#vetar

[primepaginequotidiani]

PRIMA PAGINA El Mundo di Oggi venerdì, 13 settembre 2024

[poeticlicense12345]

Olivera Marković - Dođeš ko vetar

text, music author: Olivera Marković

[arrgh-whatever]

[meg-megbanom-ezt]

Blood pressure: too low to care

If I had a nickel for every pop culture character in cosmetic industry with chronic hypotension I'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot but it's weird it happened twice.

My love to unlikely analogies manifesting in fanart continues! Šurda (Borivoje Šurdilović) is from Vruć vetar and Aya Tsuji is from JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Diamond is Unbreakable (I don't link this because I suppose it's more known).

[now-a-witch]

Maybe Gringos should just shut up and accept that if they are traveling, they will have the full cultural experience instead of just wanting a cheap beach with everything catered to their boring lifestyle *shrug*

[rokenrol]

tu sam igrao!

kako igrali?

ovako!

[earlgreydarkchocolate]

Ni do zadnjeg leta, ni do kraja sveta

Sudbina je moja kleta

Ova duša nema dom, ova duša nema ton

Crne zore svеće gore, moje morе

- Džanum, TEYA Dora

[jackslackofsurprisee]

Posle svega što smo prošli nema Bože oprosti

[emisijamansarda]

Vesna Čipčić, Ljubiša Samardžić, Miodrag Petrović Čkalja i Mira Banjac u seriji "Vruć vetar" 1980.

[necromancercoding]

Aviso a navegantes

Siento mucho tener que hacer esto, y saben bien si me siguen desde hace tiempo que no soy persona a la que le guste el bardo y lo evito en la medida de lo posible. Pero esto ya es tremendamente cansino.

Me han llegado cantidad de mensajes en las últimas semanas diciéndome que cierto skin hecho por Queenie Coding era muy 'de mi estilo'. No le di mayor importancia puesto que un estilo no se copyrightea, no tengo los derechos sobre usar fondos transparentes o blablabla. Pero uno se pone a cotillear por curiosidad y es cuando me doy cuenta de que 'una copia de estilo' (< que, reitero, me la finfla) no es el problema aquí.

El problema es que esta persona está usando códigos javascript literalmente copiados de mis skins y ni me ha pedido permiso para ello, ni me ha acreditado de ninguna manera.

Pueden ver algunos ejemplos en el JS de un foro que usa su skin (ciertas cosas están censuradas puesto que la culpa no es del staff). A la izquierda mi código, en uno de mis skins (concretamente, State of Grace). A la derecha, el código copiado. Un par de cambios de nombre de atributos pero está usando hasta el mismo nombre de variable.

Mismo lugar, loop para asignar informaciones, usa hasta los mismos nombres de las variables.

No tendría problema con esto si me hubiese contactado y me hubiese pedido ayuda o que le compartiese mi código. Todos los coders que han hablado conmigo personalmente saben que proporciono ayuda incluso a nivel personal, ofreciendo códigos propios que no he compartido aquí, testeando cosas que no han conseguido hacer, o enseñándoles a hacer algo.

Porque me gusta ayudar. Pero no me gusta que me tomen el pelo y me crean estúpido.

No quiero tener que bloquear a nadie de la comunidad, y mucho menos vetar a esta persona de usar mis aportaciones, tutoriales y astucias. Pero si esto sigue así, lo voy a hacer. Que ya tenemos una edad para saber pedir permiso antes de robar códigos de skins ajenos que luego vas a vender.

[kyuala]

"Para."

Os raios do sol escaldante de verão poderiam até estar te cegando se não estivessem completamente ofuscados pela visão ao seu lado - literalmente, a visão masculina que não desgruda um segundo de ti, ávida por captar cada microexpressão que as provocações te causam.

"Para com o quê?", Simón pergunta, exibindo o sorriso cínico de sempre. O teu não fica muito atrás, apesar de esconder um cinismo diferente - de quem sabe das intenções do argentino e, pior, não tem sequer interesse em que elas parem em momento algum. "'Tô fazendo nada."

"Sei", ri, debochada, se aproximando por cima do braço da própria cadeira de sol sobre a adjacente para empurrar levemente o ombro do rapaz com uma intensidade claramente nada eficaz. "Você com esses olhinhos aí...", é interrompida por uma das mãos de Simón agarrando a tua, afastando-se ao passo que ele se aproxima, imitando seu tom de voz num hum? eu e meus olhinhos o quê? para te provocar ainda mais. "Ficam me encarando."

Bufa, puxando a mão de volta e murmurando um cara chato, mal ouvido sobre os sons da gargalhada alheia. Decide deitar de bruços, por fim, na esperança de conseguir pelo menos disfarçar o sorriso teimoso que não te deixa os lábios. Solta, ainda tentando manter a pose de marrenta, "tu vai arrumar um problema comigo, hein, Simón."

"Eu vou arrumar um problema com você?", questiona, o divertimento na voz já denunciando que, apesar da ameaça vazia, sabe que o resultado da discussão vai lhe agradar de um jeito ou de outro. Sempre é assim. "Por quê que eu iria arrumar um problema com você, gatinha?"

