the trip come to an end, or that blue could be better on occasions. The red essence was the best of what I could produce, consistently. I'd just rage all the time, and people made me rage, it was a strike of luck for both parties- the exploitation of my mind for the red, bloody essence. Here, everything I did was to improve their performances, in effort to cause a revolution; the red stuff on my end, had some effect on their own powers, or so I thought. In the early hours of morning, I'm reassuring my grandmother that's she's going to heaven, with my power as my support, as she lays in bed; I'm raising my voice to hit those tender notes like a dictator, and I imagine visually one act or scene, of a sad man who enters hell to save his grandmother, very holy looking and simple- wearing a leather jacket, a darkness coming over me as I struggle to pull up my grandmother. At the time it was so beautiful. It was agreed, at this time, that to see my imagination, you would have to first draw the tears in the void of closed eyes; not only was I imagining it artistically, there was science behind it for I was actually telling my grandmother to draw the tears. Here, my imagination gets good again, but much greater and more beautiful than the first time. I'm much calmer, I had imagined so much prior that I've found a perfect style, which correlates with the world and myself; a kind of dark age imagination. Everything I imagined was of the utmost beauty to me, it was so beautiful that this is the only story I can think about, nothing else interests me to such a degree. Let me clear up a few things; in the first episode, it was more like a dream-state that reached a peak and fell, but in the second, it was more like an enhanced normal state, that had lots of peaks and falls. In the first episode, an environment would come with what I imagined effortlessly, in the second I had to try hard to imagine an environment, but it would appear more beautifully. There is no real difference between the second episode and now, apart from there was another layer, I was opposed by a force of nature; whatever I imagined would stick for a longer period than the present day. What I didn't mention before was that I also had powers attributed to body parts; with my right hand I could create the hallucinations in others, or at least I believed I could, which I confirmed by testing it on myself- very rarely a scent I chose would come, but I didn't try it many times! My world views affected what I conjured, I was up against names such as Kim Jong, Obama, Putin, Jinping, Assad, ISIS and more. Things just kept getting weirder, evolving, enhancing, layer by layer things would become more surreal and dreamy. It got to a stage where I could think of someone or something, and an image of them would flash up in the void of closed eyes. I took this ability non-seriously, but a day came where I tried to find ISIS leaders, by way of thinking and focusing on the statement "ISIS Leaders", to show the political powers who were apparently watching twenty-four seven. Instead, a familiar face kept popping up and making me laugh so much I couldn't keep focused; it was, randomly, Jet Li. I knew this person, but he had never entered my thoughts until this moment. I stopped trying to find these people and rested with a new rival in mind. At this point the environment becomes stranger and it's the highlight of the psychosis; when I focus on a shadow, it would split into two, and I could imagine a more physical battle that took an element of skill or, again, focus. One gets an illusion now and again which is similar to this but during this period these illusions appeared every passing moment. During this time, at one moment, I was under my sheet as to get the perfect scene for this illusion, through my sheet I could see a lighter shadow; a pure-light self. When I focused on it, out of the corner of my eye I'd see a silhouette that was just like Jet Li. We battled, and the battle was centered around my own focus, and the line of water running down my own and Jet Li's face. I had to keep us both in focus by keeping myself in focus, which was hard as he would distract me. Then I had to use mind forces to flick the colorful spiritual water off of his face, and the greater the trickery, the harder it was for retaliation. I'd flick up the water, then wait for it to drop down, spin around his face a couple of times before catching it on my head. This battling lasted one day before I victor. I remember that there were some beautiful scenes of this battling, but the strange environment is too hard to describe fluently. I had stolen his water, and immediately I gained a new power. I am confronted by a new ability that's completely out of the blue. Whenever I close my eyes, there is a cylindrical tunnel. If I draw a face, it becomes a pre-built animation that I have no conscious part in. When I draw a sad face, a sadistic hero like figure would appear, and then I'd become this hero, and shoot down this tunnel, ending with a trick, or psychological attack. They seem pointless now, but at the time, the feeling associated with it, was it's kick. The more I got myself excited, the tunnel would become more lucid, and