#prophet's sims nonsense

[thedeafprophet]

......well i'd better figure out which mod is causing this glitch O_O

[lyrical-linguist]

Tarot Cards

Archivist

Statement of Evan Lodge, regarding the alleged series of ‘bad luck’ in early 2019 following the purchase of a deck of Tarot cards in August 2018. Original statement given May 7th 2019. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

Statement (Archivist)

I’ve never really been one for that spiritual nonsense. Plenty of my friends are into it, New Age spirituality and paganism etcetera, etcetera. I always found it fun, though. I might not have believed in any of it, but tarot cards and horoscopes and crystals were a nice bit of fun, something to do when I was bored and a good way to give yourself advice. I’ve always found all these supposedly prophetic things to be a good way to convince yourself do to what you already know you need to. It’s all just confirmation bias and coincidence.

And even when weird stuff does happen, it’s not like there’s anything supernatural. It’s just a coincidence, or some sciency thing we don’t yet understand or can’t see, like how some fish can see infra-red, or some bugs can see more colours than we can. Things doing stuff they shouldn’t, it’s all just ions or quantum physics, or maybe dark matter - we don’t understand that yet. The point is: everything weird has an empirical scientific explanation. Anything that seems supernatural has a, well, natural reason. It has to. But those cards, I don’t know. They’re just wrong. I’ve not done drugs, I don’t think I’m hallucinating, there has to be an explanation. I need you to tell me that there’s a rational, scientific explanation. I’m not crazy, I’m not!

I’m sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. I’ll start at the beginning.

It was just like any other day in August, I was in town doing some shopping as it was the Summer holidays and I was yet to start my University term. I was looking around some charity shops as I’ve never particularly been a fan of the more modern, more expensive clothing you get on the highstreet. I specifically remember the shop that I went into third, because there was this beautiful vintage jacket significantly under-priced, and I bought it immediately. As is the norm, I had a quick look around the books and the CDs. I don’t suppose you care what I bought, but I’ll mention it just in case it is useful in tracking the shop or something. I remember looking through the books for a little longer than usual. A friend had told me they had found a beautiful clothbound book from the 1800s here last week. No luck, though, and in the end I just got a copy of Dorian Grey and a couple of CDs from some obscure band I’d never heard of before. Sorry, that’s probably not a useful fact.

It was then that I saw them, looking though old teapots and photo frames. At first I thought it was just a pack of ornate playing cards, but as I looked closer I realised they were tarot cards, an intricately morbid design painted on the box. As I said, I’ve never really believed in spiritual nonsense, but there was just something about this deck that drew me to the cards.

I took a few out in the shop to examine them, and of course they first card I pulled was Death. At the time, this seemed amusing. I know that Death signifies new beginnings and fresh starts, but it’s always funny to pretend it means I’m going to die. Well, it used to be. Anyway, I pulled out the card, and examined it. It was truly beautiful, unlike any deck I had seen before. It seemed to be hand-painted, the ivory of Death’s bones stark white against the black of his cloak and the red of the corpses at his feet. If I hadn’t known better, I would have said that red looked like fresh blood. Of course given the age of the deck, blood would have been a dark brown not this glistening scarlet. Every card in the deck was the same; a black and white design with blood-red detailing. Even the cards of the Major Arcana signifying anything alive seemed almost dead. They weren’t skeletal, no sunken eyes, they even had joyous expressions. I could not label any detail that made them seem that way, they were just… dead.

I do not do justice the beauty of those cards in my description, but of course I bought them. Maybe I didn’t believe in that stuff, but they truly were beautiful, and I’ve always found the aesthetic morbidly appealing. Not to mention that they were only £2, and I felt oddly drawn to these cards, as though they were made just for me. There was no company listed on the back of the box, just a cardboard thing with ‘Tarot’ crudely painted on the front. It didn’t seem to match the look of the deck, and seemed to have been made significantly after the cards themselves were. Something of this beauty seemed to belong to some sort of ornate wooden box, like a more expensive version of those boxes dominos used to come in. The cards seemed to be lacking this, but I don’t suppose I thought much of it at the time. I was only disappointed I could not Google to find more information on their creation.

