Avatar 1 Quotes

The first pair Opal and Amber are, Agate sings in B flat, the wolf avatar, A duet-solutio! - with Aquamarine. Mighty Emerald next, with the lovely Citrine. Number Eight is digestio, her stand is Jade fine. E major's the key of the Black Tourmaline, Sapphire sings in F major, and bright is her sheen. Then almost at once comes Diamond alone, Whose sign of the lion as Leo is known. Projectio! Time flows on, both present and past. Ruby red is the first and is also the last.

I’d designed my avatar’s face and body to look, more or less, like my own. My avatar had a slightly smaller nose than me, and he was taller. And thinner. And more muscular. And he didn’t have any teenage acne. But aside from these minor details, we looked more or less identical.

No giant two-headed hermaphrodite demon unicorn avatars were allowed. Not on school ground, anyway.

The Avatar can be reborn. But you can't, Kyoshi. I don't want to give you up to the next generation. I couldn't bear to lose you.

The stupid, smug whims of one unworthy man had left fingerprints on history that weren’t likely to be erased.

Before long, billions of people around the world were working and playing in the OASIS every day. Some of them met, fell in love, and got married without ever setting foot on the same continent. The lines of distinction between a person’s real identity and that of their avatar began to blur. It was the dawn of new era, one where most of the human race now spent all of their free time inside a videogame.

Ópalo y Ámbar forman el primer par, Ágata canta en si, del lobo el avatar, Dueto —¡Solutio!— con Aguamarina. Siguen poderosas las Esmeralda y la Citrina, los gemelos cornalina en Escorpión, y Jade, el número 8, digestión. En mi mayor: negra Turmalina, Zafiro en fa se ilumina. Y casi al mismo tiempo el Diamante, 11 y 7, del León rampante. ¡Projectio llega! Fluye el tiempo, Y Rubí constituye el final y el comienzo. De los Escritos secretos del conde de Saint Germain.

It's hard to describe the feeling. And I knew from Horus's memory that this kind of union was very rare-like the one time when the coin doesn't land heads or tails, but stands on it's edge, perfectly balanced. He did not control me. I did not use him for power. We acted as one. Our voices spoke in harmony. "Now." And the magic bonds that held us shattered. My combat avatar formed around me, lifting me off the floor and encasing me with golden energy. I stepped forward and raised my sword. The falcon warrior mimicked the movement, perfectly attuned to my wishes. Set turned and regarded me with cold eyes. "So, Horus," he said. "You managed to find the pedals of your little bike, eh? That does not mean you can ride." "I am Carter Kane," I said. "Blood of the Pharaohs, Eye of Horus. And now, Set-brother,uncle,traitor-I'm going to crush you like a gnat.

To be a poet, I realized, a true poet, was to become the Avatar of humanity incarnate; to accept the mantle of poet is to carry the cross of the Son of Man, to suffer the birth pangs of the Soul-Mother of Humanity.

Appa has feelings, too!

my balls are bluer than the entire cast of Avatar

Family is in essence a small nation, and the nation a large family. In treating his own family with dignity, a ruler learns to govern his nation with dignity

You will never be perfectly fair, and you will never be truly correct,” Lao Ge said. “This is your burden.

I’d renamed my avatar Parzival, after the knight of Arthurian legend who had found the Holy Grail.

There is no right or wrong apart from what you decide. Who you chose to defend deserves to be defended simply because you chose them. You are the Fire Lord. What you chose, by definition, is right.

In Marie’s opinion, the OASIS was the best thing that had ever happened to both women and people of color. From the very start, Marie had used a white male avatar to conduct all of her online business, because of the marked difference it made in how she was treated and the opportunities she was given. When

Earth" is an acronym, which stands for Educational Avatar Reality Training Habitat. A clever, albeit nerdy, description of our intention for the virtual school yard we created for our children.

I’ve given up men.” At that, he arched a brow. Be strong. Be confident. Be… Neytiri from Avatar. Okay, so Neytiri was a mythical creature, not to mention animated, but still. She was strong and confident, and that’s all that matters at the moment. “It’s true. At first, I was just going to give up attorneys, but that seemed immature—and far too exclusive, so I’m playing it safe and giving up all the penis-carrying humans.” Because that was so much more mature.

They twist the meaning of justice to absolve themselves of conscience.

