#brink of consciousness the lonely hearts murders

[darkparablesgainira]

🪷🪷🪷

[hiddenobject-fanblog]

The Brink of Consciousness series is on sale for $2.50 each!! GET THEM!

[rainbowthefox]

Oscar’s Mask - Brink of Consciousness: The Lonely Hearts Murders

[animebw]

Re:Zero: Season 2 Reflection

Re:Zero’s a show that’s weirdly easy to take for granted. For all its ubiquity in the modern anime consciousness, its shallowest traits tend to be what gets the most focus. The edgy deaths, Subaru’s cringe factor, the endless waifu wars, all give off the impression of a show getting by on cheap shock factor and shameless otaku pandering. I know that’s the impression I had before I started watching it. And that’s a criminal shame, because once you table those expectations and take Re:Zero on its own terms, it doesn’t take long to discover that not only does it actually deserve all the hype, it may well be the best blockbuster anime of the entire modern era. It’s rich in thematic complexity, it’s dense with compelling characters weaving a larger story, and it does the impossible task of kicking the worst of the isekai genre in the face while still serving as a shining example of what isekai should be. It’s a tale of genuine struggle and triumph, diving straight to the heart of lonely nerds the world over and offering them a path to self-betterment and self-love. And it accomplishes all that while still being just a damn amazing fantasy adventure, full of twists and turns and epic battles and hard-won triumphs and some of the best damn technical writing in the business. Re:Zero is good in ways that make me jealous, ways that inspire me to do better in my own storytelling pursuits, to constantly push my craft forward without settling for good enough. It is so much better than its fanbase deserves, in every conceivable way.

And that’s just season 1.

Season 2 takes all that and makes it look like child’s play.

I cannot overstate what a titanic achievement this season has been. This is the longest, densest, most complex chapter in this story yet, a magic-infused murder mystery set in and around a scant few locations that throws in a million new characters and expands on a million old characters in equal measure. It weaves in so many different elements, so many different subplots, so many competing motivations and colliding events all intertwining and reinforcing each other in a single composite tapestry of suffering. Long-hidden secrets finally come to light, the history of the world at large comes into the picture, we gain a greater understanding of the story we’ve already witnessed and set up countless threads for stories yet to come. This isn’t just the story of Subaru learning to be a better person anymore, though that is still the focus; this is the story of everyone in his immediate orbit. It’s the story of Emilia reckoning with the demons of her past, of Roswaal’s determination to drag the world down with him, of Beatrice’s loss of faith, of Otto’s enduring friendship, of Garfiel’s fractured family, of the secrets held by the Witches of Sin and the plans they’re still enacting in death, all their dreams, all their regrets, all the lore and backstory and unresolved tragedy that holds them back and drives them forward. This. Season. Is. MASSIVE. Even without the increasingly lengthy episodes, the only possible word to sum it up with it “epic.”

And with that epic scope, Re:Zero is able to rocket into the fucking stratosphere.  This show was fantastic, but the heights it reaches in its fourth arc put everything that’s come before to shame. It’s a staggering journey that puts Subaru through his darkest, most grueling trials yet, forcing him to face a level of despair and helplessness that comes close to breaking him on multiple occasions. It relentlessly pushes him to the brink, interrogating his self-loathing, his neediness, his martyr complex, his suicidal tendencies, his inability to rely on others, all the shame and weakness that renders him unable to move forward. And it sinks its claws equally into every single member of the cast, putting them through hell the likes of which makes even the darkest moments of season 1 seem quaint by comparison. It’s brutal, it’s relentless, and it absolutely fucking wrecks you. I can’t even count how many moments this season utterly destroyed me, left me shaking and sobbing and terrified to even keep watching. And yet, the most painful moments aren’t when Subaru is ripped apart by a pack of ravenous rabbits or slices his own throat with a broken sword. They’re when Subaru realizes he can’t save someone who matters to him. Or when he forces himself to shut everyone out in a self-destructive attempt to take the world on his shoulders. Or when he breaks down sobbing in agony at the chance to finally tell someone else about all the pain he’s endured. Or when he spills the depths of his self-loathing to a coven of witches, revealing just how deeply he’s come to hate himself and everything he stands for. Re:Zero isn’t dark because of all the blood and carnage; it’s dark because it understands the depths of human misery better than just about any anime since Evangelion. It understands why we can come to despise ourselves, all the deep emotional scars that linger long after the initial pain subsides, all the myriad ways people can falter and stumble and fail, even when we’re trying our hardest to be better than our worst. For all the monsters and magic and gruesome deaths, those moments of sheer, vulnerable heartbreak are what linger in your soul long after the curtain finally falls.

