I watched as she hung up her wings and gently dusted them off before getting into bed. I left only my shadow on the floor. “Are you keeping your horns on?” she asked. “Being me is a full time occupation,” I said. She laughed. “No, really. I don’t believe that we have the luxury of being anyone other than who we are.” She let down her hair and the sweet scent of ambrosia began to fill the room. “Can one not become someone different?” she asked, lying down and turning to face me. “One can become someone different but not someone else,” I replied, facing her. “What does that mean?” I adjusted her halo, taking pleasure in the way the light burned into the tips of my fingers. “The symbols we wear represent who we are, sure. But just because we change our symbols does not mean we change who we are.” I felt her hand ruffling my hair, tracing the length of my horns, seductively taking them into her fist, circling the tips with her fingers. “Is that not fate? Are we not simply stepping into destiny to fulfill that which was already meant to be?” “Some would say so, yes. By that belief, an atheist is destined to be an atheist millennia before their conception. And if that’s the case, then why blame me?” she had done enough to switch on the fire. “I could don your wings, although they’re not quite my style, and you could fashion my horns, if I did ever take them off, but that would not mean I would be better than I am and neither would it make you any worse.” She smiled a coy smile and replied, “you don’t need wings to see the light,” she guided me past the thought. “And you certainly don’t need wings where you’re going.” “On second thought, my horns might suit you just fine.” We laughed into the dark, each within ourselves in one moment and within each other in the next. Some might say we are trapped, I wished to say to her. Trapped for eons since the beginning of time, typecast within our beings, symbols and all, whether we chose this or not. I don’t remember much. But of what I do remember, that which is always worth remembering, is the way the light of her halo spread apart the dark and guided me to her Eden.
—  Nav K, parallax/syncope ii

Got the whole team together for the first time, and we are working on finishing our first batch if Telly Bots.

#letsrobot #runmyrobot #raspberrypi #Robot #robots #robotarmy #robotics #mechatronics #parallax #mechanicalengineering #programming #prototyping #3dprinting #neopixel #leds #livestreaming #startup #startuplife #hardware #electronics

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Captain Janeway in Parallax

Over the years, I’ve learned that sometimes, you just have to punch your way through.

anonymous asked:

I've been looking into parallax mapping to make interesting maps instead of using only tilesets, and everyone I've looked at have still used tilesets as a base. Do you think it would look okay to make a map entirely from scratch so it looks very organic and doesn't have a lot of repeating things? Or do you think it would just look like a jumbled mess...?

You absolutely can!  The game Little Brier Rose is made entirely from parallax maps due to it’s stained glass style.  People just tend to use tilesets because it’s just easier to copy/paste things onto a map than it is to create a whole new thing.  So yeah, draw as much of the map as you like.  Draw every blade of grass by hand if you so please.   Just make sure you do have a grid to draw on top of and go from there.  

Jesus Christ!” someone gasped loudly mid-conversation a few tables down. We opted to sit outside on the patio of the coffee shop and enjoy the warmth of the afternoon. I scoffed, she noticed, sitting in front of me, wings tucked beside her, sipping her coffee contently. “What is it?” she asked, placing her coffee down in front of her. “What isn’t it? These people, they’re so lost in their own interpretations,” I replied. “All she said was Jesus Christ,” she laughed, “what are you going on about?” “That’s just it, they make Jesus out to be this grand person,” I tried to explain. “Oh, but he was, wasn’t he?” she smiled, completely amused with herself. “Of course he was, we’ve met the guy. He was swell. But the way they make him out to be, I can’t tell whether he’s a religious figure to them or a rock star.” She laughed, “Why can’t he be both?” I stopped talking and took a sip of coffee. “You’re not here to correct them, and neither am I,” she said. “Let them believe what they want to believe.” I sat up and leaned across the table, slightly agitated, “Even if what they believe is wrong?” She gave me a smile that told me to relax and lean back into my seat. “Yes, because right and wrong are abstract as far as you and I are concerned.” “That’s the thing,” I tried not to yell in frustration. “It concerns us entirely. They see right and wrong as inherently black and white terms, but then they skew the context and manipulate what falls under which.” “And that’s why I said it’s abstract,” another calm smile. “They are still young, they haven’t learned everything yet. They think they have, but they might never get it right. But that’s okay. Mine has gotten cold.” I took her cup and blew in it until steam rose from it once more, placed it back in front of her in exchange for another smile. “They think religion will save them,” I said. “Where it’s been the one thing that’s kept them apart and at odds.” “Yes, and you and I both know that, but they don’t. Some actually think you might save them. They have cults named after you. And yet they have no idea that you take no interest in them at all.” I finished the last of my coffee, “So we let them ruin themselves? I don’t care what they think of me. But I can’t stand what they have made of you.” She reached across the table and placed her hand in mine. “You exist to remind them, that’s all. And you do a wonderful job whether you like it or not.” “They don’t realize that even you can’t save them,” I said. “No, they don’t. They don’t understand it yet. They won’t until they realize that the only god that matters is the one inside themselves, and that you and I are as powerless as they feel on their worst days.” I laughed, “They don’t even see us sitting among them. But how much longer?” “A little while longer. Even you believe in me, but you’re here because you believe in yourself,” once again she smiled that lovely smile. “No,” I said, “even then, I wouldn’t exist without you.
—  Nav K, parallax/syncope iii