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From the Writings of Abd al-Hazir: The World of Sanctuary

Not long ago, I wrote of my disappointment that New Tristram lacked the palpable dread its reputation led one to expect. I wish that I had not tempted fate with my quick words. Disappointment is much preferable to stark terror, and terror was what I stumbled into that night.

Since returning home, I have been feverishly researching those demon-enthralled cultists in an effort to ease my mind, to assure myself that I had not actually seen what I had, but every whispered, frightened tale only deepens the chill that has seized me. I do not know which of my actions alerted them, but my worst fears have been realized. I have been marked.

— Abd al-Hazir, Marked by Dark Cultist, Entry No. 0042.

This is the last known writing of Abd al-Hazir. Known for his compilation of weird and wonderful facts about our unique world, he has unfortunately been missing since late last year.

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Diablo III - New Tristram

Two decades have passed since the demonic denizens, Diablo, Mephisto, and Baal, wandered the world of Sanctuary in a vicious rampage to shackle humanity into unholy slavery. Yet for those who battled the Prime Evils directly, the memory fades slowly and the wounds of the soul still burn.

When Deckard Cain returns to the ruins of Tristram’s Cathedral seeking clues to new stirrings of evil, a comet from the heavens strikes the very ground where Diablo once entered the world. The comet carries a dark omen in its fiery being and it calls the heroes of Sanctuary to defend the mortal world against the rising powers of the Burning Hells – and even the failing luminaries of the High Heavens itself.

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Written by cthulhu

June 29, 2008 at 9:51 pm

Stroyent (Humanifil Killemal) Cures Projectile Dysfunction (P.D.)

Stroyent (Humanifil Killemal) Cures Projectile Dysfunction (P.D.)

Before taking Stroyent, ask your doctor if you’re healthy enough for killing activity. Do not take Stroyent if you’re a wuss. Common side effects include overheating, additional experience and anal leakage.

Written by cthulhu

May 10, 2008 at 7:12 pm

The Cake Is a Lie

with 4 comments

The Cake Is a Lie

If you ever came across the Portal™ game inside The Orange Box, you’ll notice there’s a lot of reference to cake and a poetry reference to both Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and Emily Dickinson — which in fact is a parody.

As I’m still in the spirit of “doing the Hudson”re-Hudson or de-Hudson. Here’s a bite in the patois cake.

i.

Si Malaikat Maut dan Kuntuman Bunga
by Cthulhu

Bukan dengan kejam, lagi amarah,
Si malaikat maut datang pada hari itu;
Tapi bagaikan malaikat dari syurga ke muka bumi,
Memetik bunga jauh ke hati.

Note: It’s hard to differentiate between Angel of Death and Archangel in malay term. I used “memetik bunga jauh ke hati” since it has the symbolism of affection, instead of “jauh lari”.

The Reaper and the Flowers
parodied in Portal™

Not in cruelty
Not in wrath
The REAPER came today
An ANGEL visited
this gray path
And took the cube away.

The Reaper and the Flowers
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

O, not in cruelty, not in wrath,
The Reaper came that day;
‘T was an angel visited the green earth,
And took the flowers away.

ii.

Kerana saya tidak dapat menahan Malaikat Maut
by Cthulhu

Kerana saya tidak dapat menahan Malaikat Maut —
Dia dengan baik hati berhenti untuk saya —
Hanya kami berdua di dalam Kereta Kuda —
Dan keabadian.

Note: “Keabadian” instead of “kebaqaan”, the former is a proper noun for us mortal, while the latter for divinity. “Kereta Kuda”? Hahaha.

Because I could not stop for Death
parodied in Portal™

Because I could not stop for Death
He kindly stopped for me
The cube had food and maybe ammo
And immortality

Because I could not stop for Death
by Emily Dickinson

Because I could not stop for Death —
He kindly stopped for me —
The Carriage held but just Ourselves —
And Immortality.

Morbid, no?

By the by, I prefer this version of re-Hudson Cake (by Roger McGough):

Kek Coklat
by Rem

aku mahu satu hayat
engkau mahu satu lagi
sama-sama kita tak dapat
kita pun saling berkongsi diri.

Compared with this:

Kek Coklat
by Natasha Hudson

Saya mahu satu kehidupan,
Kamu mahu sesuatu yang lain,
Kita tidak dapat makan kek coklat,
Jadi kita makan sesama diri.

Cake
by Roger McGough

i wanted one life
you wanted another
we couldn’t have our cake
so we ate each other.

I think I’m having a sugar crash.