For the longest time, nothing happened. The cards sat pride of place in my growing collection of spiritual items, mostly bought by friends who were happy I was also getting involved in this stuff. Those same friends were massively impressed when I showed them my new deck, and even more impressed when I told them the price. I remember one told me that something like that could easily go for £50 if they were new, and in the hundreds or even thousands if they were as old as I suspected they were. Although I could not find my deck on the internet, I was shocked to find others selling for as much as 2.5 grand. I don’t know why, but I didn’t even consider selling them. I suppose I just didn’t think they were actually worth as much as my friends said they might be, and despite (as I keep saying) my disbelief in all things spiritual, I had developed some sort of connection to this deck. Selling them would be wrong. How I wish now that I hadn’t held onto them, that I had sold them, even given them away for free.

So like I said, nothing really happened for a while. I would read my tarot maybe once a week, usually the standard past-present-future spread, and I was even slowly learning the meanings as they were much easier to read than my previous Grand Etteilla deck. I was even quite proud of myself one day in early December when I managed to do my reading without even having to look up what the cards meant. I was less proud when I realised what the cards were. I still remember today, even though it was months ago. Past: Nine of Swords, upright; anxiety, trauma, depression. Present: The Hermit, reversed; isolation, exile. Future: Ten of Swords, Upright; disaster, betrayal, defeat. Suffice to say, these were not comforting cards. They were right about the trauma in the past, they were right about the loneliness I often feel. I suppose they were also right about the future, although obviously I didn’t know that at the time.

I dismissed this reading as coincidence and silliness. They weren’t some magical, prophetic pieces of paper, they were just a bit of fun. I had a little laugh to myself and texted my friends’ group chat about the doom I had just been foretold. I suppose the lack of reply should have been some indicator that perhaps the Hermit card was right about the present.

On Thursday that week, I suppose I was betrayed in a small way. It turned out my best friend was gossiping about me behind my back. Nothing big, nothing important in the grand scheme of things, I suppose, but it was a small betrayal. I thought nothing of it until later, remembering how the cards had foretold betrayal. It was just a coincidence, I told myself.

The next week, I read my tarot again. If people were going to be betraying me, I’d rather know. The future reading was the Seven of Pentacles reversed, supposedly meaning hard work without reward. When I went to hand in an essay I had spent three hours writing that week, my professor told me that he had set that for his other class, and we didn’t have to do. Three hours wasted.  

This continued for weeks. I would read my tarot, my supposed doom would be foretold, and something small and bad would happen. I know it was silly, I know it went against all the science I believed in, I know that nothing that was happening was even very severe, but I got scared of those cards. I’m not a complete idiot, I’ve seen all the horror movies, so after a few weeks I simply stopped reading my tarot. It was just a slew of bad luck, nothing to do with those creepy cards, I told myself. I didn’t really think stopping would change anything, but there was that little voice in the back of my head, that little superstitious anxiety. I thought it would help, and it did. For one week. That bad luck that had been plaguing me for so long stopped, almost the day I usually read my tarot. By the next week I had almost convinced myself that it had all been just a series of unfortunate events, nothing to do with the cards and just another coincidence. But that was when the dreams started.

I used to read my tarot before going to bed every Sunday, find out my luck for the week ahead. Like I said, the first Sunday I did not, the week following was bliss. But the second week, the 10th February, I got ready as usual, deliberately skipped my tarot reading, and climbed into bed. Now, normally it takes me an hour to get to sleep on a good day. I usually put on a podcast or some music and try to sleep, only for my mind to be invaded by a million tiny anxieties keeping me awake. But not that night; I was asleep the minute my head hit the pillow.

In my dream, I was at that charity shop where I first bought the cards, except it was… different. I couldn’t tell what it was at the time, when you’re in a dream everything seems normal, but when I awoke and remembered this dream, I remembered thinking it peculiar that everything in this shop - every item, every person - was coloured in that black and white and blood red of the cards. This wasn’t unusual, although I rarely remember my dreams, the ones I do remember are bizarre like this. There was a dream I once had, I must have been ten, where the people had orange and purple and green legs, but in the dream I thought nothing of it. Sorry, I’m getting off topic.