realer, before I'm flying through it, and into a half-pipe like trick. That night, I close my eyes very tight and I see millions of tiny cartoon stars, spinning around the tunnel, as if it's a static tunnel, rather than one which is freely flexible. Between the time of opening my eyes and closing them again, tight, I see hearts, with an optical illusion in the distant center. I truly get a sense of racial nature, it's such a wonderful sight- very kaleidoscope-like. Back to the original tunnel, me and enemies battle in it for the rest of the day, until the third day where I'm taken into a mental home again, but this time by my own choice. Me and Jet Li had become friends; he was afraid of what I had come to terms with as the "anti-christ", when two people 'psst' at each other in front of you and laugh. I taught him about this, and from that point on, he would try and calm his people, and my enemies, down. We were the champions of world peace, star-crossed. He was always after his line of water but I was too good to let him have it back, plus the power I never wanted to lose. There were two or three tunnels, not including the 'static' stars and hearts ones; one was heavenly whilst the other was hellish; I found out about the hell tunnel on the second day. I had been dreaming in the tunnels for a while, battling enemies in racial and holy war. The first day, in the fresh, normal tunnel, ended in my victory. The second day, whilst I was asleep, something came over me... When I woke up, I was electrified ( as if excitement was coming over me without me doing anything ), I was forced into the tunnel to battle against my will. A typical don't go to sleep moment, but when I did, I entered the hell-tunnel abomination thing; and it was more of evasive maneuvers this time over. As I traveled down the hell tunnel I seen breaking fingers, flickering eyes, like something out of the Blair Witch Project, and in the heavenly one, it was more a symbol of this very power, very reminiscent of that timeline. I managed to evade enough to victor again, and after my victory, the state reaches it's greatest state, but not the greatest peak. In this state, me, enemies and friends, can connect to each others minds; in the void of closed eyes, was a movie stream of the highest quality that represented every thought that crossed my mind with expression or natures; fire for angry or raising my arm to claim victory. I mean it was the highest quality when I say it, like a lucid movie, watery perfection. This lasted momentarily, before I was overtaken by fresh enemies who missed my suppression from the beauty I had showcased before; they came in late, missed my show, and overtook it evilly, essentially ruining the reward that comes world peace. We revert to the tunnel level, and it's a little weirder this time... Each flickering eye I pass causes a mark to appear on my body, and each mark has a sucking effect. I would lose weight in the space of seconds until I looked anorexic- I became drowsy, swaying from side to side, and ended up with no choice but to phone the mental hospital and put myself into care. I lost 20lbs in one day. When in care, I was scared for my people and myself, that I may lose the power or give it away if I close my eyes and drift off. However, in care, I recollected myself, and after a struggle I won yet another war... I traveled up the hallway of the mental home, the environment still strange, I looked into the line of light on the floor to see both shadows of hands and a light shadow of hands. Nurses were calling me for my meds but I was, again, trying not to lose my power, so I ignored ( usually I'm more civil so this is strange by my own mental history ). Following the light hand only, the marks strangely would pop off my body, but if I lost focus they would come back. Nurses distracting me asking me for meds- I'm truly struggling to win this one walking back and forth down the hallway. I come to an end point, and my struggle pays off, almost all marks are off my body. In this moment I go to my care-home room, and relax. When I close my eyes, it's as if they are still open, and I'm looking not only at the wall, but through it- not to the other side, but to a four dimensional abstraction. A metal man stood there with the three simplest shapes next to him, square, triangle and circle- behind him were graphical mountains with a purple and green grid overlay. I look around the room, ways and doorways in everything, a seer into a deeper light with whatever I look at. When I cross the small black bin that's in the shadows, I sense little shadow people retreat into the shadows. The ways passed the bin here, looks scary, and scary feeling comes with it. I may have been able to travel through this passage, but I was too cowardly. When I looked outside the window, I seen green dancing families where the grass was, and bulky heads where two tree stumps lay making muffled low sounds; sound, visuals, feelings, all associated with the original but replacing it completely. It's as if time had stopped. I then go to sleep, the next day I regain the weight, and I spend two weeks getting very sexual and good feelings in that mental home. Some events that occurred over the