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[Arx]

“But books have maps to help people figure out where everything is, Max,” interjected my subconscious at this point. “And it’s hard to track timelines! You love Bujold and you still can’t quite figure out where Cetaganda fits in the Miles books without reference to Wikipedia. You should help people orient themselves in time so they can figure out where events stand in causal relationship to one another, who’s dead, who’s alive, and suchlike. Because Kant.”

Once I got done hitting my subconscious with a golf club for the Kant reference, I took a shower, which is something writers do after they’ve beaten people with golf clubs. So I’m told.

[Graknorke]

Russians apparently like to drive on the pavement. A lot. That doesn't make it legal though, no matter how belligerent the drivers get.
This entire channel is just golden.

[Bohandas]

Is it bad that the Marquis de Sade's 120 Days of Sodom makes me laugh? It's just so ridiculously over the top!

[Spehss _]

Cthulhu rises.

Also here's some comics about a lich.

[Helgoland]

Is it bad that the Marquis de Sade's 120 Days of Sodom makes me laugh? It's just so ridiculously over the top!

Dude, I laughed my ass off at the Todesfuge, and that's a poem about fuckin' Auschwitz. Granted, I did not know that at the time, and was too drunk to analyze but just sober enough to enjoy the ☼poetry☼, so...

Spoiler: Paul Celan - Todesfuge (click to show/hide)

Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken sie abends
wir trinken sie mittags und morgens wir trinken sie nachts
wir trinken und trinken
wir schaufeln ein Grab in den Lüften da liegt man nicht eng
Ein Mann wohnt im Haus der spielt mit den Schlangen der schreibt
der schreibt wenn es dunkelt nach Deutschland dein goldenes Haar Margarete
er schreibt es und tritt vor das Haus und es blitzen die Sterne er pfeift seine Rüden herbei
er pfeift seine Juden hervor läßt schaufeln ein Grab in der Erde
er befiehlt uns spielt auf nun zum Tanz

Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts
wir trinken dich morgens und mittags wir trinken dich abends
wir trinken und trinken
Ein Mann wohnt im Haus der spielt mit den Schlangen der schreibt
der schreibt wenn es dunkelt nach Deutschland dein goldenes Haar Margarete
Dein aschenes Haar Sulamith wir schaufeln ein Grab in den Lüften da liegt man nicht eng

Er ruft stecht tiefer ins Erdreich ihr einen ihr andern singet und spielt
er greift nach dem Eisen im Gurt er schwingts seine Augen sind blau
stecht tiefer die Spaten ihr einen ihr andern spielt weiter zum Tanz auf

Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts
wir trinken dich mittags und morgens wir trinken dich abends
wir trinken und trinken
ein Mann wohnt im Haus dein goldenes Haar Margarete
dein aschenes Haar Sulamith er spielt mit den Schlangen
Er ruft spielt süßer den Tod der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland
er ruft streicht dunkler die Geigen dann steigt ihr als Rauch in die Luft
dann habt ihr ein Grab in den Wolken da liegt man nicht eng

Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts
wir trinken dich mittags der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland
wir trinken dich abends und morgens wir trinken und trinken
der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland sein Auge ist blau
er trifft dich mit bleierner Kugel er trifft dich genau
ein Mann wohnt im Haus dein goldenes Haar Margarete
er hetzt seine Rüden auf uns er schenkt uns ein Grab in der Luft
er spielt mit den Schlangen und träumet der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland

dein goldenes Haar Margarete
dein aschenes Haar Sulamith

Spoiler: English translation (click to show/hide)

Black milk of daybreak we drink it at evening
we drink it at midday and morning we drink it at night
we drink and we drink
we shovel a grave in the air there you won't lie too cramped
A man lives in the house he plays with his vipers he writes
he writes when it grows dark to Deutschland your golden hair Marguerite
he writes it and steps out of doors and the stars are all sparkling
he whistles his hounds to come close
he whistles his Jews into rows has them shovel a grave in the ground
he orders us strike up and play for the dance

Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you at morning and midday we drink you at evening
we drink and we drink
A man lives in the house he plays with his vipers he writes
he writes when it grows dark to Deutschland your golden hair Margeurite
your ashen hair Shulamith we shovel a grave in the air there you won't lie too cramped
He shouts jab this earth deeper you lot there you others sing up and play
he grabs for the rod in his belt he swings it his eyes are blue
jab your spades deeper you lot there you others play on for the dancing

Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you at midday and morning we drink you at evening
we drink and we drink
a man lives in the house your goldenes Haar Margeurite
your aschenes Haar Shulamith he plays with his vipers
He shouts play death more sweetly Death is a master from Deutschland
he shouts scrape your strings darker you'll rise then in smoke to the sky
you'll have a grave then in the clouds there you won't lie too cramped

Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you at midday Death is a master aus Deutschland
we drink you at evening and morning we drink and we drink
this Death is ein Meister aus Deutschland his eye it is blue
he shoots you with shot made of lead shoots you level and true
a man lives in the house your goldenes Haar Margarete
he looses his hounds on us grants us a grave in the air
he plays with his vipers and daydreams
der Tod is ein Meister aus Deutschland
dein goldenes Haar Margarete
dein aschenes Haar Shulamith

[TempAcc]

I'm really sorry for possibly interrupting your positive invocation of Godwin's law but jesus infinite christ :vvvvv

[Graknorke]

For my first attempt, I had a novice poet write in a short poetic form that could take any subject... much like the necromancers, he chose to write a poem about himself called the Birth of the Human. I went ahead and shared that with everybody in the import market. The dwarves appreciated the practice I put into it, and the humans didn't mind passing the time, but the goblins were mean and wouldn't shut up. Jerks.

Is it just me or have Toady's logs get more fun to read since maybe a year ago? I remember at one point they all came across as very descriptive and sterile, before coming back to having more character in the writing.

[Tawa]

For my first attempt, I had a novice poet write in a short poetic form that could take any subject... much like the necromancers, he chose to write a poem about himself called the Birth of the Human. I went ahead and shared that with everybody in the import market. The dwarves appreciated the practice I put into it, and the humans didn't mind passing the time, but the goblins were mean and wouldn't shut up. Jerks.

Is it just me or have Toady's logs get more fun to read since maybe a year ago? I remember at one point they all came across as very descriptive and sterile, before coming back to having more character in the writing.

I've noticed that, too. I like it.

[Eric Blank]

I wonder if it's related to all the stuff he's been doing with poetry/dance/music. Might be getting to his head.

[Bohandas]

Spoiler: more countryballs (click to show/hide)

[GiglameshDespair]

I didn't realise Tumblr was a country.

[Calidovi]

Spoiler: more countryballs (click to show/hide)

Pool balls just represent race, right? Just to signify that, in this case, an orange(?) person would say something like that?

I wonder if it's related to all the stuff he's been doing with poetry/dance/music. Might be getting to his head.

What if Toady leaves DF to become a famous poet/street urchin/musician?

[Tawa]

Comic Papyrus

An acceptable font to use "ironically".

[Calidovi]

Comic Papyrus

An acceptable font to use "ironically".

All those informal book-party-holders finally have the perfect font to use when inviting people.

[hops]

I