De olhos fechados, sente o corpo ao teu lado se levantando para se apoiar no cotovelo e, pior, sente o olhar alheio queimando por toda tua parte inferior, mal coberta pelo pano pequeno do biquíni.

"E se eu começar a gostar demais de te ter? Hein?", rebate, virando-se para encará-lo com seu melhor olhar desafiador. Sem sucesso, claro, porque ao olhá-lo desse jeito parece que o único desafio - para os dois - é ver quem é que aguenta mais tempo sem ceder um beijo ao outro. "Se te quiser só pra mim, o quê que tu vai fazer?"

Simón sorri ainda mais, o olhar desavergonhado sem parar de te correr o corpo todo, da cabeça aos pés, por um segundo sequer. A mão boba - que de boba na verdade não tem nada - se apressa em caçar teu joelho e acariciá-lo quando os olhos finalmente fixam nos teus, quase que para te distrair do carinho público que está recebendo com tamanha proximidade dos amigos em comum, algo que vai explicitamente contra as regras de vocês.

Só sexo. Sem se apegar. Ninguém mais pode saber.

"O problema seria você, então?"

O olhar de quem já matou a charada acalma teu ar desafiador, deixando mais mansinha - por mais que ainda se apegue à marra, crispando os lábios e dando de ombros, cheia de charminho.

"Talvez."

"Porra," Simón ri baixinho, mordiscando o lábio inferior, o olhar percorrendo teu corpo uma última vez e a mão que sobe discretamente passando pela tua coxa, com um destino com o qual você sinceramente não se importa muito em vetar agora. "Se esse fosse o único problema que eu tivesse na vida eu 'tava feito, gatinha."

[morihaus]

Hungry

The night is dark, as all nights have been for some time now. Distant constellations in the heaven and braziers burning along the walls of the city are the only spots of light now that the sun has departed from the lands called Akavir. Darkness laps hungrily at the periphery, claws scraping against the borders as the flames flicker and dance up above.

A cub named Oanir kneels in his mother's tent, poking his head out to look up in wonder at the void of the night sky. Little embers pass far over his head as the winds whip at the braziers, and while beautiful, they do little to answer his questions. "Mama?" Oanir pokes his head back inside to turn and look at her, his mentor in all matters of the world and living in it. "Where did the moons go?"

His mother is large and powerful, larger than most of the other women he's seen in the towns they stop at. Her face of orange and black fur is crossed by a patch of scar tissue that travels across her snout and eyebrow, a keepsake from an old hunt. She turns her amber eyes, bright even in the night, towards her student. "Who taught you about the moons?" The low growl of her voice is purely curious in tone, for there has been little need to teach him. "Folk in town." He answers simply, walking over to lay beside his mother as they talk. "They talked about the moonless nights, then told me when I asked what a moon was." "And you took them for their word?" She asks. Oanir makes a little face, bunching up his snout and shaking his head. "No! To your teachings only." He recites, then drops all pretense of seriousness. "So what were they? Where'd they go? Did they get knocked out of the sky?"

She closes her eyes and a laugh rumbles against her throat. "Precocious youth, pestering the Walled as you do. But if you want to hear the true story, then I shall tell you, but only once. Commit the lesson to your memory."

Once certain Oanir is focused, his mother begins the story of the moons and the tiger goddess.

"I have already taught you of Vetar. She is the mother of necessity whose first action created our world. She dwelt in the dark void behind the stars, in the shadows of heaven, and she stalked and killed her prey like us, but no other god understood her way, they drifted through endless lives of comfort, ignorant to challenge and victory. From the very beginning, they ostracized her, and her greatest enemy was Unul, who abhorred all change."

Well-preserved memories flash through the young cub's mind. He remembers his mother's lessons well, especially her tales of Vetar and her children; Sakoar, Krakar, Prunar, and of course triumphant Sotar, who first proved that tiger could prevail against nature. Tales of the gods were his favorite, but he has not yet heard the name Unul. His mother has decided it is time he know the face of their enemy.

"Unul claimed all lights and all touched by light for his Tun, his domain where his rule was law. He and his slaves brought light everywhere, so that no one could escape him. Only the void was free, yet at the same time, it was barely anything at all. So Vetar and Rakhan devised a Tun of their own… this story, I have told you before." He knows she will not repeat herself, for their time together as mother and child is to be short. No second can be wasted on repeated lectures. "At first, Unul ignored the two. It was a slow process of hunting, killing, and molding corpses into the earth, the sea, the plants, and the animals. But it could no longer escape his sight once Sotar achieved the mastery, and soon, many from Unul's Tun traveled to Vetar's, eager to take part in this glorious game and claim the rewards for themselves. So Unul did what he always did… he sent his armies of lights to steal this place for himself."

Oanir's mother stares straight ahead as she speaks, resting a massive paw on his head as if to physically hold his attention. He can almost see her laying with her own mother in a time long since past, listening as she explained the same story with the same posture, the same practiced tone, so that she could survive to carry it to him. "The lights he sent were his strongest, for only they could pass the field of darkness Vetar and Rakhan had planted around their world. The first was Surah the Great, the largest and most powerful light in Unul's army. But he is as great as he is lazy, and he can only do half the job himself, bathing the world in the light called 'day' to make it harder to stalk and hide."