And each year, more gunters called it quits, concluding that Halliday had indeed made the egg impossible to find. And another year went by. And another. Then, on the evening of February 11, 2045, an avatar’s name appeared at the top of the Scoreboard, for the whole world to see. After five long years, the Copper Key had finally been found, by an eighteen-year-old kid living in a trailer park on the outskirts of Oklahoma City. That kid was me. Dozens of books, cartoons, movies, and miniseries have attempted to tell the story of everything that happened next, but every single one of them got it wrong. So I want to set the record straight, once and for all.

From now on, conflicts would likely be decided as a clash between one abomination and another, powers against powers. And the victor would devour the loser.

There was a triumph in patience that no temporary application of force could conquer.

Then, on the evening of February 11, 2045, an avatar’s name appeared at the top of the Scoreboard, for the whole world to see.

No giant two-headed hermaphrodite demon unicorn avatars were allowed. Not on school grounds, anyway. You

I actually switched to a third-person view for a few seconds, just to admire how cool my avatar looked wearing it.

Gravitons are the avatars of general covariance. Photons are the avatars of gauge symmetry 1.0. Weakons are the avatars of gauge symmetry 2.0. Color gluons are the avatars of gauge symmetry 3.0.

They look at themselves like forces of nature, as inevitable ends, but they’re not. Their depth is as false as the shoals at low tide. They twist the meaning of justice to absolve themselves of conscience.

It’ll never get easier. If you had a strict rule, maybe, to always show mercy or always punish, you could use it as a shield to protect your spirit. But that would be distancing yourself from your duty. Determining the fates of others on a case-by-case basis, considering the infinite combinations of circumstance, will wear on you like rain on the mountain. Give it enough time, and you’ll bear the scars.” He spoke out of kindness and sorrow, perhaps not as immutable as he claimed to be. “You will never be perfectly fair, and you will never be truly correct,” Lao Ge said. “This is your burden.” To keep deciding, over and over again.

Everything about our online personas is filtered through our avatars, which allows us to control how we look and sound to others. The OASIS lets you be whoever you want to be. That’s why everyone is addicted to it.

—¿”Rubí”? —repetí yo. —Sí —dijo mamá—. Cada uno de los doce viajeros del tiempo está relacionado con una piedra preciosa. Y tú eres rubí. —¿De dónde has sacado eso? —«Ópalo y Ámbar forman el primer par, Ágata canta en si, del loba el avatar, dueto —¡Solutio!— con Aguamarina. Siguen poderosas la Esmeralda y la Citrina, los gemelos Cornalina en Escorpión, y Jade, el número ocho, digestión. En mi mayor: negra Turmalina, Zafiro en fa se ilumina. Y casi al mismo tiempo el Diamante, once y siete, del León rampante. ¡Projectio llega! Fluye el tiempo, y Rubí constituye el final y el comienzo». —Mamá me miró con una sonrisa más bien triste—. Aún me lo sé de memoria. Por alguna razón, durante su recitado, se me había puesto la carne de gallina. Sus palabras no me habían parecido tanto una poesía como un conjuro, algo que las brujas malvadas murmuraban en las películas mientras dan vueltas con una cuchara a una olla llena de vapores verdosos. —¿Qué se supone que significa?

Culture is a powerful force that influences our perceptions, our mindsets and even our domestic and foreign policies. The rich, messy complexity of 1,400 years of Islamic civilization and 1.6 billion Muslims has been reduced to token stereotypes. We are either avatars of destruction or the good Muslim who helps the national security narrative. But the overwhelming majority of us live in the giant middle—the grey zone—where impressions exist in more colors than just black and white.” *

I wish I could give you your due,” Rangi muttered after some time had passed. “The wisest teachers. Armies to defend you. A palace to live in.” Kyoshi raised an eyebrow. “The Avatar gets a palace?” “No, but you deserve one.” “I don’t need it,” Kyoshi said. She smiled into Rangi’s hair, the soft strands caressing her lips. “And I don’t need an army. I have you.” “Psh,” Rangi scoffed. “A lot of good I’ve been so far. If I were better at my job you would never feel scared. Only loved. Adored by all.” Kyoshi gently nudged Rangi’s chin upward. She could no more prevent herself from doing this than she could keep from breathing, living, fearing. “I do feel loved,” she declared. Rangi’s beautiful face shone in reflection. Kyoshi leaned in and kissed her. A warm glow mapped Kyoshi’s veins. Eternity distilled in a single brush of skin. She thought she would never be more alive than now. And then— The shock of hands pushing her away. Kyoshi snapped out of her trance, aghast. Rangi had flinched at the contact. Repelled her. Viscerally, reflexively. Oh no. Oh no. This couldn’t—not after everything they’d been through—this couldn’t be how it— Kyoshi shut her eyes until they hurt. She wanted to shrink until she vanished within the cracks of the earth. She wanted to become dust and blow away in the wind. But the sound of laughter pulled her back. Rangi was coughing, drowning herself with her own tears and mirth. She caught her breath and retook Kyoshi by the hips, turning to the side, offering up the smooth, unblemished skin of her throat. “That side of my face is busted up, stupid,” she whispered in the darkness. “Kiss me where I’m not hurt.