I was in the shop, oddly coloured as it was, and I approached the shelf where I had found the cards. The colouration here was even stranger, with the china and antiques only in that ivory white, and the red stain of the deck a blot on the shelf, redder than it had been in the waking world. I reached towards it, I could almost touch it- And then my alarm went off. That always happened in dreams, your alarm waking you halfway through. I do remember thinking it strange that I had remembered that dream and no other, as usually when I remember one I remember multiple. However, I felt the strangest sensation that I had had no other dreams that night, and from the moment I placed my head on the pillow eight hours prior, I had been in that dream and none other. Silly thinking, of course dreams did not work like that.

What was more peculiar, however nothing to be concerned over, is when the next night I had the exact same dream, and I woke up at exactly the same point. Of course that’s nothing unusual, I always repeat the dreams I remember. Ok so maybe they rarely seem to repeat so precisely, and maybe two nights in a row was bizarre, but dreaming about a pack of cards was not the strangest thing I had ever dreamed about and of course I wasn’t going to assume there was anything unnatural about it, I mean it was a dream for goodness sake!

The third night, on Tuesday, I was very tired. I supposed I was not sleeping properly, as the past two nights despite my eight hours unconscious on both occasion it felt as if I had not slept at all, and I was beginning to drop off in my lectures. I decided on an early night, certainly a rarity for a university student, I know, and headed to bed at only 9pm. As I have said, I was exhausted. That night, it seemed the dream was longer. It started as the previous two had, however when I reached the shelf and reached out my hand, my alarm did not go off. I clutched at the deck, which, although it seemed normal at the time, was in a wooden case exactly as I had envisioned when first buying it. Ornate, with the figure of Death emblazoned on the lid. There was still no company name, however.

I slid open the box and pulled out the cards, and seated myself at a table that, as far as I am aware, did not exist in the real shop. And then I began to read my tarot. I seemed to have little control over my actions in that dream, however I don’t believe I tried to prevent my reading. It was just a dream, after all. I shuffled the deck as I did when awake, and drew my past, present, and future as when awake. I’m afraid I do not remember which cards I drew that night, as every night from then on I had that same dream and drew different cards. It all blurs together after a while. What I do know is that from that night, the disasters started again.

I would lose important work or destroy my favourite clothing or a friend would end ill and I’d have to present a project on my own, or any number of unlucky but small occurrences. Every night I had that dream, and every day a new disaster would strike. They were never severe, although the first degree burns from coffee and small cuts from cooking were some of the worst of the events. It was like death by a thousand cuts, this constant bad luck. I already had depression at the time, and this certainly did nothing to help.

Eventually, I picked up the tarot again. It was a Sunday night again, the 10th of March I think, and after four weeks of bad luck, I had had enough. Maybe these cards were haunted or cursed or whatever, but the once-a-week disaster was worse than every single goddamn day, not to mention the fact that I was constantly tired these days, and not a small number of disasters had happened due to my falling asleep, and it was getting difficult to tell what was magic bad luck and what was just regular bad luck. ‘Magic bad luck’, God I sound insane.

And you know what? The dream didn’t happen that night. I swear I’m not making this up, I know it sounds ridiculous, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, maybe it’s my subconscious mind giving me excuses, but every week I draw my tarot, every week a disaster happens, and the dreams went away.

And now I come to the reason I’m here. The thing about the disasters is they aren’t totally random. I draw the Lovers, and I find my partner had cheated, or I draw Three of Pentacles and whatever group I’m a part of falls apart. Some of the links are more tenuous or less spiritual, like cutting myself shaving after drawing something with a sword, or getting a sunburn after drawing the Sun. I suspect breaking my weighing scales came from drawing Justice.

Last Sunday, I drew Death.

I know Death doesn’t mean anything to do with dying. I know it’s about rebirth and change and cycles. But if drawing the Sun can give me a sunburn when I’m outside for less than an hour, I dread to think what Death means.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the first card I ever drew from this deck was Death. I know that sounds stupid, of course it’s a coincidence. All of this is just a stupid coincidence. But too many bad things keep happening. Maybe I’ll be lucky, maybe Death means the end of a cycle. I drew Death at the beginning of all this, maybe Death means the end too. But the end of what? This bad luck, or someone’s life?