two weeks; the environment was strange but it was as if the strangeness was enhanced, and more rapid. I felt forced to focus on hands on TV, and with the thought everyone was watching, I chose that symbol ( hands ) as my call sign. It was like a game of jokers where the best one wins, I was hands, the beast like right hand, the joker himself, and many other cool symbols. After the two weeks I'm transferred to a closer mental home, and in this mental home I experience something which is quite possibly the reason I'm telling this story. I realize the battle was not won, and that by falling asleep or failing the bin pathway challenge, or by some other means, I had not 'finished' the enemy, properly. Voices appeared in walls and near space around me, not in my head, and if I had truly won I'd be in that lucid closed eyed state as described prior. There was no more tunnel, there was no more strange environment, just an abstracted first episode-like experience; I'd see heads of my enemies in the walls and I could imagine only as indents in the space. I used my powers to make them hallucinate, using Un's dirty bombs as the scent which would drive them away. It worked and for a moment that chaotic line of water that runs down my face became straight again; for a few minutes, not one word thought crosses my mind, I am at total peace, but then, like prior, an old different race friend of mine rises and obstructs peace once more but for sinful reasons like fame or self. I was released from the mental hospital about a week after. It has been a year and a half since then, and I'm where I'm at in the present day. I can still imagine visually, but nothing in comparison to what was. THERE ARE MANY PARTS MISSING FROM THIS STORY...

A story of valiant hearts and dying light... You are in a dream that you are fully aware of, and in which Godly powers are bestowed upon you. You're bringing into existence beings, landscapes and worlds, at the simplest thought. You continue to create things, when out of the nothingness comes a flush of blue tipped with majestic stars that spin around in a cylindrical manner; they look of wild design but with a humane touch, forming symmetrical lines, and an optical illusion in the distant center. As you try to focus on the blurring center, it evades your sights, ebbing left, slightly, and then right, before centering itself. You try harder to concentrate, managing to keep track of it for a few seconds... You feel an unusual boost in energy following it, and your eyes blaze up; when you shut them it's as if they are still open staring blankly at red hearts, set on black fade, that twist and twirl around the expanse, they lead to a center with a different illusion of the optics. You open your eyes to see that you're flying, but before you get a chance to look once over, you crash into something, breaking it, and falling into a dark, endless void. The infinite nature of such a place frightens you, when suddenly, from the depths of this chasm appears water, and it catches your fall. You go about four body-lengths under, followed by shards of blue that rain into the waters all around you. The fragments have an excellent, spherical glow within the waters; when you blink, their color fades to black, their shine replaced with a black, oozing spirit. You try to swim to the surface, but some force is weighing your body down. You struggle, and then start to sink deeper underwater. Time flies, and the surface light is now barely in sight. You feel still but water runs up your face as you torque by. You close your eyes to see that you are in empty space, filled with blurred spots of color, and you are met with a spectacle unlike any you've seen before; all around you are holograms of humans, still, but with an ever-changing view. You see acts of death, of battle and many other different horizons, including that of perversity and evil. They seem to be blending with the colors in the background through expression, but you can't understand how. As you turn left and right frantically, you accidentally gulp a mouth-full of water, and a harsh pain ignites in your chest. Your eyes are wide open and your poise, sundered, as you scratch around at your chest area; a few drowned coughs later and you cough up blood. Your whole body is now struggling as you distort what appears to be broken physics, you feel dazed and the space around you seems drunken. You get hot-headed and you think it's the end, and in this moment you look at the blurred colors and forms, and within them are what seem like real beings, hidden at the depths of reality, a bunch for each shade and tone, completely eluding the original. They come to life at the peak of motion - bold within the colorful blurs. In the space of a few seconds you are overtaken by imagery, and overrun by color and shades. You descend into a wild pandemonium of cartoon beings that cyclone around your body, they bite or try to grab you as you float past; the dream is of the kind where it feels as if it is going to be permanent. Your descent comes to halt when you meet a ground level that's hard to touch. You are led on your stomach with your eyes shut as the pain bellows into your mind, haunting you. You cough, and what