-information overload-

There is a massive amount of content on the internet. How massive? This massive. How are we to find anything in this sea of data, this ocean of info? One of the longest-running services to offer a solution is Google. It has defined search engines for years now, outlasting most competition. It has evolved in countless ways, with an adaptable, innovative company working hard behind the scenes. But is it still the best way to find information online?

-paradise-

Exquisite animation by the geniuses at Production I.G. The opening uses kinetic typography and an Oasis song with lyrical relevance to the series. The ending uses stop-motion animation – specifically, papermation – in an amazingly fluid manner. Both are very impressive visual treats. As for the anime itself, I’ve only watched the first five or so episodes, and need to catch up. But from what I’ve seen so far, the plot is slightly convoluted and the dramatic pacing seems a bit off, yet manages to intrigue with its social commentary on terrorism, Messianic complexes, hikikomori and NEET culture. And since the series concluded, two theatrical releases have been announced.

I hope to update more frequently by posting briefer snippets. It’s easier to commit to than thousand word rants.

-the pirate’s dilemma-

I suddenly felt like reviving my blog. My last update was years ago. (Has the blogging phenomenon been around that long? Hm.) And I’m going to kickstart this revival with a post that has been simmering in non-existence for far too long.

Yes, I am a pirate. And this is a topic I’ve thought much about. Read much about, too. Most people wouldn’t think twice about it; to them, they’re getting a game, a movie, a music album for free, after that, cognition ends. However seeing how we’re in an economic downturn and game developers are downsizing or folding altogether, shouldn’t we be supporting the industry instead of undermining it? After all, someone has to be making these games, and it costs money to produce them, like it or not. So how do pirates fit into the picture? Should they be criminalized and hunted down?

-the one free man-

This is exhausting and exhilarating at the same time. Crisp, acrid tang of burning bodies and buildings. Sharp report of pulse rifles. Bullets whizzing past me. I think Frederick is down. He’s lying in a pool of blood. Probably his own. Damn Combine. I swear we’ll get back at them; for now, I’m concentrating on keeping my head down amongst the incessant gunfire. I’m visibly shaking. My submachinegun is useless in my hands. Wait, what the hell was that? A grena-

Ow! Pain! Pain..! All I can think of. The blast is still ringing in my head. Reluctantly, I look down. My leg looks like a cauterized stump. That confirms it – I’m still alive. Bastards, you won’t get me that easily. Well, how the heck am I going to survive this? Distantly, Michael is barking some commands to his squad. Nearly inaudible over the pandemonium. Sounds like they’re pulling out. Damn. Leaving me for dead, are they? Hell, I don’t need them. I’ve got a gun. I can hold my own against the faceless troops of the Combine. Hm… So that’s what my blood smells like; I must be losing a lot of it. My fingers tighten around my weapon’s grip as I prop myself up against a concrete slab. Plaster is flaking off the ceiling and irritating my eyes. How am I going to shoot with all this gunk in my eyes? Better be ready, then. Just me and them now.

-symphony of the ekg-

tick-

a soul cries out

for reconciliation

as he closes his eyes

and sees a granule, a grain

a mote of sand

plummeting in midair

it stops.

he stares at the stucco

it is stained with the smell

of disinfectant

and dispensed coffee

while the white-clad vultures

flock to her eagerly.

in desperation

he peers into

the aged hourglass

pleading for it to move again

but he is answered

by the staccato thrum

of rain hitting glass

he sinks in his seat

fingers numbed

and hopes the light

above the theatre door

will soon know darkness.

but the shadow

behind the sundial

refuses to waver

and she is but a distant

memory of the skin,

the knowledge that

her touch upon his arm

may be forever lost

kills him a little

inside.

the hands are silenced

-tock.