I can’t keep living like this. The bad luck is getting worse. What started as papercuts and torn documents is now mistakes costing hundreds of pounds and friends being attacked and falling shelves breaking my bones. That’s how I got this cast. With the dreams, it was one piece of bad luck a day. Even reading the cards myself it seems to be that bad now. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.

I need help. Tell me I’m not crazy or I don’t know tell me I am. Just… Help me.

Archivist

Statement ends.

Simply put, there is nothing in this statement that could lead to further investigation. These so-called disasters are too minor to follow up, and Mr Lodge has provided no information on these cards that could detail which deck he is referring to, and does not appear to have left any copy of the cards in our possession. The fact that they appear to be hand-painted and ornate, yet only tricolour is unlikely and certainly an anachronism if they are as old as Mr Lodge suggests.

There is no evidence to suggest Tarot cards have the power to either prophesize or determine futures, and this supposed bad luck is likely, as Mr Lodge states in the only sensible part of his statement, a coincidence.

While it is certainly worrying that these dreams occurred only when he was not reading his Tarot weekly, it is likely a subconscious reaction to the stress of this ‘bad luck’. Additionally, the suggestion that in the first two dreams there was not enough time to draw cards despite lasting the whole night, but in every other dream there was time, is illogical.

What is concerning, is that upon investigation, it was found that Mr Lodge was found dead in his student flat three days after his statement was taken on the 10th of May 2007. However, this death was ruled a suicide. Mr Lodge stated a history of depression, and Tim was able to locate medical records indicating severe depression and anxiety and three years of therapy. Given this, and the bad luck Mr Lodge perceived himself as having, there was likely no supernatural causes to this death.

End recording.

[tessatechaitea]

Cerebus #8 (1979)

This cover doesn't help me remember what this issue is about.

Having only ever read the first half of Cerebus via the collected stories in the Cerebus phonebooks, this is the first time I'm seeing most of the early covers of Cerebus. I probably started reading the monthly issues during "Flight" but had purchased the "Melmoth" back issues. So I'll be getting a lot of new material in the covers and the Aardvark Comments section all the way up through "Jaka's Story." In Note from the Publisher, Deni explains that Cerebus is currently selling 4,000 copies a month. That's four thousand dollars a month! Of course, Dave probably has to sell at half the cover price, so maybe that's more like two thousand. And then there's the expense of paying for your own printing and shipping. I have no idea what that might cost but let's pretend it's another thousand dollars. That leaves Dave and Deni with one thousand dollars per month before taxes and art equipment! And I know I'm being way too optimistic so let's say it's more like $750. In Canadian dollars! That's probably about five hundred American dollars! But then again, this was 1979 dollars and cars were about six thousand dollars back then. You could buy a house for twenty grand. So by Issue #8, Dave was either really starting to make a lot of money or heading toward financial ruin. I'm not sure why I even began this paragraph when I have no idea what I'm talking about. Although, four thousand copies of an independent comic book by the eighth issue? That's good fucking marketing. No wonder Dave Sim became the God of Self-Publishing. In his Swords of Cerebus essay, Dave Sim continues to explain how he was growing as a writer and artist. It's the kind of thing a fan of Sim's work enjoys reading but not the kind of thing that I can make entertaining in a brief synopsis. So fuck off to the next paragraph already. We're done here. At the end of the last issue, Cerebus escaped his battle with a gigantic Black Sun spider god. But he did not escape as unscathed as I maybe led everybody to believe. He was actually bitten and poisoned by the thing and now he's wandering the desert (unless it's the tundra (which is probably a definitive desert but what am I? A reader of The Farmer's Almanac?!), hallucinating and probably dying. Some Conniptin soldiers find Cerebus and take them back to their Commander's quarters. The Commander isn't the main leader of the army; the main leader is some cocaine snorting prince who thinks he's a god. He wants Cerebus made into a bath robe which would mean Cerebus would get the last laugh. Because remember how badly Cerebus' fur smells when it gets wet? Ha ha! That joke was so funny Dave used it five or six times in the Bran Mak Mufin issue. The Captain and the Commander make plans to oust the young Lord and take over the army themselves. But they need Cerebus by morning for their plan and Cerebus isn't healthy enough. So they take him to the army's doctor for a few Star Trek jokes that seem cheesy and overly done (but maybe not so much in 1979? Or is that the whole point of the running joke here? Because it's a tired format that Sim subverts at the end?) but which ends with a pretty fantastic punchline.