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Quotable Portal™:

  • “Quit now and – CAKE – will be served immediately.”
  • Cake, and grief counseling will be available at the conclusion of the test. Thank you for helping us help you help us all.”
  • “The Enrichment Center is required to remind you that you will be baked, and then there will be cake.” (subtitles say: “The Enrichment Center is required to remind you that you will be baked [garbled] cake.”)
  • “OK, the test is over now. You win! Go back to the recovery annex for your cake!”
  • “Uh oh. Somebody cut the cake. I told them to wait for you, but they cut it anyway. There is still some left, though, if you hurry back.”
  • “I’m not kidding now. Turn back or I WILL kill you… I’m going to kill you, and all the cake is gone, you don’t even care, do you?”
  • “Who’s going to make the cake when I’m gone? You?
  • Cake Sphere: “One 18.25 ounce package chocolate cake mix. One can prepared coconut pecan frosting. Three slash four cup vegetable oil. Four large eggs. One cup semi-sweet chocolate chips. Three slash four cups butter or margarine. One and two third cups granulated sugar. Two cups all purpose flour. Don’t forget garnishes such as: Fish shaped crackers. Fish shaped candies. Fish shaped solid waste. Fish shaped dirt. Fish shaped ethyl benzene. Pull and peel licorice. Fish shaped volatile organic compounds and sediment shaped sediment. Candy coated peanut butter pieces. Shaped like fish. One cup lemon juice. Alpha resins. Unsaturated polyester resins. Fiberglass surface resins. And volatile malted milk impoundments. Nine large egg yolks. Twelve medium geosynthetic membranes. One cup granulated sugar. An entry called ‘how to kill someone with your bare hands.’ Two cups rhubarb, sliced. Two slash three cups granulated rhubarb. One tablespoon all-purpose rhubarb. One teaspoon grated orange rhubarb. Three tablespoons rhubarb, on fire. One large rhubarb. One cross borehole electro-magnetic imaging rhubarb. Two tablespoons rhubarb juice. Adjustable aluminum head positioner. Slaughter electric needle injector. Cordless electric needle injector. Injector needle driver. Injector needle gun. Cranial caps. And it contains proven preservatives, deep penetration agents, and gas and odor control chemicals. That will deodorize and preserve putrid tissue.”
  • “The cake is a lie. The cake is a lie. The cake is a lie. The cake is a lie.”
  • “The weighted companion cube DOES speak. Superstition, perceiving inanimate objects as alive, and hallucinations. I’m not hallucinating. You are. The companion cube would never desert me. Dessert. So long… Cake. Ha ha, Cake. A lie. The companion cube would never lie to me. NEVER.”

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Portal™ – End Game:

Portal™ – Credits Song, Jonathan Coulton – “Still Alive”:

Fictitiously Strange

“Little did he know that this simple seemingly innocuous act would result in his imminent death.”
— Karen Eiffel.

Harold Crick (Will Ferrell) is going to die. I was enjoying “the nuances, the anomalies, the subtleties” of the supposedly tragic end; off the estuary within the vicinities of the Equestrian club, under the shade of the pine trees with the view of the lagoon.

Not really a perfect place to enjoy a movie in the car with the portable cinema, yet the backseat is comfortable enough to accommodate the comfort of two. The afternoon humidity encourage several gnats to fly over, more of a nuisance than a real menace.

“Stranger than Fiction” is something that I would love to pour over the last night conversation with her but was cut short with the flaw of masses’ OS that requires rebooting of the system for every updated driver.

I thought it would be an interesting movie for her. Emma Thompson is in there, memorably known (to her at least) as the neurotic seer: Professor Sybill Trelawney (Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban). She reprised the same character of neuroticism: Karen Eiffel, a writer with “writer’s block” The monotonous movie is filled with literature discussion (of sort, and a weak one too), when Dr. Jules Hilbert (Dustin Hoffman) asked about characterization of Harold as the protagonist:

The last thing to determine conclusively is whether you’re in a comedy or a tragedy. To quote Italo Calvino: “The ultimate meaning to which all stories refer has two faces: the continuity of life, the inevitability of death.” Tragedy you die. Comedy, you get hitched.

I found my own tragedy and comedy last night too. Diverted from the hypothetically fulfilling discussion about the movie, the metaverse game of Second Life came to light. It’s where the superficial world I escape to, where my avatar traverses as mendicant and fatalist, of which she view it as my reflection of real world – a mendicant and a fatalist.

