Dream: Cute Simulation GameWhile wasting time in front of the ISP-hosted underground amusement park/university I explain to two elderly Russian women (they are surprised that I speak Russian), that against my own expectations the underground amusement park is not a rip-off and that there even is a delicious confection, which one can have for free and in unlimited quantities. I give them a piece each.
The following takes place on a small square grassland in front of the entrance to the underground amusement park. I play a game with four cute miniature people (each of them the size of a finger), who harvest wood from two trees and re-plant them after complete exploitation. They walk freely without being bound to roads. Along with wood, they collect fruit from fruit trees. I consider letting them plant two fields of crops for harvesting. Their housing and storage consists of one building made from wood only, so they probably do not require rock as a building material.
One of the people manages to get stuck on a pat
DosentomatenTomaten in Dosen
Brauch' ich für Soßen
Für Penne, Nudeln und Spaghetti
Ketschup ist eklig
Was essbares daraus zu machen
Ich brauche keine Pizzen
Ich brauch kein Glutamin
Hollari, Hollari, Hollero
Ich züchte selber Nudeln
Und esse sie dann Roh
Hollari, Hollari, Hollero
Winter WindWinter Wind
Occasional rush of chilly air
I clutch my muffler tight
Someone beside me shivers
I must conceal my delight
They dress so simply despite the weather
They must cough and sneeze all night
I spend my time to prepare
And I feel all right
Llamas...Soft lovely fur
Long towering necks
Available when travel occurs
Aid to many treks
So sweet, so adorable
Can spit for miles
Can withstand heat that is unbearable
They are in our hearts for long whiles
Out in the desert, they help us explore
On the internet, they given to friends
Out in the desert, they fight through the sandstorm's roar
On the internet, the fun never ends.
It's freakin' great to be a llama.
Freeze my tears.Oh-winter spirit that follows me while I approach my home.
Lift me up instead of the flaps of my jacket.
Kiss my lips instead of letting your frost bite me.
Lift your fingers to my eyes on those winter blue days.
Freeze my tears, and let them stop flowing.
Are you good or bad?
Ender's HomeMy home is dark and foreboding, tricking and goading.
My home is old and weak, not a place for the meek.
My home is dusty and bland, not at all like normal land.
My home is a star, though not quite that far.
From the warm reaches of Earth. With eyes that see a thousand distant miles, I can see the many piles.
Of the logs players call home.
My home is my home, where I am free to roam.
My home is alone, where not even the winds moan.
All strangers beware, for I carry a mighty flare.
A flash of light, and you will never know your plight.
A terribal roar, and you do not exist anymore.
My home is my home, so leave me alone.
Unless you are food.
SunriseWalking up the overgrown trail
Just before dawn
I continue up the dimly lit path
Nearing the summit, I suppress a yawn
Racing the sun I reach the top
Trees to my back- mountains ahead
I stand at the top of a rocky cliff
Carefully to the edge I tread
Off the peak, my legs dangle
As I patiently wait for the visual elation
The sky blazes hazy orange, mixed with hues of pink
The colour wheel unfolds as the sun rises in elevation
The vibrant orange ball slowly creeps up
Emerging from its hiding place, the rocky cover
As it climbs, the light show dwindles
In a couple minutes, the blue sky will smother
The show over, I start on my way home
However short my entertainment, I am not upset
Because tomorrow I will be back again
The most devoted fan the sun never met.
The White Wolf
The white wolf stands in the autumn leaves
Awaiting the arrival of the cool winter breeze
For he knows when the snow comes
He can hide away with ease
His marshmallow fur will blend right in
When the hunters come looking for him again
He will be able to hide in plain sight
For his fur is shimmering snow white
He dreads the day when the snow goes away
Because he knows that is when he will have to play
With the hunters who come with guns, large in size
For the white wolf knows he does not want to be their prize
Walk it AwayGive me a winter run through a sieve.
Sieve-like the midnight the winter light gives,
Cold to the bone-core, pungent and bold.
Bold comes the sunlight, piercing the cold;
Forever come changes in seasons of weather,
Whether the winter comes each year forever.
Ivy, Pale and RustedMerry-go-rounds, spinning, dizzy laughter
Now sit still, in rust, long forgotten
With faded paint flaking, patterns on the metal
Once so beautiful, but with years of neglect, turned rotten
Swing sets, pendulum dancing, excitement in the air
Lost now, the elements have consumed it
The plastic is cracked and fragile, suspended above the ground
Maybe one day someone will remember, but for now, here they sit
Slides, swirling curves, weightless thrill
Left alone for so many years, ivy their only company
Pale with age, so far past its happy prime
I can't help but feel bad for it, it's not what it could be
Of Memories And TreesOf Memories And Trees
by George Ray Arruda
The roots go deep within the earth
where the memories are kept
of ages long ago recalled
before the elder races slept
A weathered trunk to endure the sun
Branches to caress the breeze
reaching out toward the sky
with new and vibrant leaves
So long it’s stood and sang it’s song
Besides this field of green
the ages pass unnumbered
by the quiet singing stream
The forest folk are shy now
few things walk the night
man has lost his path here
and is blinded by the light
The light of lies all glittering
and shining in the sun
in the forest unfamiliar
where he seldom now does come
wood and green remember them
and how they once did dance
In time they'll come again once more
and beneath the boughs will prance