To really appreciate this joke, I think you have to remember what the world was like in 1979. If you weren't born or cognizant of the world at that time, I can't explain it to you. It's like trying to explain Ringo's obsession with the hole in his pocket to somebody who has never seen The Yellow Submarine and who also doesn't know who The Beatles are and has also never heard music or seen animation. Yeah, the 70s were that fucking cool.

The Captain and the Commander take Cerebus out later and point him in the direction of a campfire. They tell them the men around the fire drugged him and they should pay. Feverish and sick, Cerebus runs up to the small camp and begins slaughtering the four men around it. He hallucinates that three of them are Elrod and one of them is Sophia. So what the reader learns this issue is that Cerebus is ready to kill all of the other characters of his comic book at a moment's notice. How The Roach and Weisshaupt and Elrod and Rick and Astoria and Cirin last as long as they do is a miracle. Or it's just part of the contrived story. I guess if it were real, it would seem like a miracle. But since this is all written by Dave Sim, it's just the way it was meant to be. I'm not sure what their eventual plan is for Cerebus as this just seemed to be a test. I guess he's their Manchurian Candidate? The four mercenaries Cerebus killed were Hsifan. The Commander and Captain are Conniptin. I have no idea what these things mean. I think Hsifans make really good ninja assassins though so killing four of them is pretty damned impressive.

Like I said. Killing twenty-five Hsifans is pretty damned impressive.

This story highlights one of Cerebus' bigger life problems: he's constantly being pulled into other people's stories. If he's not trying to steal some treasure to get more gold crowns so he can drink more ale, he's slaughtering other mercenaries to get more gold to drink more ale. And when he's not doing either of those things, it's usually because he's gotten caught up in somebody else's story. I suppose that's what you need to expect when you're some kind of prophetic Messiah. Your story has already been told and you're just time's puppet. But — and I think this is the most important part — something about being an aardvark allows Cerebus to tell destiny and fate to fuck off. So quite often, Cerebus just walks away from the story he got sucked in without a care to its resolution. It has something to do with aardvarks being soulless and less with aardvarks being hermaphrodites. Because I think maybe that's just Cerebus. The Commander and Captain want to make Cerebus their new leader because they can't stand the selfish, greedy fops who rule. The Conniptin motto is "Might makes right! Fight, fight, fight!" Which you really can't argue with unless you're a talented fighter. So Cerebus is offered the job which he can refuse if he doesn't mind having his guts spilled on the floor.

Seems like Cerebus' future is pretty cut and dry. If you forget that he's an aardvark.

Cerebus decides he'd rather escape than be a puppet of the Commander. But after knocking out the guard and trudging some way across the snow, he thinks twice. He decides having a warm place to sleep and free food are a better deal than running for his life from vengeful Conniptins. He also likes the idea of leading an army. If you're not into Cerebus as a mercenary captain, don't worry. It won't last more than one issue!

Damn, I'd forgotten about this line. It used to be one of my favorites to quote whenever being offered some payment or reward of some kind. "What's better than X? Mayhap two Xes!"

