Ben Jammin'

saw a cool picture

So this unsettling feeling, deep in the pit of my stomach, wasn't right, somehow.

Why did I feel that Eden, the great whale of stars, was an omen?

Why did I feel, looking up at it now, that it wanted to swallow me whole?

To join Eden in death was said to be joyous. A paradise, ceaselessly swimming through the Forever. An eternal contentedness, drowning in the beauty of the Forever. Its beauteous song was the chorus of countless twinkling spirits.

Sometimes, I couldn't tell if it was even real. Other times, it was so staggeringly alive, I felt as if it would suffocate me.

It had always been there. Through countless births, deaths, and lives in between, it had watched and loved, and we had watched and loved it in turn.

Eden, as we called it, carried the souls of our departed with it through the Forever as it traveled across the stars. Indeed, those thousands, those millions of lights that make up the great whale were spirits, giving Eden life, letting it be their afterlife.

Its musical cry echoed through the night.

It wasn't melancholic or sad. But it was eternal, and spoke fondly of eons in the Forever.

Each shining light that comprised it sparkled as though every moment was its last.

I've started jotting down ideas for a potential future game story and I gotta say

I
am
COOKING

‘Nickname’ is not ‘nick’ + ‘name.’

It was originally ‘ekename.’

‘Eke’ was the Middle English word for “also” or “in addition.”

Since ‘ekename’ began with a vowel, people used ‘an’ before it.

Over time, 'an ekename' became 'a nickname.'

40 years from now, the word "MAGA" will be treated with the same scorn and derision as the word Nazi is today, and all the magas of today will pretend they always opposed it.

If my taxes go to help people keep from starving to death or dying of preventable illness or injury, I'm all for it 100%. Take what you need, I am fully willing to add to the pool.

But if my taxes are just getting funneled into a rich dude's bank account because he just WANTS it? Fuck ENTIRELY off.

And I CERTAINLY do not bust my ass and risk injury for other lower- and middle-class people, laboring under the delusion that someday they'll get to be one of the elite exploiters of the masses, defending them but demonizing people on their own level who just don't want to starve.

I myself have broken a finger twice. They were hairline fractures at worst, but that's beside the point; I do not go to work and risk hurting myself just so rich people can go "this portion of your check is actually just kind of mine because I want it".

"what do you mean risk injury?" i work at UPS. i work at an airport, out on the airfield, loading and unloading cargo planes as they pass through the facility. we are working with very heavy machinery and cans weighing thousands of pounds. there is never zero risk of injury here.

This account is LGBTQ+ friendly, in full support of freedom of expression, and AGAINST rich people demanding more money out of MY check. I bust my ass at work--I want my taxes going to help people in need. I'm not risking injury every day so Bezos can see funny number go up a little more.

This thread brought to you by I pointed out that rich people take way more out of our checks than people in need do on TikTok and some goober came up to me insinuating that the rich people deserve that money because they 'provide jobs'.

So I have this to say in turn:

If you think Jeff Bezos deserves a sixth summer home on your dime because he "provides jobs", then you are welcome to have him send you the bill so you can pay for it. I. Don't. Want. To.

They rise in objection whenever they're asked to chip in maybe $50 per year toward helping people in need, but are curiously very quiet whenever they're reminded that upwards of $700 per year gets siphoned out of their checks for people who will never see the bottom of their bank accounts.

I love when people who are "against" food assistance and universal health care argue with statements like "if you want to pay for someone else's bill, have them send it to you so you can pay it, I don't want to".

Without fail they are unilaterally fine with paying for corporate tax breaks.

Untitled document The sound of drums coursed through the air. Aria Challand released her breath as the training dummy collapsed. That made twenty. Her hand ached from the strain; sound magic required a great deal of p...

docs.google.com/document/d/1...

This is a series of introductions for the characters in bloodmancer story. Figured I'd share my OCs.

More stream of consciousness writing.

I promise, my dear.

I will make it back home. To you. To my beloved Earth. I go now, to a world beyond, for you.

It's one small step for a man.

The rockets propelled me from the place I called home for so many years. Into the unknown. I took a small photo out of a compartment on the console. Me and my wife.

The vortex swallowed me.

Every ounce of fiber in my body was screaming against pushing down. I wanted to lift my hand away. To walk out of the ship. To go home.

I gathered what little strength remained in my body and pushed the button. The rockets began to fire.

This was it.

My stomach begged me to pretend I had a choice in the matter, but I knew the truth. I had committed. Millions--billions--of eyes were on my ship.

To turn back now would be impossible.

I rested my hand on the button.

I stared at the button.

I stared again into the vortex. It really did look like it was breathing. It would swallow me whole, and spit me out God only knows where. Lightyears away, in an instant, with space folding in on itself like a sheet of paper. Hamburger style.

My finger stalled on it. Crimson and inviting. Sinister and mocking. My stomach was a rock concert and I its unwilling venue. I had been so excited for this mission, but now that it was here, I dearly wished I'd kept my mouth shut.

I always wanted to be on the pulse of the new frontier. Grew up idolizing Neil Armstrong. But I never prepared for this. My wife's face flashed before me. Was it worth the chance of never seeing her again? Was writing my name into history books worth the risk? Did I want to be an obituary?

It spiraled in and out, undulating, like it was breathing. For all I knew, it was. I ran my hand over the console, still working up the courage. There was no guarantee I would be able to come home once I went through. Wormholes were funny like that.