But for all its incredible darkness, Re:Zero’s optimistic spirit has never shown brighter. For just as it knows how deeply people can sink into themselves, it understands how beautifully they can rise again. It understands the trauma that binds us to our past, but it also understands how to find the strength to keep moving forward. And over the course of the second season, it carries that truth like a battle standard, never once faltering no matter how bleak the battlefield grows. In Garfiel, in Emilia, in Beatrice, in Ryuzu, and, of course, in Subaru himself, it showcases the power of love in all its rawest, kindest forms. The power to love someone else and give them the strength to keep fighting. The power to love yourself and let others do the same for you. The power to love the world and believe that things can get better if you just take the chance to try. In the face of a seemingly insurmountable past, all it takes is the strength to trust in each other, to believe that better is possible, for the chains to finally fall. More than anything, Re:Zero is a testament to humanity’s ability to change. To grow beyond our worst selves, to become someone worthy of loving and being loved, to find new reasons to keep fighting when old ones whither away, to believe that the future, no matter how terrifying, is worth striving for. It stares all the world’s darkness dead in the eyes and comes out saying that better is still possible. Better is worth fighting for. So don’t give up just because you think you’ve run as far as you can. I promise you, there’s always so much further you can go. That is the spirit of Re:Zero, a spirit writ large in stunning detail, with beautiful writing and fantastic characters and a story that constantly leaves you hungry for more. What other world could I give it but “masterpiece?”

Yes, the pacing definitely takes a hit in the back half of this season. Cramming all the backstory episodes into a single chunk means you spend a lot of time waiting for the story to start up again, whereas before backstory and forward motion existed comfortable side by side. But even with that caveat, Re:Zero’s second season stands among the greatest anime I’ve ever seen. I already loved this show after season 1, but now I have no qualms calling it the second-best fantasy anime of all time, surpassed only by the everlasting FMA Brotherhood itself. Hopefully White Fox will get to work on season 3 eventually, once they’ve had a chance to recover from pandemic crunch time and recharge their batteries. But until then, I happily give season 2 a score of:

10/10

What a fucking show. Thank you all for joining me on this return to an old favorite! If you’ve enjoyed my analysis and want more of me, be sure to ask for an invite to my Discord where you can hang out and chat about the shows I’m watching with me and fellow anime fans! And be sure to stick around for the show that will take Re:Zero’s place:

The Promised Neverland Season 2

Ah yes, Winter 2021′s other highly anticipated sequel to a smash hit. Surely this will be just as rewarding a return as Re:Zero, right?

...right?

See you next time.

[aboundlesswombofcultivations]

t h u r s d a y    n i g h t    (w h e n    d r e a m s    c o m e    t r u e)

--- L E V   R U B I N S H T E I N

--translation of Lev Rubinshtein by Philip Metres and Tanya Tulchinsky

1

All night I was dreaming of the frontier regions of existence. Waking up, I could remember only something between water and dry land, silence and speech, sleep and waking and managed to think: "Here it is, the aesthetic of uncertainty. Here it is again..."

2

I dreamt as if someone long gone and, it seemed, completely forgotten, suddenly appeared and looked at me so attentively that I woke, my heart pounding...

3

I dreamt that I had to get up and look if she were sleeping. I woke up, and could not remember for a long time who I was thinking of. Then I remembered...

4

I dreamt that I had to hide in my shell for awhile, and then, as they say, we'll see. I woke up and thought "Well, I don't know, I don't know..."

5

I dreamt that happiness truly knew no bounds. Waking up, I thought "Well, I'll be damned..."

6

I dreamt that you only have a chance four times in life. Waking, I thought that there was surely something to this...

7

I was dreaming that the most important thing was to find the most adequate form of sympathy for each other. Then I woke up...