To be a poet, I realized, a true poet, was to become the Avatar of humanity incarnate; to accept the mantle of poet is to carry the cross of the Son of Man, to suffer the birth pangs of the Soul-Mother of Humanity. To be a true poet is to become God.    I tried to explain this to my friends on Heaven’s Gate. “Piss, shit,” I said. “Asshole motherfucker, goddamn shit goddamn. Cunt. Pee-pee cunt. Goddamn!

It was said that each Avatar was born in fitting times, to an era that needed them. Judging by its start, the era of Kyoshi would be marred by uncertainty, fear, and death, the only gifts she seemed capable of producing for the world. The people would never revere her like they did Yangchen or smile at her like they did Kuruk. Then let it be so, she thought. She would fight her ill fortune, her bad stars, and protect those who might despise her to the very end of her days.

Face it, George – unlike cholera, death is the only disease everyone is guaranteed to get.’ Heath nodded slowly. ‘But usually only once, Hamish. Usually only once.

He knew nothing of leadership besides making demands and doling out cruelties when they weren’t met. Control by tantrum,

It’s amazing what the mind can be led to believe,” Lao Ge said.

There is a direct chain of events between excessive desires in the present and widespread pain in the future

No one had warned her how empty it would feel to have a singular goal and see it achieved.

On the day the Hunt began, the day I’d decided to become a gunter, I’d renamed my avatar Parzival, after the knight of Arthurian legend who had found the Holy Grail.

Before I could protest, she laid a hand on my avatar’s chest and muttered a few arcane words.

My avatar materialized in front of my locker on the second floor of my high school—the exact spot where I’d been standing when I’d logged out the night before.

That’s the first rule of online romances, pal. No one ever looks anything like their avatar.

He looks like he should be trying to pick up girls with a dumbass avatar that looks literally nothing like him as he streams on Twitch or something, not running a hotel in nowhere,

Vengeance stems from a love of justice and a desire to redress wrongs. But revenge is damning. Three faces has the Night Angel, the avatar of Retribution: Vengeance, Justice, Mercy.

This avatar appeared inside a huge virtual call center, inside a virtual cubicle, sitting at a virtual desk, in front of a virtual computer, wearing a virtual phone headset. I thought of this place as my own private virtual hell.

Most users chose to run a “voyeur channel,” which was like being the star of your own twenty-four-hour reality show. Hovering virtual cameras would follow your avatar around the OASIS as you went about your day-to-day activities.

I know it sounds abysmal…” he chuckled at the mere thought of it, “but I just want to be happy and content” “Do you not dream big? Do you not want to travel?” Kalki rounded his arms around his little brother. “Perhaps I chose not to. Perhaps big doesn’t always matter. It’s also the little things, specks of happiness that we go through in a day that we should look out for. It’s funny how grief makes you realize the good things you have overlooked in life

As a child, rain meant endless amusement; in youth it meant romance; in middle-age, nothing mattered except the struggle of everyday living; but it was in the last leg of one’s life when the rains assumed their sinister avatar. Thimma

Students weren’t allowed to use their avatar names while they were at school. This was to prevent teachers from having to say ridiculous things like “Pimp_Grease, please pay attention!” or “BigWang69, would you stand up and give us your book report?

Your mom bought them for me,” I retorted without breaking my stride. “Tell her I said thanks, the next time you stop at home to breast-feed and pick up your allowance.” Childish, I know. But virtual or not, this was still high school—the more childish an insult, the more effective it was. My jab elicited laughter from a few of his friends and the other students standing nearby. Todd13 scowled and his face actually turned red—a sign that he hadn’t bothered to turn off his account’s real-time emotion feature, which made your avatar mirror your facial expressions and body language. He was about to reply, but I muted him first, so I didn’t hear what he said.

IOI required its egg hunters, which it referred to as “oologists,” to use their employee numbers as their OASIS avatar names. These numbers were all six digits in length, and they also began with the numeral “6,” so everyone began calling them the Sixers. These days, most gunters referred to them as “the Sux0rz.” (Because they sucked.)