Fred Hembeck writes in to Aardvark Comment this month as well as, if not as famous as, David R. Wooten. Pretty sure I've seen David's name in quite a few letters pages of DC comics. The Singles Page is a strip by John Barclay called "Small Potatoes!" It's twelve panels of a couple of guys singing "Dude Looks Like a Lady" on, I guess, a street corner. They sing, over and over again, "DooDuckGlackaLayda!" It's social commentary of some sort. I think. Maybe he's just making fun of the repetitive nature of the song, or any song you're forced to hear out in public by buskers and bucket drummers. Who can tell?! Humor was different in 1988 (the Singles Page is only from the Bi-Weekly! That's why the date is different from the comic). Cerebus #8 Rating: A. There's something happening here. What it is ain't a standard comic book. But it's not what a lot of people thought of as an underground comic book. For one, not once has Cerebus walked around with an erect penis. What was this nonsense not being published by DC or Marvel but also not being weird animal porn that is also personal confessional?! I wish I hadn't been so ashamed of purchasing adult material that my mom might raise an eyebrow at but then say nothing at all. One time she cleaned my bathroom where I had a playboy under the sink. Instead of saying anything, she just straightened it up and left it. I couldn't look at her for weeks. Although I was pretty relieved because at least a week before that, I had about twenty Playboys in there! I can't remember why I moved them but at least she didn't know the extent of my wanking! She probably thought, "Oh how cute. One magazine! And the centerfold is an African-American lady. My boy ain't no jerk off racist!" instead of thinking, "How many fucking porn mags does he need? Does he do anything but jerk off? Oh God! I'm not touching anything of his ever again! Plus isn't this copy of Penthouse the one with an underage Traci Lords?! I wonder how much that will be worth in thirty years?" Of course she thought that last thought not realizing that thirty years later, it would be considered child porn. No, I don't own it anymore, you pervs. I threw out all of those porn mags when I went to college because I didn't know where to hide them! Also I was underage when looking at the Traci Lords' Penthouse so it wasn't weird. She was older than me in those pictures!

[schokokokatze]

Secy: I’m glad you’ve come.

Knowing: Well, it takes guts to be spouting your nonsense at a time like this. I can respect that.

Secy: I am still glad. This is important. We’re going to recover, and Naithoul is here for us even now. He hasn’t abandoned us along with my dear ... with the prophet.

Knowing: “I suppose you’d know. Thanks for the invitation, it’s always interesting to see the younger generation acting like idiots.”

Secy: “Then I hope you’ll enjoy your time here. I’ve prepared a chant for later, unfortunately without drums, but we’ll make do. You’re welcome to let His spirit guide you through the music.”

Knowing: “Well, that’s nice, girlie, but please leave me out of this. I came for you, not some big wolf in the sky.”

Secy: “That’s the part you’ll like, Knowing. He’s not in the sky. He lives in you. You’re welcome to feel it. The beast. The animal that wants you to bear your teeth, protect your tribe, your family. Feast on the blood of my prey and warm yourself at my hearth. We’re one tribe. One family. One ... pack.”

Knowing: “Girlie, don’t take this the wrong way, but ... you’ve a knack with words your husband never shared. You may not be a seer, or a prophet, but you’re a high priestess alright. That Dark boy could learn a thing or two from you.”

[The Chief and Chieftess especially enjoyed the occasion. People started building igloos en masse and they took the opportunity, because my sims are ridiculously horny in general.]

[thesimsblues]

After the museum visit, Danny parts ways with the group to visit Nico in Brindleton Bay-- [N reveals his portrait of a younger D.] D: You're so good with color, Nico. Have you been using new oils? N: I dreamt the blind prophet Tiresias told me that I would do great things once the past met the present. It sounded like silly nonsense talk, and I told him to get out of my dream. How did he even get there? Crazy. But when I woke up, I had the urge to walk down to the Impasto Brothers for art supplies. I bought their overpriced paint--they're dirty thieves, the whole family--and when I got home, I took up my palette and I mixed the old oils with the new ones I bought. Once I started painting I couldn't stop--I painted all day, not stopping to eat or drink or shit or smoke or blink. And when I finally stopped, there you were on the canvas. Like the first day I saw you. D (skeptically): This sounds like another one of your tall tales, Nico. N: Why do you think that? D: You'd never go to the Impastos willingly. N (smiling impishly): Yes, that is true, those smiling villains. Perhaps I was experimenting with colors, that is all. I wanted to paint your portrait with colors you might use. Perhaps I was hoping like the charlatan I am that I could find your talents in those paints, too. It's a shame you proclaim yourself an ex-painter. [Danny's eyes are fixed on the painting. He can't look elsewhere or else he'd shatter.] N: You're squandering your talent, Danny! It's withering away like my house plants.  You received the San Myshuno Young Artist award! Those heartless art critics--I'll spit on their graves--recognized you as a prodigy of canvas and oils--they did that! They gave you pocketfuls of money and enough compliments to inflate your ego into an air balloon! And you can't paint now, not even for yourself--why? D: You know why. Louis wants the prize money. N: So give it away! You'll make more! What's money when you have art? D: Do you think he'd just say "Oh, okay" if I told him I didn't have it? He'd stick around until more simoleons came in. And even if he did walk away, you think he'd do it peacefully? Your colors are beautiful, Nico, but you missed out on the reds, yellows and purples on my face, the split lip, the broken nose. Don't you remember? N: Dannaki, I'm an old fool, but I would not forget a day like that. Our minds crystallize the very essence of a person into a sim-shaped mold. Even now that you're older, I picture you as a teenager brim-filled with imagination.  [He points to the canvas.] To me, that is you. [Danny shakes his head. He looks old, for once.] N: Good portraiture is hard. Painting flowers? Easy. Sure, they’re alive but they’re so, so quiet.  Sims are so full of life in ways that flowers could never be. To capture that energy in paint is a type of magic. You, Dannaki, are a magician among the mundane. Why would you let even one sim keep you from your craft? Why won't you fight for what keeps you alive?