8

I was dreaming that the idea of a clear page is a short circuit to any consistent aesthetic experience. Then I woke up...

9

I was dreaming that one could proceed from the fact that our sense of self is a sense of self of self-created personages, existing in their own time and space. And that the starting point of such sense of self, as a matter of fact, draws us together. Then I woke up...

10

I dreamt two whole arguments in my support, but of course I could not remember them...

11

I dreamt a third argument as well. But it also remained there in the dream...

12

I dreamt of the long-awaited coming of a hero. His appearance was often gloomy, but his constant readiness to be happy was indubitable. He was impressive in his open and keen relation to reality. Waking up, I thought that there was nothing to add to this.

13

I dreamt the rare flitters of fading hopes. Neither bright, nor warm, they silently smoldered down in the windless deeps of the consciousness.

I was so used to them, my tired brain almost failed to acknowledge them, my head would no longer lift at their sight, my nostrils would no longer inflate, my pulse would no longer quicken. It seemed that nothing could break my despondent calm. It seemed that nothing forbode any change...

14

I dreamt of an ancient park with trees immersed in thought. Along its shaded alley, a lonely figure moved towards me. I noticed it from far off and almost immediately guessed who it was. But you've probably guessed as well...

15

I dreamt that they were obviously not alone there. Someone prowled in the night without a sound, like a thief. "Quiet-whispered Heinrich with his lips pursed-you didn't hear anything?" Both listened. Silence ensued again. It was as if lightning sudde nly sliced through the dark...

16

I dreamt of creaking floorboards and balding rugs of a small boarding house on the shore of Lake Bodenskoe. The weather during these days was rainy and unpleasant. The mistress of the boarding house was a good-natured and flabby woman about fifty years old. The table usually sat about ten or twelve guests. They were of different nationalities, habits, and interests. There was nothing to talk about, and lunch was stale. Boredom and despair reigned at the table.

Still, one of the guests did grab my attention. He was a young, sickly-looking Italian, always silent, who would only rarely cast around an obscure glance, as if something known only to him had momentarily awakened him from his usual stupor...

17

I dreamt of a massive gray Ministry of Navigation building. It was located just a couple steps from my old apartment. And my windows looked right out onto the same despondent square. And along my windows each morning and each night strode the faceless chain of clerks. If I could have thought then...

18

I dreamt of little Kolya's face, happy for no reason, and the concentrated faces of his family, and the impatient face of the driver, and all the other faces-relatives, acquaintances, those barely known, and those not known at all. All of them diffused in the dim consciousness of Konstantin, merged into one quickly revolving spot, and he fell, as if cut down, to the wet asphalt of an empty train platform that morning.

19

I dreamt the situation was such that if a clear and quivering voice suddenly appeared amid the inarticulate din of the crowd, it, too, would be lost in the gnashing. Those who would manage to hear it would only exchange looks, nod knowingly to each other, and that would perhaps be the end, if not for the

20

I dreamt that we all had to live by touch: here a loophole, here a fence, there a solid wall. And our life passes, from decision to doubt, from a nod to an interjection, from dream to toil...

21

I dreamt a light went out somewhere in the middle. And the voice crying out in the wilderness could no longer be heard. The warmth had dispersed, never to return. Only glass glancing at glass, fleeting, inarticulate...

22

I dreamt of a caustic smoke and my own death mask. What will we give as a momento? What will we grab at the last moment? Paradise is not for us, so we don't walk in pairs. It's so basic it's not worth explaining...

23

I dreamt my heart's pulled out from its sheath each night. What do we know? What can we do? Whoever knows, be silent...

24

I dreamt of the emptiness of the sky. We both felt lost in it. You said: "The swallow over there will remember us until we die..."

25

I dreamt we were saying goodbye on the bridge. We are tired, we'll take a rest... All nature's actions happen for a reason. No one will be delighted to receive us. Neither of us knows what will happen tomorrow, or the day after. Our final meeting. We are saying goodbye to each other on the bridge...

26

I dreamt he was buried in a grave, out of his mind. With a long flame the candle burned recklessly...

