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Kipple
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Kipple
Magical Rooms (www.magicalrooms.net/) has been some strange fun. It isn't Glitch, but there are some familiar elements that I'm finding comforting. 70% crafting, pickled lizards, stylish 2D art design, huge spaces to decorate, the ability to don a tux, pink high heels, and chain mail pants simultaneously. And pickled lizards. I did mention those, right? But do give it a shot! It's a browser based game with a lovely indy vibe, very fair subscription rates, and not a trace of Facebook anywhere to sleaze it up. It may be worth your while.
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Kipple
As things come to a close, I've decided it probably makes sense to list the haunts, both new and old, to which I am defaulting in hopes of some familiar fun. If I don't count the Iron Realms MUDs (Lusternia in particular, where I believe my most recent characters, Cassowary and Minla, still exist), Mabinogi has been my home for the longest time. Find me on Mabinogi's Ruairi server under the names Vasko, Calcic, and Belasko. I'm also enjoying Antilia for its crafting and optional nonviolence. Seems they only test on weekends, but if you do manage to log on, my name there is Lhinherven and I'm some kind of fancy deer with cooking skills. On the side, I'm trying and seriously enjoying Eden Eternal (as Belasko), Milmo (also as Belasko), and I might some day return to the troll-infested mists of Aion and play with my beloved pair of Elyos, Raembeng and Minla (on the Israphael server).
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Notes
Now chuck any packed heat over the rail
pronto and keep your yap zipped." Oh,
how we relish the cheesy noir patois
of the 1940s! - slangy rat-a-tat tirades
slung gung-ho by brassy faro girls
and grifters on the lam: "Take a powder,
oyster-ass!" "Go fuck a duck!"
But quiet is also desirable,
and its sources seduce us equally. Presumably,
the backhills taverns of fourteenth-century China are full
of bawdy ruckus; even so, this fisherman
in Wu Chen's painted album leaf is idly paddling
away from an inkily detailed shore, and toward a space
so blank, so mesmerizingly NOT done - not cloud,
not river, not the faintest wash of any sign
of "world" - that it's both nullity
and embryonic promise at the same time. Not
that the fisherman is on some academic-philosophical quest.
Still, he's paddling, a little drunk,
into the birth and the end of the cosmos.
on a service road, and let their silence
hammer at them with its message. Seven hundred
miles to go; but for them,
for the marriage, this was the end of the road.
Off in the distance, insect-whirr was louder
than THEY'D been in hours. I said earlier
our vision of Existence bears an "Anthropocentric / taint,"
but of course it's the opposite: WE reenact the UNIVERSE.
"A cosmic ray that travels
at the speed of light ten thousand million years still won't
encounter enough solid matter to cover a two-shilling piece."
That emptiness had come to them, now. Its redshift
and its entropy. And each of them remembered,
for a moment, seven years before: they'd parked the car
at an overlook, where moonlight made a silver,
slithering skin of ocean-ebb below. When the physical pleasure part was done, was drying from their bodies
in the cool night breeze, a peacefulness descended;
and they sat there like that, contented, for hours,
neither of them speaking a word.
Yep. This bag contains a series of notes comprising Albert Goldbarth's sectional poem "The Cosmology of Empty."
The first is his preface to the poem, a quote attributed to Henry Petroski, and the following notes comprise sections of the poem itself. When read in sequence, I find the work's conceit dizzyingly lovely. I hope you will, too.
For more far-out, labrynthine, and deeply (sometimes bitter-) sweet mind candy, check out Albert Goldbarth's compilation "Combinations of The Universe."
- Peace!
Kipple