[uozlulu]

So, I was born with significant brain damage that affects everything from my inability to ride a two-wheel bike to my ability to socialize and so forth. So as a very young child I had to reconcile all of this with the concept of God presented to me, and I realized that to think God will protect me, watch out for me, etc...is rather selfish and unrealistic. I figured that He has other things to do and is just as fallible as we are since we are made in his image. As I got older and into video games and stuff I realized it's a bit like a Sims game with everything set to the highest level of free will except God just doesn't pause it when he leaves the room and comes back to deal with whatever nonsense happens and it's up to the Sims themselves to figure out how to make it work.

I can see how it'd be tempting to blame God for my misfortunes and think that He's punishing me even though I was incapable of doing anything wrong when the punishment was dealt since it was dealt just before I was born. So it's interesting to see these Bajorans reason that the Prophets didn't take good enough care of them and thusly they must find new Gods within the Pah-wraith.

Should be interesting to see if we get to see the Pah-wraith take some sort of form like the Prophets have.

[thedeafprophet]

Me, having a build idea: oh yeah how hard could it be Me when i actually start building: hmmm

[thedeafprophet]

My hot take is that the sims 3 is just ugly.

The sims 2 has its own kind of style going on so it's still works even after all this year, and I generally enjoy the style of the sims 4 (with some mods lmao)

But the sims 3 just aged incredibly poorly visually, which is honestly the main reason I don't play it anymore

[thedeafprophet]

Wasted time posin my current sims family for family photos so im makin yall see them too lmao

im doin an occult legacy challenge, everyone here but the teens are werewolfs

[thedeafprophet]

I have wicked whims installed in the sims because of course I do, but I just told my sim to jog and he....decided to go do it completely in the nude, for some reason.

Okay dude you do you

[thedeafprophet]

when ur building in the sims for so long that the music stops playing..... dont give up on me....

anyway im making u all look at my garden <3

[thedeafprophet]

sims 4 sale so im getting the furry pack

and then immediatly downloading the mods to make them look better

[thedeafprophet]

Apparently with the new sims 4 kit you can endlessly stack these books on top of each other....

I refuse to buy kits on principle but this is hilarious lmao

[thedeafprophet]

playing the sims, as i do. running a wedding. didnt think about how doing it in extreme heat is a bad idea. sims start dying... 3 people die, including my sims bride... not good...

reload to a previous save. run through the wedding quickly and then get everyone inside. only one person dies this time. i call it a sucess

i return home and go to edit the house.... only to find the gravestones of the people who died in the previous timeline in my household inventory... except those sims are still alive now......so why do i have the graves O_O

[thedeafprophet]

This build isn't anything in particular, just having fun buildin a historical inspired house.

[thedeafprophet]

I love the sims 4 cuz here I was thinking I need to become a vampire in order to make my sims immortal, but nah I can also set their age back bit by bit using flower arrangments

Immortality via flowers. A+