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Thanksgiving, 2005. Bywater. North Rampart and Montegut St. New Orleans
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The idea of listening to no black music is bizarre to me. Even if it's not rap like no earth wind and fire? No reggae? No moonstomp? No ska? No classic jazz? No R and B? No disco??? No skindred? No jungle? No even like metal bands with a few black members? No gospel? Not even stuff like alors en dance? No blues music? No mo town? No jazz of any kind? No big band? No soul music? Not even a little James Brown?
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I love drawing him being evil and floweyesque and going ooouh ooh look at billy badass over here. watch out for nefarious nathan. mf antagonistic aaron. he think he so cool I hate him
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how can i communicate to wild bunnies that i am their ally
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Nothing in the world feels as unjust as the fate of the Disco Elysium developers.
Imagine you build this in-depth fictional setting over the course of decades with your friends, and then decide to turn it into a game for fun. You end up creating one of the most celebrated and well-written RPGs of all time and become celebrated for reviving a dying genre.
A few months later, you're fired from the company you founded for criticizing the new direction its taking. The company has the copyright not only to the game you made, but literally everything in the world of the game, which spans decades of lore you built for no profit with your group of friends.
Like, this is a nightmare that I didn't even know existed before I ran into it. To have, what is essentially a passion project that branched off from a TTRPG campaign, be pulled from your hands by a corporate entity that only yearns to abuse your creation for maximum profit. I couldn't imagine myself going on creating anything after that.
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Yeah so it turns out that socially enforced hyperrealities can actually affect Newtonian realities, but not in the sense that you think. Yeah turns out the cognitive strain of maintaining a hyperreality can be converted into mechanical work, but the conversation rate is dogshit. We locked a guy in an omelas basement with nothing but the Joe Rogan podcast and all we got was enough barometric pressure change to boil a can of sprite.
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The more I read into reports about industrial and transportation accidents the less I feel like “operator error” actually exists
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if maiden could google she would be searching why she feels so warm and fuzzy as the women who just drank her blood cleans her wound.
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“how could you have forgotten that” i forget Everything. unless i remember
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