27

I dreamt he lay down on the sand forever. Who could understand the earthly bustle, if not him? That nothing is what it seems... That what's said is beyond us. And here above the earth our dear comrade soars... We'll also go the way water wouldn't flow. Where brains fall off, and shrieks, and pitch dark. We'll go as well--it's time, it's time for us to leave this home. We wanted to live, and this is what it's come to...

28

I dreamt at dawn of my balcony all twined with snow, overflowing with something crimson, and my stallion's nape marked with murderous fangs, the vengeful glare of wolves-- luminous fish sparkling, then disappearing--as they head for the woods.

Over my shoulder I heard my rifle's parting cry, a crazed laugh of a fallen animal's shriek.

My dying horse, a white steam through a wide-open door, an unending blizzard, a ski trail overgrown with snow...

29

I dreamt my scarcely breathing ship was sinking, while in the storming space I was engaged in a miraculous prayer...

30

I was dreaming of nothing much-- just numbness and endurance. Let's hide our beaks in our plumage at this crossroads of winds. We know how much this is worth, and that too. But who'll be in charge of our stage, when we take up the pilgrim's staff and bag? And how do we proceed in such mist, not for an hour, not for a day, but for a thousand years-- our contempt stuck in our pocket, tet a tet with the cold wind?

31

I dreamt as if they were running--my remaining days, looming ahead, while I was left behind. The quiver of six transparent wings revealed myself to me, and I woke up...

32

I was dreaming he was right here, sitting on my bed. He was here, clear as day, and yet he wasn't here. Who knows better than him that all has changed, and there's no place for hope or an unbiased mind.

The quiver of six transparent wings revealed myself to me, and I woke up...

33

I was dreaming at dawn of a half-demon, half-corpse staring with its many eyes out of a gilded frame. He said: "Don't wait in vain--a miracle won't happen. If you have a place to run to, then get out of here." He said: "Follow me, I'll show you the way." With a heavy head I woke up...

34

I was dreaming of a balance of paper, a memory gone to sleep. Lulled by the song of dripping moisture I let slip another spring. My tongue was nursing the stingy definition of life's meaning. But then long ray fell on my blanket, and I woke up...

35

I was dreaming that dreams bring relief, yet take something from you forever. And then I woke up...

36

I dreamt of a phrase: "my Deep Throat muse."

After I woke up, I lay with my eyes open for a long time...

37

I dreamt that retelling dreams you don't remember is a kind of occupation.

Waking up, I thought, "why not?"

38

I dreamt that I didn't care who cried because of which onion. Waking up, I thought, "I don't care."

39

I dreamt that if "today's Thursday" is said on Thursday, then it means that today is Thursday. If "today's Thursday" is said on Friday, then it's either or lie or a mistake, or something else.

Waking up, I thought that, really, what is said is as important as when it is said...

40

I dreamt as if we were sitting here and doing the same thing that we're doing now. Waking up, I thought that there really was nothing unusual about this...

41

I dreamt an uncountable number of various possibilities.

Waking up, I tried for a long time to remember something, anything...

42

On the very brink between dream and waking, I dreamt what whatever exists, does indeed exist.

Waking up, I thought: "That's how it should be..."

[phenomenallywoman-blog1]