I took control of a Happy Helpdesk avatar, a cookie-cutter Ken doll that I used to take tech-support calls. This avatar appeared inside a huge virtual call center, inside a virtual cubicle, sitting at a virtual desk, in front of a virtual computer, wearing a virtual phone headset. I thought of this place as my own private virtual hell.

But I refused to give up. Until an avatar reached Halliday’s Easter egg, anything was still possible. Like any classic videogame, the Hunt had simply reached a new, more difficult level. A new level often required an entirely new strategy. I began to formulate a plan. A bold, outrageous plan that would require epic amounts of luck to pull off.

I quickly lost track of time. I forgot that my avatar was sitting in Halliday’s bedroom and that, in reality, I was sitting in my hideout, huddled near the electric heater, tapping at the empty air in front of me, entering commands on an imaginary keyboard. All of the intervening layers slipped away, and I lost myself in the game within the game. In

This isn’t spiritualism,” he said. “You don’t have to believe. You simply have to practice.

With their eyes on each other, it was easy to be brave. Maybe that’s the only way we get through this, Kyoshi thought. Just never look away.

Not trusting my instincts any further, I loaded up a piece of high-end avatar dance software called Travoltra, which I’d downloaded and tested earlier that evening. The program took control of Parzival’s movements, synching them up with the music, and all four of my limbs were transformed into undulating cosine waves. Just like that, I became a dancing fool. Art3mis

There was a tickle against her brow. She and Rangi looked up to see a swirling dance of leaves, spinning around in a circle, the two of them caught in its eye. Kelsang used to make her laugh in the garden like this, by swirling the air, letting her touch the currents and feel the wind run between her fingers. Kyoshi let the breeze play against her skin before giving it a gentle push with her hand. The wind spun faster at her request. She could feel Kelsang smiling warmly at her, a final gift of love. “They’ll always be with us,” she said to Rangi. “Always.

Monstrous Sea Private Message 2:54 p.m. 28 - Oct -16 rainmaker: Hey, it’s Wallace. Please tell me I blew your mind again. You make the best face when your mind is being blown. MirkerLurker: Whoa that sounded dirty. rainmaker: Too much? MirkerLurker: Ummmmmmmmmm rainmaker: Too much. Noted. MONSTROUS SEA FORUMS USER PROFILE rainmaker * Fanfiction Moderator AGE: Not telling you LOCATION: NO INTERESTS: MS. Writing things.Campfires. Sweaters. Sleeping in. Dogs. Followers 1,350,199 | Following 54 | Posts 9,112 [Unique Works 144] UPDATES View earlier updates Oct 20 2016 The next chapter of the Auburn Blue fanfic will probably be a little late. Just started at the new school. So, that’s fun. Oct 21 2016 Thanks to @joojooboogee for my new avatar! #DallasRainerForever Oct 23 2016 If math homework were a real person, I’d be doing 25 to life. #Mathslaughter Oct 24 2016 There might actually be other MS fans at this school. THANK JESUS I’M SAVED. Oct 26 2016 Life is destroying me today. No time to write. Stupid math. #Mathslaughter Oct 27 2016 Definitely another MS fan at this school. Pros: Awesome; Not alone; Pretty girl. Cons: Pretty girl. #Fuuuuuuuuck Oct 28 2016 Heyyyy let’s not talk about the pretty girl anymore okay she’s probably looking at this.

McAllister looked up into her face, his eyes blazing with anger. At last, his composure cracked. ‘That’s right,’ he shouted back. ‘My word against – whose? Yours? You were dead, remember? No, of course you don’t remember. You were dead!

To be a poet, I realized, a true poet, was to become the Avatar of humanity incarnate; to accept the mantle of poet is to carry the cross of the Son of Man, to suffer the birth pangs of the Soul-Mother of Humanity. To be a true poet is to become God. I tried to explain this to my friends on Heaven’s Gate. ‘Piss, shit,’ I said. ‘Asshole motherfucker, goddamn shit goddamn. Cunt. Peepee cunt. Goddamn!’ They shook their heads and smiled, and walked away. Great poets are rarely understood in their own day.

However, more often than not, the ego gets strengthened and the person affirms, ‘See what a great yogi I am, or I am above the common people because I meditate.’ So something good, as in this case, can become spiritually harmful as it creates more binding.

You see, in the beginning was the Word. And the Word was made flesh in the weave of the human universe. And only the poet can expand this universe, finding shortcuts to new realities the way the Hawking drive tunnels under the barriers of Einsteinian space/time. To be a poet, I realized, a true poet, was to become the Avatar of humanity incarnate; to accept the mantle of poet is to carry the cross of the Son of Man, to suffer the birth pangs of the Soul-Mother of Humanity. To be a true poet is to become God.

