PicassoCT - rimgo

PicassoCT

211864 pts · January 20, 2018

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Imagine you are infected. Its not lethal. Just different. The air smells like chocolate. And you get hypnotized and high- by fire. But is not dangerous- after all- all you know are infected. Your family. Your tribe. The whole world is infected, so anyone not infected, would be "sick" objectively. So every day, you gather what you can find, and you carry it to the pile. The pile is a never ceasing fire, burning in a mile high chimney, errected in competitions among tribes. Its hard to ignore- all those walking towards the firestorm, carrying sacrifices- once the sunrise and sunset mass orgasm subsides. Maybe you found coal, you have talent, you are worthy, you can feel the burning envy of the others. The one left to you, carries some brushes, the one right to you carries a struggling fat deer. Oh, how it will burn, oh the joys. All of you have the mycelium behind your eyes- that spark never to cease. At the distance, some youths howl insults at the caravan, not strong enough to carry yet, dismissing the joys of the front row out of jealousy. They will find something, find their place, they will wake up to the joy, carrying some dehydrated, light husk to the pillar of awe. Even now they are hiding some candle or torch. You slough towards the heat, some sweating the ash off, some collapsing, even in spasms- the eye on the inferno and its priests. Some are deprived off the joy, to deliver coolant, to maintain roads or shovell ashes. The joyless, you pity them- you hit them if they come between you and the pyre. Then the orange fills the world, joy is you, and you dance, forward, backward. Foam is on your mouth. Till you collapse from your body giving way. A Joyless carries you home, some lonely replaceable hole, in a well organized dessert, a empty cave in the anthill on a empty plain - where you, where you all sleep. For tomorrow, before dusk you will rise. You will walk out into the inferno- telling yourself, that you are pure. One of the lucky few, to be burned away, for another day. You are the burning men. You always wanted this.

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Zelensky right here

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We upvote this to Frontpage so all the bozs repost it

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They make a AI translator whale <-> man

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Condo-collapse: Not such a freak accident as you might think

Not great, not terrible, just me

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Fuck you OP

Dead Drop

Radioactive German Toothpaste

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my favourite elf

So im making a spy-rts-game called MOSAIC. Here are some loadscreens

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The beauty of deterministic games

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The end of things..

scritches..

Diamond Age : A young lady's illustrated primer

Desk now lean cleanerish

Hameau_de_la_Reine

Have some waffles

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Clearly one of them mission impossi ble movies

Game Screen

Caesars Salad

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