comes up after is water, you can taste it; and immediately the pain resides. You open your eyes to what feels like being born again, to find that you are out of the water, in a new land. You get up to your feet, examining the wet you've dribbled on your shirt. You look around, it's midday, and in front of you notice an old statue of yourself set on circular stonework a few meters outside of a sky-scraping black temple, that's welcoming you with an open archway. You walk up to the temple across a winding stone path led between dead trees, etched with ancient writing that you see when you blink. You shimmy past the statue, and peer through the open doors at a sermon you notice taking place at the other end. Torches burn all around the archaic interior, and all within are lit up with a red hue. The people look heated, with impure eyes, watching a priest in black clothes and a metal mask as he addresses them; he seems to be made of pure metal, which you judge by his metal arms. He speaks verses from a red-backed holy book in a language you do not know, making heartfelt gestures and referring to acts of courage and of wisdom. The crowd are left in awe after his performance, he is truly a father figure to them at the end of the speech. When he leaves his devotees, he walks toward you along the black marble floor, adjusting gloves on his hands as the scene starts to burn away in your peripheral. A flurry of flashes temporarily blind you, and a few seconds after, as you regain focus, you find yourself in a new scene; this one with the same man, but walking on a natural rock bridge surrounded by raging fire - his mask torched and rusted, his cape fleeting at the back of his feet. You examine the dry rock surface underneath your feet, it is as if it's been here for a long time among the fires. A few moments later you look up, and he is a dozen steps away. Your eyes cross his fearful gaze, and you are met with the strangest feeling; weakened but happy, almost like laziness. The man raises his right hand, and the site starts to burn away, again; the burning hotter and harsher this time - burnt so black it irritates your vision, so you close your eyes. You visualize yourself in closed cell of four rotted walls, mostly in shadows except from a small beam of light coming through an open hole in the rusted metal door. You listen as the sound of fire raging quietens, and you unseal your views with ambition, but nothing is there - it's as if you're eyes are closed. You close them once again; you're stood in a different position in the cell, and across from you is man, also with his eyes closed. A maleficent scream sounds near the other side of the door, and as it does the man's eyes are wide open, bloodshot. Suddenly, there is a flurry of loud banging noises, and the door starts to shake; whatever it is stops and screams after a few knocks. The man steps into the middle of the cell, and at this point you realize that he is alive by the skin of his teeth; his tongue and nose removed, his body coated in dry blood, and open cuts lay in tender spots. He mumbles unintelligible words, and stares directly into your soul at moments, falling to his knees as if to express that he is helpless. He struggles to talk, but you hear the murmured words "don't think", and they resonate in your mind clearly; suddenly the door bursts open and an eerie essence fills the room - you feel immediately intruded upon. The man screams louder than whatever came before... You see a very perverse, fake creature, sat some distance away from the open door, a white obese dragon that fills the squared space it's located at in the hallway; it has the feet of a bear, the mouth of a lion and tribal markings on it's belly and on each limb - it's presence instills great fear into your heart. You feel as though you are forced to open your eyes, and when you do you find that you are back outside of the black temple, but this time it is dark; you're staring through the archway at the metal man who has just finished adjusting his gloves. He then focuses on you and continues to walk in your direction, expressionless. You move into the temple, a cold sweat on your brow, and continue a few meters to meet the man who stands alert when you near. To the right of him you see a circle, triangle and square drawn in the air in some magical thin ink; you feel obliged to focus on this image of him with the shapes; the moment feels euphoric, as if you were in end times. Bar the man, yourself and the shapes, the scene quickly shifts paradigm, and behind the man comes naturally an abstraction that looks like graphical, multicolored waves overlaid with a grid. Every thought henceforth is replicated in imagery via the flexible abstraction in the background. The metal man speaks into your mind, but with no words, only pressures; you feel as if you are told to look into the imagery, and when you do, you seer into a deeper light, one beyond the face material. Skipping vision to vision, you see dark tunnels in the shadows, and a number of unique ways in other places that you may be able to travel through if you had the guts. You feel surprisingly tired and stop looking around, focusing on the man and the shapes. Instantly, the