Oanir is amazed to only learn the true name of Surah now, having seen him nearly every day. He and his mother prefer to rise for the hunt as he sets and rest as he rises, though the young cub never thought this was owed to any sort of enmity. To think, all this time, he has known the face of one enemy.

But now, his mother moves on to explain those he has never seen: the moons.

"To battle for the last bastion of darkness called Night, Unul sent the twins Nakra and Rilak. While not powerful enough to win the Night, they were masters of illusion and madness. "Nakra was the Furious Belief. She tempted us with images of the unreal world of Unul, of abundance and lazy revelry, to lure us back to that accursed plane. She sent us into fits of lunacy, making us careless and weak. Her brother Rilak was the Scolding Essence. He weathered our resolve with false visions and dreams of our death, twisting our instincts into terror and fear. He preached that our world was meaningless suffering and tried to make us submit. "Both yearned for our failure. They tempted us and beguiled us so that we would not survive, and then, they would try and snatch our souls away to Unul's world. But we were protected; every night, Rakhan's ghost would lead a hunt through the void, backed by the Shadows of our kin who failed to survive, and chase Nakra and Rilak across the sky. They were bitten and eaten by the Shadows, who are always hungry, and so their ill light would wane until there was nothing left, keeping us safe and letting our dead remain part of this world. However, the twins would always return, and on the rare nights they shone their brightest, our ancestors would be at their most guarded, for they had to hide not just from prey or predator, but from the heavens above."

Then, she looks down to Oanir. She closes her eyes and straightens her ears up, a smile rises in her tone. "But this all changed very recently. Let me tell you a new story… about how our hunger swallowed the moons."

The cub's eyes are wide and insistent that she continue.

"Long have the Children of Vetar wished to undo her enemies. We have always called our foolish kin back to the jungles where the hunt began, even as they plug their ears with dragon's tongue. So many now walk the path of Unul and Bornaka, we must remind them of the true way of living and put an end to their madness. "Madness is the work of the twins. The twins impose their order of ethereal light onto our perfect world of shadows, they thieve our dead and mock their hunger by refusing to lessen, always returning, never extinguishing. It was decided that they would be our example. They would be our prey, and the whole world would remember the hunger that birthed creation. "We gathered in the clouded forest to the east, our actions shielded from the foul light of the moons. Our grand hunt began, not for sport, not even for survival-- we were not hungry for flesh, only for destruction, for revenge. Hundreds of us died, but in their failure, there was still a job to be done and glory to be gained: to join Rakhan's heavenly hunt and devour the prey once and for all."

His mother's voice is loud now, and in her eyes he sees the hunter's thrill. A faint red glow that pierces through the night, guiding teeth and claw to one's prey.

"And they did it. Of course, I do not have to tell you this. You, my fortunate son, have never been subject to the foul glow of the twins, not a night in your life. Nakra and Rilak are dead, and you, you are alive, here to inherit the darker world. For this reason, you are favored by Vetar." She leans her neck down to plant a small kiss upon Oanir's head, wetting his fur with her tongue. "The lesson of this story is thus: it is inevitable that we Children of Vetar reclaim what is hers from light and its lazy worshipers. The Walled can ignore this truth no longer, for now, even in their cities and empires, they finally remember the old fear: the fear of prey."

Then, his mother stands, her body seeming to shift and change in the darkness of their tent. She's larger, even more hulking and bestial than she was before. Her fur isn't just thicker, it's darker, more stripes than orange. Her limbs stretch and warp, like those of a long shadow. It's time to hunt.

Oanir's wide eyes remain upon her as she walks to the exit of their tent. He will always remember the delight on her face, the lilt of her voice, and the fire behind her words. He will remember the story of Vetar and her enemies, and of the time he was born in, when the void reclaimed the night.

But he still has one question left. As he stands up to follow his mother, he asks her. "Even the Tiger Dragon?"

She turns to look down at him, now with long, dagger-like teeth. She bares them not in anger, but in excitement. "Yes," she purrs. "Even him."

[mimohod]

Ljubav je često vetar u jedra na ostrvu bez okeana.

- I.B.

[salc3]

Ljudi uglavnom nazivaju papučarom onoga što se trudi. Draže mu je ostati kod kuće sa njom. Iznenaditi je sitnicom. Razveseliti malim znacima pažnje. Razmaziti je rečima i dodirima. Ne stidi se nasred ulice pogledati u nebo i urlati na sav glas koliko mu je bitna. Zagrliti je na javnom mestu, bez straha šta će drugi pomisliti. Dati joj svoj kaput dok duva jak vetar. Pokriti je većim delom kišobrana, makar i pokisnuo. Nositi je par metara na leđima, ako je zabole noge od neudobnih štiklica...

[dozydawn]

Bianka Panova Ribbon Final, 1988.

A Sad Adio by Vruć Vetar.