I don't know how to react to my mind. I mean, really. The things that I think are all too often things that I would really rather not, or love to but often figure that it isn't in my best interest to indulge the thoughts.
There are some things that just hold too much meaning, always have.
"I know what you mean. What you say? No it won't."
I think I'm crazy. Completely. And strangely enough I generally feel pretty content with it. I know what makes me crazy. Why for, and what it's worth. Worth a lot more than I'd normally tell her. I feel sleep calling. The thoughts don't though. Loneliness.
But it is now all babble. I'm always babbling.
Hey. You're my superhero.
Do you ever get that hunger? For something. You never know what, but it's there. And you just can't for the life of you sate it or figure out what it is for? I get that a lot. I'm so hungry.
[You got chicken legs. I'm gonna eat you.]
It burns. Well, mildly. Something like if you were to take a shower of Taco Bell hot sauces. Which, while potentially delicious, could be mighty uncomfortable and all together rather gross. But just the same, you couldn't touch your eyes, or pick your nose. The discomfort you would welcome to yourself. I don't like the thought.
And that's why the masks come off.
While on a discussion of masks, I need to look into their greater application as a storytelling element. More importantly, as character elements. Whether just a single mask or many, the potential is far reaching. The implications different masks, both practical and decorative - whether separately or with both together - in regard to a character, location, group, or storyline. Both from the first and the third person.
I should start taking notes on such things.
And somebody still owes me a story to put pictures to.
I used goblins as improvised battering rams. Broke a stone door. The few joys to be pieced together through the day.
I got a bonus feat for it.
[I hate being told to make questions when there isn't something to spark it.]
There are some things that just hold too much meaning, always have.
"I know what you mean. What you say? No it won't."
I think I'm crazy. Completely. And strangely enough I generally feel pretty content with it. I know what makes me crazy. Why for, and what it's worth. Worth a lot more than I'd normally tell her. I feel sleep calling. The thoughts don't though. Loneliness.
But it is now all babble. I'm always babbling.
Hey. You're my superhero.
Do you ever get that hunger? For something. You never know what, but it's there. And you just can't for the life of you sate it or figure out what it is for? I get that a lot. I'm so hungry.
[You got chicken legs. I'm gonna eat you.]
It burns. Well, mildly. Something like if you were to take a shower of Taco Bell hot sauces. Which, while potentially delicious, could be mighty uncomfortable and all together rather gross. But just the same, you couldn't touch your eyes, or pick your nose. The discomfort you would welcome to yourself. I don't like the thought.
And that's why the masks come off.
While on a discussion of masks, I need to look into their greater application as a storytelling element. More importantly, as character elements. Whether just a single mask or many, the potential is far reaching. The implications different masks, both practical and decorative - whether separately or with both together - in regard to a character, location, group, or storyline. Both from the first and the third person.
I should start taking notes on such things.
And somebody still owes me a story to put pictures to.
I used goblins as improvised battering rams. Broke a stone door. The few joys to be pieced together through the day.
I got a bonus feat for it.
[I hate being told to make questions when there isn't something to spark it.]