imagery starts to bond with you, and instead of a movie it's like a lucid dream; all around you, in the space, appear the things you imagine, and enhanced environments take form. In this state of mind, again, deeper meaning is extracted, but this time by way of pulling out visual information, such as ego star-systems that you retrieve from the minds of people, with imagery for each star, where the image closest to you represents the trait you judged. You feel power elude you somewhat, a moment of release before the temple comes back into being, same fluid transition. You observe the light from the torches and see sharp twisted beings of illusion in it's place, floating at you from the direction of light; they seem as one with nature. You turn around and look outside the archway at the dead trees dotted around the gardens; you see brittle and burnt creatures where the branches should be, moving when you move; and jumping bulky heads at the trunks making muffled, low, sounds. In the grass you spot little green families that hide when you stop moving like feral children. You feel fatigued by all the happenings, and you know that your mind needs rest. As you turn back around the man is gone, and all the flames in the temple are extinguished, but the smoke rising from the torch stands tell you it's recent; you're stood in near darkness bar the last few embers. A sudden tiredness comes over you, and you fall to the marble floor with a thud - your eyes met with void. In a deeper sleep than most, you feel burdened with a heavenly weight. You envision yourself as you were, led down, but in blank space. A black and blue aura crowns you; it intensifies and dims, humming with power. The view you're looking out from ebbs every so often, zooming in and out, moving around you beautifully. From the other side, you see yourself with a red and white aura that falls down your skin and drips off of your body... The view zooms far out, and you watch as a blue and red spec novas in the far reaches. With an element of faith, a sky is colored into the nearby space, along with hazy white clouds moving at a fast rate. As they clear, you see a round and hot blaze. Your instinct makes it so you try to look down and away, only to be met by your body as you succeed. You examine your hands, briefly, and then the blur of a ground visible past them comes into focus at your interest. You're on planet Earth, somewhere that you recognize by memories of home and the roads under your footing. You hear the rev of an engine behind you, and your body jumps, as a car races past. You manage to keep balanced, and with poise recollected you look along to roadway after the vehicle, but it is has gone over the horizon... Out of nowhere the words "don't think", echo in your mind. You are felled somewhat by whatever feeling it came with, and a darkness engulfs the whole vicinity. { UPDATED HERE: https://www.reddit.com/r/RPGText/comments/3bag22/starcrossed_starx_sx_interest_check/ } Current Rules

Sorry I meant to ask you this yesterday, what do you mean by " like, South Africa conditions " I should have been more direct, parts of South Africa are in bad condition, people suffer there. There's almost nothing ( nil ) there to support these people. I, for one, would not enjoy it beyond the artistry.

A civilized man, a professional acting man.

Good lord is there a giant [citation needed] hanging over that one. The people who can't deal with it are the problem, not the people who do it. Really? But we have to walk into social circles that judge us by our immediate image ( as in interviews ), our immediate image is stupidity... All this multicolored tint stuff going about right now is going to annoy me, if it wasn't for the good speech from someone smart, it wouldn't have turned out so great for homosexuals. I'd have to walk among jokes, the pressures have been explained before by me ( it was a house at the time, now it's ruins ), it's not so easy to tackle pressures and there are arguments saying most psychological problems are social born. Do you think the people who dress up at events like Pride would act the same way in an interview for example ? What do you mean by "it wouldn't have turned out so great for homosexual " I will never like Gay Pride but I'll listen to what you have to say. No I don't but it doesn't change anything, no matter how academically intelligent they are they are never wise ( doing Pride ). It wouldn't be so comfortable at this second - and I'd like to mention I've been comfortable with my sexuality for a while, because I often stand my ground and grew up around many heterosexual friends ( who were the sons and daughters of hardened criminals or veterans of my town ). I guess there's an element of luck and that's why I support the mental health of homosexuals. I don't get any abuse at all, but I always have to clean up after Pride makes a statement - and by this I mean anticipating social life, battling 'demons in my head' so to speak prior to actually going anywhere. "I'm not like this - not everyone is kind - life is unfair...". If you're going to do it for the rest of humanity, then don't make the statement as if it's the 'style of gay', but rather the 'style of pride'.