It’s a unique place of social studies, where a single sentence “usually” is a dictum of your personality. Efficiently, in a single span of time, people could interpret those personal qualities “literally”. Once when we switched avatar to each other, I play a prank on her profile. Adding innocuous “noun” and I forget if ever there was distasteful “adjective”. She failed to notice it until a week later, and I failed to comply with one of the rules of prank engagement – notifying the subject of the prank in the time span of 24 hour after the succeeded establishment of prank material. Within a week, my so called “life-ruining” antic left her isolated by the patrons of her bohemian work and perhaps thousand Linden less in her account.

That’s a tragedy.

Harold is analytical and obsessive compulsive counter. He counts every stroke of his morning routine of the brushing teeth. He mentally counts the product of 4 digits multiplication. He times every second of his coffee break. She called me as the sufferer of OCD last night. Not for counting the stroke of the toothbrush, or the mental arithmetical feat, not even the tardiness of my time-keeping. Diverted to the issues of Second Life, I browsed her Flickr gallery of SL screenshots upon her request. There are three men in depiction of homosexuality camaraderie clad with feminine gown – Snow White, Cinderella and Queen of Hearts – in a dreamy fantasy reverie. Trying not to get too attached with their sensuality garbed with alluring female hair prims attachment, I took the liberty to browse her other Flickr account. I came across the error of the title in one of her picture with [him], titled as 210707. It’s a time stamp taxonomy inaccuracy. The event happened on June (06) as opposed on July (07) during their 48th month together, a four year anniversary. She mistook the numerical as year (2006, 2007) when in fact I referred it as 210607, the middle dual digits signifying the month of June.

This is when the comedy started – a comedy of irony.

“Are you calling me dumb?” she asked, with the propensity of Pesto (Goodfeathers) Effect which is the parody of Joe Pesci‘s roles in Goodfellas:

Squit would say something innocent to him and he would invariably take offence and go off on a rant similar to Pesci’s famous “Am I a clown to you? Do I amuse you?” bar scene. But rather than laughing or blowing if off like in the movie, Pesto would scream “Dat’s it!”, and proceed to thoroughly wallops Squit.

Something as innocent as keeping track of time stamp is somewhat deem offensive and further cemented as such with this aggression: “No…you just wanna piss me off”. Who in the right mind want to piss off somebody with time stamp error in the middle of the night on a subject that hardly took 1 minute to amend? And what does it got to do with this:

8/12/2007 12:37:14 AM

well..honestly..am tired of u being this jackass smart guy
am tired being trying to set myself as intellectual as you are
i dont need ppl pointing at me and calling me stupid..i can do that by myself

And what is this about “intelligently pointing your mistake”. It’s a spontaneous reaction to a simple error, inquired in the most boring and unassuming way to address it.

If you feel offended now to the point of “Tak puas hati…cakap…bukan rant dlm blog…it’s not like I’m an authority that you cannot talk to” reprimand. Looking at your own blog, hypocrisy might just be too harsh a word since you spew the same air of ranting. Perhaps a little restraint on being judgemental on how obscenely fastidious I’m to the lowest degree of OCD could minimise the effect of this suppressing “irk”.

Don’t mistake the naked sincerity of the moment with the clad nonexistent intellectual insecurity. Don’t be too paranoid, not all people going to dumb you down. It’s only happened in the circle of intellectuals of self-importance; I’m only an enthusiast of knowledge. Hardly a harmful matter until you treated it as hazardous matter during the inception. An error is just an error, and not a hidden agenda to destroy the very fibre of your existence. Unless of course you believe that people like me is hell-bent making the reality of your self-worth in total annihilation. Now that’s paranoid.

I learn a thing or two when confronting a steaming kettle on a hot stove, and I don’t need the knowledge of enthalpy in thermodynamic system to understand the need of more manageable internal energy in order to approach the “ambiguous” entropy. I let the exponential figure of time to dissipate the heat.

Until the 50th month with [him] commence, perhaps the time has come for me to stop keeping the time of our accounts since our first rendezvous, lessening the suffering of OCD that had been a blight upon me. Ending like the tragic end of my last entry of the “lest you forget” by which the content is also the remnant of the frequent emotive verse (15th January 2007) on the 30th January 2007 (oh, there I did it again).

Ana Pascal (Maggie Gyllenhaal) dropped out of Harvard Law School to bake cookies. Her place became the cynosure of a mendicant and a fatalist patron – one of them purportedly to be Vietnam Veteran – a place of little sustenance in her bid of community charity. Despite her antagonism, her cynicism, and overtly reticent, Harold finally found passion and affection behind those personae. And Ana looks wickedly delicious with the tattoo that contours her right biceps.

