“If you do not know anything about the subject, you cannot have an opinion about it”.
Alas this seems like something that goes completely over the head of the majority of people out there.
Ephemeral thoughts...
“If you do not know anything about the subject, you cannot have an opinion about it”.
Alas this seems like something that goes completely over the head of the majority of people out there.
I will watch anything that interests me. Period. In other words, even if I'v read a bunch of reviews bashing something to death, it still doesn't influence me enough for me to either like or dislike the said thing. That's just the way I've been brought up. This single line can give more insight into what I mean than me blabbering on about this.
“If you do not know anything about the subject, you cannot have an opinion about it”.
That was spoken to me by my teacher — back when I was 11 or 12, and when he was younger and could still teach me about different worldviews and how all of it would someday make sense, if I just kept learning.
On a side note, thinking back on it, he was clearly right, since at the moment I do have a better sense of why sometimes there are so many different views regarding the same subject.
But I digress.
Steins;Gate is if nothing else, an emotionally charged anime. More so than some of the anime's trying for emotions.
to be continued.........
#A dedication to Tavore Paran.
“We followed her through this journey, The journey through the shadows of the Fallen Heroes, Ignorant of all that besieged her, Doubting her with every step, Not even knowing the sacrifices she made for us.
She kept silent the whole way through, Even when her heart was broken, And her trust was shattered, And even when all hope seemed lost.
Compassion for the Fallen One, Was something none of us imagined, None of us felt, Yet what seemed impossible, All of us witnessed.
She asked us nothing, She told us nothing, But follow her we did, As if chained to her wake, Against our will.
What is it to feel love for something or someone other then oneself? The ultimate question that we needed to ask, Was never the question that we did ask.
We kept laughing at everything, Yet why did the ache never lessen? We kept moving forward, Yet why did the tears never stop flowing?
Now that we know all of this, How will we be judged? Will we be remembered? Or will we remain unwitnessed?
The Book of the Fallen, Most pages filled with lies, With memories filled with dust, Our cause made to seem so just, For even if they tell and retell this story as we bared witness, The heart of the story, The truth of the story, The one that kept us chained to her, Will go unwitnessed. Will go unknown. Will be forgotten.
Just as everything in history deemed unworthy is forgotten, Just as we are forgotten...”
A Dedication to Tavore Paran of the Bonehunters, by Naushaad Gasieta
Edaar.
The light has faded, but the darkness hasn't come yet. The wind has slowed .....
Why we need Steve Rogers Now more than ever...
I feel like Thanos embodies a very large part of the argument we make regarding everything that is going wrong with the world — over population, climate change, excessive use of resources without “giving back”.
Some may share his ideology, while a majority will condemn it. That isn't to say that people do not agree with him though. We agree, we just aren't all sociopaths who could allow something like this to happen.
Mass extermination or, as Thanos labels it, Balancing the Universe, isn't an argument for human slaughter. Though without any doubt, the way Thanos handles it, it does come down to just that. But no, the idea itself isn't inherently wrong or evil.
Yet, somehow, if the stakes really were that high, we would come to the same conclusion. All of us.
Well, except for Steve Rogers that is.
Having been a huge comic books fan, I have known Steve Rogers for almost two decades now. If I were to oversimplify...
(to be continued)
The mighty figure standing tall, with his back against me. His cloak whipping to and fro in slow motion behind him. His arms outstretched as if to embrace everything. Standing tall against the onslaught.
The last shield. The last protector.
The Last Hero.
My hand outstretched before me, as if to reach him. If only I could reach him.
But somehow, I never can.
Some of us do not need a savior or a hero to save us from the Dark. Some of us just need the space and the time to stare back into the Darkness in defiance of it all. Because however unlikely it may seem, some of us are our own heroes; standing tall before the great onslaught of the Dark.
“History is not written with heroic deeds. Nor is it written with gold and silver or blood and death. When a thousand years passes, what of them will remain will be faded and crumbled and turned to dust. And what they will remember will be a faded, distorted and disfigured image. None of which will ever come close to the truth. No. There will be no truth, for there never was one. There is no right, nor wrong. What there is, my brother, is power. And who wields that power.”
the shallowness of it all, in the sluggish whirlpool that is my mind, makes me hate myself, for the unending, unwanted, thoughts that comes thumbing, if not bubbling, to the surface.
if we but saw what they did, if we but felt what they did, would we still not know, the pain?
Runamandor, the baker. (part I)
In the silence, interrupted only by the creaking of the wooden planks beneath his weight, he hobbled down the stairs. His thoughts not fully formed for the coming day, was only now beginning to coalesce into anything more substantial than pancakes.
Delicious pancakes. Without any excessive syrup.
//Say whatever you will, but consuming something that already had enough sugar to kill a horse, added with a layer of another thing that contains more that enough to kill a few elephants ... well, either you're just a moron, or you haven't discovered what eating healthy is.//
The inherent paradox of his own reasoning didn't bother him as much as it should've, some might say, yet if there was one thing that Runamandor felt it was this: the uncountable years of his existence had not changed him as much as he thought it would've. No, it had not. Nor had it made him dull witted.
In the kitchen he promptly busied himself with the preparation of the first item.
The ember glow of the coals cast cascading shadows on his face, and the scars that were hidden in light, became pronounced in the shadows. It gave him a menacing look.
NOTE: this short piece gave me the idea to write a new novel, which I am currently working on. (05/16/2018)