I'm in an existential old Norse mythology mood where Robert Plant exposes his fluidity-hairy belly, as JPJ makes weird libatious keyboard noises. It seems to be a rare but recurring fallback mode for me.
In my head I'm taken away to riding my loli on horseback through the snow in our animal pelts and fur, to get to somewhere safer.
Realer times approach as they must, but anyone who gets near my little princess holding onto me for dear life will be sure to get their entrails revealed to them by a painstakingly engraved sword.
Metaphors metaphors metaphors... they're everywhere.. while the days of mere strategic symbolism grow painfully transparent to all sides.
Hold your heads high, for we are mere witnesses who yet hold and ask no quarter (we're kinda just still eating popcorn in wait). Front-line anomalies always highly welcomed to tell a diffurnt story.
Also, I got that Welsh red dragon t-shirt at a clueless overly-hyped country fair. Nevertheless, I will never part with it.
Left and Right make my preferred side so cloudy.
• ( https link ) No Quarter. (And that's why GC is eternally broke.)