Perhaps sporadic hatred what really drives this relationship…almost bordering destructive.

“This may sound like gibberish to you, but I think I’m in a tragedy.”
— Harold Crick.

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The chain-smoking Karen Eiffel has a particular “hygienic” way to extinguish her fag. Spitting on a clean paper handkerchief, the saliva douse the smouldering nicotine stick. Scrunch it into a pulp, temporarily keeping it in her pocket, she disposes it later.

It’s publicly sanitary but personally noxious. If you have to smoke, at least keep the cigarette butt to its final resting place – the incinerator or the land fill.

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MK12 studio is responsible for the visualization, graphic art and closing credits effects. The infographics visual effects of numerical values, manual and diagram presentation are amazing, reminiscent of the IKEA scene in Fight Club.

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Written by cthulhu

August 12, 2007 at 10:32 pm

Oh Noes! Penguin of Doom

/b/tards in Second Life:

[21:21] Sarah S: Anonymous is awfully quiet lately. what’s the problem? PN paranoia?
[21:21] Megazord F: tits or gtfo
[21:21] Persephone M: TITS!
[21:22] Sarah S: faek tits are faaaek
[21:22] Osoth V: old meme os oooold
[21:23] Sarah S: old memes don’t die, they just become part of the english language
[21:24] Osoth V: so i guess this is why they call this forum ‘random ROFL xD
[21:24] Sarah S holds up spork
[21:24] Second Life: Persephone M has left this session.
[21:24] Osoth V: GTFO PENGUIN OF DOOM
[21:25] Second Life: Megazord F has left this session.
[21:26] Sarah S: lawl. penguin of doom is the true face of SL. that’s the problem.
[21:26] Sarah S: SL is the cancer that’s killing SL
[21:27] Osoth V: Exactly.
[21:27] Second Life: Osoth V has left this session.
[21:29] Second Life: Sarah S has left this session.

Links:

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Written by cthulhu

May 29, 2007 at 2:37 pm

Semiotic Pixilated Morality

Fatigue overcame as the swollen digits sent her the last byte of the terse missive. Two fired away.

Fury lay in wait. Losses projected, insured by my own tiredness. Loss of financial value, compensated with my own. Metaverse reputation marred, even though honesty is the best policy.

Real life value at staked with scripted virtual reality at face value.

It had been one year since that rainy day. It had been one week since I overcame the silent anguish of past mistake.

[His] existence makes me bitter. Her idealism makes me jaded – an ideal reflection of virtual to reality – a semiotic pixilated morality.

So this is it. The direction of this so called relationship is valued on the longevity of scripted activities, more than the value of real-world hardship. But what do I know about hardship, it’s all world of ennui to me.

With good practice of safe hex even a registered hex offender can accomplish as much as Digg Revolt 2007: 09 F9 11 02 9D 74 E3 5B D8 41 56 C5 63 56 88 C0.

06 05 06 T2 07 05 06 H4 P1 4N B3 R5 4R 13 BB

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Written by cthulhu

May 6, 2007 at 2:34 am

On Procrustean Bed, She Bled Me Piety

Trivial thing like paltry sum of Linden is enough for spite of hatred. With my history of disgust over avarice, I resent more on your quest for small fortune all in the while I’m trying to help you getting a spot of so called “wealth”. I resent that, even I didn’t get offended (much) of you accusing me to monopolize the valley of Solomon.

Greed corrupts.

Hate me? Why? Just because of petty things like getting a few cent moonlighting even though you get paid doing the same job on the stage.

Hate me, and spirited yourself to your eponymous Archimedes’s exultation next time when I’m in world. I only get respect if I’m kowtowing you without a hitch, even if I don’t have the wherewithal to remain servile. I’m not the deus ex machina, running every ounce of your will with miracle.

Just that you know, there’s a glitch in the system while I bother to help you. A phantom running a ghost in the shell. If that’s so hard to understand, you don’t need to understand. It’s easier to accuse and fall to your own desire for “profit”. Prosperity is only an instrument to be used, not a deity to be worshipped.

When I fail to acknowledge your pursuit, it’s almost I utter a blasphemy, worthy of your hatred. Like ancient Procrustes you forced me to fit perfectly into a bed of piety by cutting off and stretching my limbs. Unrestrained autonomy of self right.

I rather have myself excommunicate than going limbless.

If this is a drama, it’s a Greek tragedy. A familial history that saturate into adoration of false piety.

It disgust me.

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Written by cthulhu

May 6, 2007 at 1:47 am