cache-master domain was triggered too early. This is usually an indicator for some code in the plugin or theme running too early. Translations should be loaded at the init action or later. Please see Debugging in WordPress for more information. (This message was added in version 6.7.0.) in /home/merriama/public_html/wp-includes/functions.php on line 6131
And I let the rage howl among the roses.
For the tiny white clover to bloom lost among long blades of fondness.
All disorderly,
untamed.
It seems opposite and quite contrary to order and purpose.
It flies savage,
Dandelion white whirling.
Weedly basking in the unknown.
Enchanted butterflies and bees buzzing in and out.
Madness.
Still it thinks and fruits, my garden.
Con grandes esfuerzos y mucho tiempo, un archimago podía eventualmente conseguir un pequeño cayado hecho con la madera de un peral sabio. Estos árboles sólo crecían en lugares mágicos antiguos. Probablemente, sólo había un par de cayados así en todas las ciudades que bordeaban el Mar Circular. Un enorme baúl de peral sabio… Rincewind trató de asimilar la idea, y decidió que aunque la caja estuviera llena de ópalos estelares y varas de auricolato, el contenido no valdría ni la décima parte que el contenedor.
El color de la magia. Terry Pratchett. De bolsillo.
Un tronco tomando el sol,
Hasta que descubro sus ojos marrón.
Y a cada mancha que simula no ser,
El reptil se deja ver.
Después ya no.
Sí, las mujeres se agrupan para atacar a otras mujeres. Sí, acusan a las demás para librarse ellas: lo vemos con absoluta transparencia en la era de las redes sociales, que tanto favorecen la formación de enjambres. Sí, aceptan encantadas situaciones que les conceden poder sobre otras mujeres, incluso —y hasta puede que especialmente— en sistemas que por lo general conceden escaso poder a las mujeres: sin embargo, todo poder es relativo y en tiempos duros se percibe que tener poco es mejor que no tener ninguno.
La criada, personaje. El cuento de la criada. Margaret Atwood.
CAN TWO TEENAGERS HOLD A HIPPOGRYPH BY FORCE?
Nein. If I (56 kg, 154 cm) struggle to hold on a cutey animal such as a sheep [for sure not smaller and perhaps a little bigger than a Saint Bernard dog at 80 kg average — the dog not the sheep]… A horse like animal, said 154 cm up to its withers — assuming the animal ain’t a poney or a Shire — would drag away two-less-than-130 kg-set of teenagers.
Not sorry, thinking pounds and inches/feet is not in my system, I’m a decimal thinker. So 54 kg are about 124~lb, 80 kg—180~ lb and 154 cm—5 f [ yep, I’m short]. A paint horse’s average height to withers being more or less 5 f (my height) with a weight of half a ton or 500 kg— 1102 lb approx.
If you do your Maths, you can easily see why two teenagers can’t just hold by force with the reins a wild hippogryph… Unless they’re quite strong.
Which, compared to my experience of rubbing my belly against ground because some wooly sheep is dragging my dignity through; it is definitely an error of imagination. And one of the craft’s perks.
IN DOING THE MISTAKES WILL REVEAL THEMSELVES
So yes, imagining things we can write something that might be not so true…
By doing we’re going to make mistakes. By writing we use imagination to replace what we don’t know.
J. K. Rowling for sure does know her shit about boarding schools. Unlike me. But I can bet she has never landed on her ass trying to stop a sheep from fleeing… After all, we can’t try every single action we imagine in a scene; risking stating bullets can open locks instead of ricocheting when hitting the metal. Have you opened a lock by firing a gun? I haven’t. I have fired a gun but that’s a secret…d
We must assume someone is going to realize. Specially if they’re to read more than thrice our piece. We must be prepared for it. We need to make mistakes to do things.
That’s why today’s entry is hashtagued #fuckitupbutwriteit!
I know, I know. Stephen King says we need small details to make it believable. Yet, even if the small details and the great plot distract you from the ‘other details’, the kind of details we can’t really give accountant of, the truth is; we might be found by the guy who knows.
Like me reading All you need is kill. The author had the great idea of drawing the shortsighted genius [with big front bumpers to distract a sexual brain] who can’t see without spectacles…. She never loses them to gravity or needs them to be sporty to avoid them falling from her nose. They’re round big and thin. I can tell because refraction doesn’t alter the shape of her big eyes and manga drawing tends to cliché this by drawing spirals.
I am shortsighted. Not so much as being declared ‘legally blind’ but enough to know what a myopia magna is. Thus I am aware of a few things about spectacles.
Spectacles, the bigger the frame the thicker the lense becomes and, the heavier they are. Oh, there are special plastics that make the lenses thinner? It doesn’t matter. The spectacles materials keep following this rule because physics require a certain shape in the lense for it to correct the focus. We myope people know we need to get small frames so we don’t get a thick, heavy lense. People who can be fashionable with their frames are not that shortsighted.
We know we either need a very tight arched support that will tightly hold onto our ears, or we will end up with slipping glasses going down our nose. Such detail can distract me from the iteration, the great message of killing time regressor aliens and of the whole thing. Why? Because I’m one of those upsetting disagreeable readers.
Is my irk going to stop this author from drawing manga? No. And that’s all right. That’s why you will imagine what you need to imagine and research as much as you think needed to make it believable.
Pasto kalo.
Oh, how much I wish they go licking your nether regions.
And show you their gaping holes.
But you’re still alone.
Unseen and abandoned.
Wrapped in their skin,
Your heart unaccompanied.
Well fucked,
Nipple pampered.
But spoken about nothing;
Orphaned of loyalty.
While I alone,
enjoy a slice of cake,
Desserts better than sex.
And laugh my time away with a good friend.
I don’t really hate anyone but for a moment, some people arise in me certain unhealthy wishes. Like the wish to own a telescopic rifle and shoot them. Fortunately for me, the urge is quieted by writing. Such is the result. I hope it is good enough to make you smirk and understand how sometimes we all share a bad day for one or other reasons. So if you’re a sexual person but haven’t crossed me with unrequited attention; believe me, I wish you what you need, the way you need it, at the time it is required. Pasto Kalo.
Cuando se redactan leyes, se ponen a prueba las palabras, procurando dar con su máxima fuerza. Como los hechizos, tienen que hacer que las cosas sucedan en el mundo real y, como los hechizos, sólo operan si la gente cree en ellas. Si tu ley impone una pena, has de ser capaz de aplicarla…, a los ricos tanto como a los pobres, a la gente de las fronteras escocesas y de las marcas galesas, a los a la gente de las fronteras escocesas y de las marcas galesas, a los hombres de Cornualles igual que a los de Sussex y Kent. Ha redactado este juramento, una muestra de lealtad a Enrique, y se propone que lo presten los hombres de todos los pueblos y aldeas y todas las mujeres de cierta importancia: viudas con patrimonio, terratenientes. Su gente recorrerá el país, llanuras onduladas y brezales, pidiendo a los que apenas hayan oído hablar de Ana Bolena que respalden la sucesión del hijo que lleva en el vientre. Si un hombre sabe que el rey se llama Enrique, que preste juramento; no importa si confunde a este rey con su padre o con algún Enrique anterior, porque los príncipes, como los demás hombres, se desvanecen de la memoria de la gente común.
Thomas Cromwell, personaje. En la corte del lobo. Hilary Mantel.
