Sabbath is coming in early (4:30) So there’s no Post-post on the weekends. At least not this weekend I’ll see how I’m feeling next week.
Today’s colors are #b1701b #6f1ec7 #1ec78b
I’m stopping with the answers post, at least for now, I’ve reached the point where I started asking questions that are meant to be hard to answer or whose answers aren’t easily found. I may have come back from that, but my next answers post will be of the same week so I’m not so far from where I was when I asked the questions.
If I were to lead a conga line through city streets, how likely could it be for the line to be split into two sides of a crosswalk? Or would we stop up trafic? How long does can a conga line get before it has to split into two? And when is the tipping point at which a conga line normally becomes 2 conga lines?
Why the hell are so many people writing Lit-RPG’s what happened to suspension of disbelief? Are some people so used to these systems that they take a world where they’re the norm for granted? Is it just wish fulfillment? Still reading reviews of these things, people still want realism, they’re just willing to take the existence of a system like that for granted. Is it that many people have interacted with fictional stories through these mechanisms no longer affect their sense of immersion?
Five Attempts At Creative* Lines
What distinguishes an attempt from the real deal? Me, if I say so it is. But that isn’t the case if other people read this. And I want other people to read this so I must get to the… I don’t have to get to the bottom of this, I can stop making pre-posts and all their derivatives.
I writen, I have wrote, and I have put words on paper and screen. Yet I feel I have wrought nothing. Well, maybe I don’t feel as if I have wrought change but I may have created something. But has it affected anyone? If not I must move on.
Grey is not a color but many colors are assumed to be grey.
Lemonade is just lemon juice with added sugar. But in this day and age juice is assumed to be sweet. So juices are sweet and lemonade has it’s own name because lemons are sour
And the clock ticks, yet it is out of battery.
Time is only counted in my head.
I count not the ticks or but it still bothers me,
For someday the clock will be dead.