The Pit

Ivan Goran Kovačić (1913-1943) Ivan Goran Kovačić was one of the greatest Croatian writers of the 20th century. He was born in Lukovdol, a town in Gorski Kotar, a mountainous region of western Croatia, and his middle name Goran stems from that. During World War II, he joined the Partisan forces led by Croat Tito, as did the Croat poet Vladimir Nazor in 1942. This is one of his best poems about WWII, and it is a poem which says about the war horror. This is first 4 parts of the poem and you can read full song here: Ihttp://www.thephora.net/forum/showthread.php?t=16956 BLOOD is my daylight, and darkness too. Blessing of night has been gouged from my cheeks Bearing with it my more lucky sight. Within those holes, for tears, fierce fire inflamed The bleeding socket as if for brain a balm – While my bright eyes died on my own palm. While played, I never doubt, God's feathered creatures, Reflected still in them, and clouds' procession; But all I felt were my blood–spattered features, Bruised gulfs in that once brillant profusion. Haw radiant lay my eyeballs in my hand, Yet from those eyes no tear could more descend! Then ever other fingers ran the warm Coagulating blood my slaughterer found By the profounder agony of holes he formed For better grip, more sensuously to wound; But me the softness of my blood enthralled, And I rejoiced as blood were red tears falling. The final light before the frightful night The lightning swooping of the polished knife, The cry too white still in my blinded sight, The bleach-white bodies of the murderers, Who stripped their torsos for their sweaty task – Was dazzling even to my blinded mask. O painful daylight, never so hard yet Or penetrating did you break the East With fiery arrow; I might have thought I shed Teardrops with leaping flames that seared my cheeks Through all that hell so many lightnings brent, So many cries of other victims rent. What time that furious conflagration fanned, All that I knew of time were callouses for eyes, Hard-grown and aching; and could hardly stand. And only then my slippery eyeballs fingered And knew – and cried: My sight, O Mother mine, is gone. How shall I wepp when your life too is done? Then dazzling daylight like a myriad carillons From endless gleaming bell-towers in my crazy Brain illumined like the lights of Zion, A lovely light – a light which sanctified – Bright birds, bright river, trees and, brilliant Boon pure as mother's milk, still brighter moon. Now came a torture I had never guessed – My murderer commanded "Break your own eyes!" I nearly prayed for mercy to the beast, But slimy-fingered spasmic hands obeyed – And then no more I heard, no more could tell, To empty nothyng faltered, and I feel. II WITH chilly urine woke me, and with blows Belaboured fire back to my head, and then These executioners pierced our ear lobes With blunted, clumsy spikes, each one in turn – "Laugh, laugh!" they ordered, as they thrust their tools, "Ear–rings are fire for force-converted fools!" Then horrid laughter, sobbing, loud and wild Reverberated as if dead men laughed; But crazy humour hindered those defiled – To silence us our wilted flesh they flayed; But endless now in our long choking wit, With gaping sockets our dead sorrow wept. Then suddenly like corpses we were still (No doubt from fear lest we were still alive) – Tugged by our swollen ears they dressed us, till The silent torture turned us all awry (But birds that sang to us, not one did tire) While through our tattered lobes was drawn a wire. So each man of us if the least he starts Howls dully when he feels the frightful pain. "Silence" - the executioner – "we know it smarts, But we're not going to let you go again!" Not one of us could even shake his head But give another blinding pain instead. That warder wire appeased our cruel captors, And, tired, nearby they sat down in the shade; Refreshing water gurgle then was heard Down parching throats, laud pleasure as they ate, As if they'd laboured hard, till they began To pass foul, slimy jokes from man to man. Then even seemed our presence was forgotten; We heard them yawn and break their wind at leisure. "Oh boy, I saw a skirt today" – a rotter Spued dirty observations from his tongue. Thus passed their noon, in wine or cooling water - Ours passed on burning wire, strung for the slaughter. III NOW in my rank a girl went mad and shrieked Her warning – "Men! Fire! the house is burning, Fire!" And now the wire strung through us wreaked New agony and rent distorted gaps In all our monster ears until she fell And choking lay, oblivious to hell. "Blind sockets, deaths-head skulls, you purblind rats, We'll doctor you with hot coals in those holes To make you see again, blind blinking cats!" And, as he spoke, a drunken murderer lent Leering forward, and slashed down through a face, To leave its ear still dangling, wired in place. We heard the victim's cry, his frenzied pace As, thus released, down maddened dark he ran; Through mortal silence then we heard the chase, And, as the knife struck twice, his heavy fall. So one is saved, I told my night of it, No knew they led our steps towards the pit. I heard the heart dull in my hollow breast And through the wire to others' beating harked; To that dumb drum we pressed our steps ahead (Haw loud it rumbled through the weeping dark!) By that tattoo I saw through holes for eyes My thoughts assemble as in bright sunrise. And saw again, as I had seen at dawn, The hollow pit which yesterday we dug; I strained my hearing and at last it came – That sudden flat sound as each victim fell – Knife-edged, my thought itself began to tell The forty-nine before me, known so well. And, waiting fingered memory's index, Ticked whom they took before, behind, all round – So add, subtract, until the following blows Descend and new men die; till all my strength Of mind to dazzling clarity was grown. To let no change take place, and pass unknown. Somewhere cicadas sang; a single cloud Brushed fleeting shadow over everything. I heard one murderer nature easing loudly, The while another, heated, wildly slew – All this engraved like sight, and glittered clear As sun upon the knife-edge, in my ear. IV WHEN the first sacrifice began to choke I heard a silken sound, a fleshy sack Which settled slow. I knew that first the throat They stuck, then in between the shoulder-blades A second thrust, then swiftly pushed away To fill the pit, together to decay. Before my blindness, limp and dead, one fell, Then with a yell of fear, behind my back, While my keen senses noted down each blow And every person dead, struck from my list – No man nor girl who cried or sudden wept But in my heart – my wound – their agony leapt. A comrade in the pit now whimpered like a child, Throat but half stuck – that asound so ominous Alarmed me lest I lost the list compliled – Then down below a hand–grenade they tossed – The firm earth rocked. A weakness bend my shape; What hope now had I that I might escape? Yet consciousness triumphant still possessed me; Now nerves and blood and flesh and skin became A straining ear; I counted thirty–one – Sixty and two more strikings with the knife – I heard a blow which fell with savage force, And once again my folly took its course. When now another cry for intermission Brought yet another hand-grenade, new dead Began to fall with thuds of less precision, As if on water, o'er a slush of flesh; And so in blood I feel my foot-soles sink – A spasm shook me – I had reached the brink. V OH, THEN I saw, with suddenly better sight, As if my eyes returned – but to my back - That whitened skin, that knife prepared to strike, The victims too who while last seconds tick Stand stiff and still, yet automatic steal By inches toward the knife their nerves can feel. Uninterruptedly the ranks moved slowly on - As if some distribution was ahead - Not one that shouted, started back or groaned, While steadily in sultry air death mowed the deadripe corn, which fell with only sound The fluent blood which spurted to the ground. Thus step by step, with briefest pause between - The croak, the knife, the thud; the queue pace Nearer, nearer still. Strained on a rack, I backed, felt on my lips the bitter taste, Another's blood, and thus became the third Who waited at the pit till it – occurred. The darkness more disgusting through my blindness Blasted my mind and cluttereb every sense - And sense bevond a thausand daybreaks cried Intense – O arrow! O flame! O bewildering snow! Light, come at last devoid of any shade, With needles in my aching eyeballs played. The comrade next bent suddenly towards me, As if a cramp had gripped him, then he groaned, And, stumbling forward, set a soft sigh free, That lonely sigh, consumed in his death–rattle - Swung downward, flopping like a fish. With this, Before me gaped the bottomless abyss. Each detail fresh today – my body swayed In space – as if upon the final rung Of endless nothing balanced there before me, And at my back another nothing hung. A whitened arrow was my own throat slit, Black death the stab behind;

