And there are those that vanish, beneath the sundered skies. Who prey upon the witless, with malice in their eyes. Sit smoking in the landscape, a rolling wake of rage. Tumultuous with a sickness. beyond mere turn of age. This rhyming lilt of marching, doth shake the pebbled earth. Resplendent in the darkness, erasing his own birth. And through that eye of nothing, a glass burned through with none.

Bob: Wow, I was beginning to think you’d fallen off teh intarwebs. Shaun: Droll. Bob: Well, I certainly thought so. What, nothing to say for the last over a month? Shaun: … Bob: I’ll take that as a no. Shaun: Do you think this is healthy? Bob: What? Talking to yourself, or being so apathetic you can’t even bring yourself to write about anything? Shaun: There’s nothing to write! I played some video games, watched all of House… nothing exciting.

And now the shit hits the fucking fan. The crazy thing, is that there are still investors, real-estate agents, and brokers out there with their heads firmly embedded in their own rectal stew. (warning, do not, ever click the previous link.) And then we have inflation. The consumer price index went up by nearly a percent in November alone! What’s that little Timmy, a recession? Don’t you worry little guy, food is overrated anyway.

Apparently I’ve fallen off Teh Intarwebs. Well, that’s all the fault of Final Fantasy XII, really. Played it once for 100 hours myself, then 50 hours following a guide. Sadly, the second set of characters are far more powerful with much better equipment. :( I guess that just proves they did a damn good job of hiding everything usable. Bad Squaresoft! I also proposed to Jen this Friday. Just let that sink in for a minute… Jen’s birthday, unfortunately is two weeks before Christmas.

There are things of dark, and things within the sky. There are folds of woe, and wroth of shallow eye. There are prophets that sit upon words haughty or stripped of fear. And sit they must, digesting solemn mixes of faithless harrow. They tire of life, promised full of meaning and limitless wonder. They are broken, the wanderers, lit like frozen candles flickering in the infinite chaos, striving weakly to scale and scrabble brittle scaffolds of reason.