[darkparablesgainira]

Brink of Consciousness 2: The Lonely Hearts Murders

I passed the 2nd part of the "brink of consciousness"

I am pleasantly shocked by the passage. What is the main thing that the bonus game surprised and even made you giggle.

P.S. Thanks for the link to Oscar ХD

[hiddenobject-fanblog]

can i ask whether you have any issues playing the older games on a newer computer? i really want to replay mystery legends phantom of the opera but something about the resolution doesn't allow me to open it.

Yyyyeaahhh, on my laptop, I was able to play Mystery Legends: POTO, but it made my computer loud and hot. I did struggle with crashes on Brink of Consciousness: The Lonely Hearts Murders; I think older games that haven't been updated to be more compatible with later-edition devices might have problems you can't avoid...

I play on my boyfriend's desktop now, and one older game I had problems with was Sea Legends: Phantasmal Light. It opens with a small cutscene/animation, which seemed to be crashing the game. I got around it by frantically clicking around to skip it. When I got to the title screen, I was able to play just fine.

I think you may have to do some trial-and-error with your settings, trying your computer's Gaming Mode, making sure you have no background apps running, opening it windowed, or messing with the resolution if you can. I'm not an expert on these things though, so maybe some other people in the reviews or online might have some advice!

[hiddenobject-fanblog]

GUESS WHAT'S ON SALE AGAIN!! Only $2 each this time!!

The Brink of Consciousness series is on sale for $2.50 each!! GET THEM!