To be a poet, I realized, a true poet, was to become the Avatar of humanity incarnate; to accept the mantle of poet is to carry the cross of the Son of Man, to suffer the birth pangs of the Soul-Mother of Humanity. To be a true poet is to become God.    I tried to explain this to my friends on Heaven’s Gate. “Piss, shit,” I said. “Asshole motherfucker, goddamn shit goddamn. Cunt. Pee-pee cunt. Goddamn!” They shook their heads and smiled, and walked away. Great poets are rarely understood in their own day. The

The first caller’s avatar appeared in front of me in my support chat room. His name and stats also appeared, floating in the air above him. He had the astoundingly clever name of “HotCock007.” I could see that it was going to be another fabulous day. HotCock007 was a hulking bald barbarian with studded black leather armor and lots of demon tattoos covering his arms and face. He was holding a gigantic bastard sword nearly twice as long as his avatar’s body. “Good morning, Mr. HotCock007,” I droned. “Thank you for calling technical support. I’m tech rep number 338645. How may I help you this evening?” The customer courtesy software filtered my voice, altering its tone and inflection to ensure that I always sounded cheerful and upbeat. “Uh, yeah …” HotCock007 began. “I just bought this bad-ass sword, and now I can’t even use it! I can’t even attack nothing with it. What the hell is wrong with this piece of shit? Is it broke?” “Sir, the only problem is that you’re a complete fucking moron,” I said. I heard a familiar warning buzzer and a message flashed on my display: COURTESY VIOLATION—FLAGS: FUCKING, MORON LAST RESPONSE MUTED—VIOLATION LOGGED

In 1976, while involved in research at the New York Public Library, I stumbled upon a strange text entitled Return of the Dove which claimed that there was a man not born of this planet who landed as a baby in the mountains of Croatia in 1856. Raised by “earth parents,” an avatar had arrived for the sole purpose of inaugurating the New Age. By providing humans with a veritable cornucopia of inventions, he had created, in essence, the technological backbone of the modern era.1 His name was Nikola Tesla, and his inventions included the induction motor, the electrical-power distribution system, fluorescent and neon lights, wireless communication, remote control, and robotics.

I’ll tell Rangi you’re up and coherent.” He paused by the door. His expression turned hesitant. “Do you think . . . once things settle down, I might have a chance with her?” Kyoshi stared at him in astonishment. Lek held her gaze as long as he could. Then he burst into laughter. “Your face!” he cackled. “You should see your—Oh, that has to be the face you make in your Avatar portrait! Bug-eyed and furious!” And to think they’d shared a moment. “Go soak your head, Lek,” she snapped. “Sure thing, sister. Or else you’ll do it for me?” He waved his hands in mockery of waterbending and made a drowning noise as he left the room. Kyoshi’s cheeks heated in frustration. And then, like a glacier cracking, they slowly melted into a grin. She noticed what he’d called her for the first time.

In the OASIS, you got used to seeing freakishly beautiful faces on everyone. But Art3mis’s features didn’t look as though they’d been selected from a beauty drop-down menu on some avatar creation template. Her face had the distinctive look of a real person’s, as if her true features had been scanned in and mapped onto her avatar. Big hazel eyes, rounded cheekbones, a pointy chin, and a perpetual smirk. I found her unbearably attractive. Art3mis’s body was also somewhat unusual. In the OASIS, you usually saw one of two body shapes on female avatars: the absurdly thin yet wildly popular supermodel frame, or the top-heavy, wasp-waisted porn starlet physique (which looked even less natural in the OASIS than it did in the real world). But Art3mis’s frame was short and Rubenesque. All curves.

The visor was light-years ahead of the clunky virtual-reality goggles available prior to that time, and it represented a paradigm shift in virtual-reality technology—as did the lightweight OASIS haptic gloves, which allowed users to directly control the hands of their avatar and to interact with their simulated environment as if they were actually inside it. When you picked up objects, opened doors, or operated vehicles, the haptic gloves made you feel these nonexistent objects and surfaces as if they were really right there in front of you. The gloves let you, as the television ads put it, “reach in and touch the OASIS.” Working together, the visor and the gloves made entering the OASIS an experience unlike anything else available, and once people got a taste of it, there was no going back.

Lek swung his legs off the chair, unable to stay in the same position lest the memory catch up to him. “The funny thing is, Date Grove doesn’t exist anymore. It was running out of water, on its last legs while I was there. It’s been swallowed by the desert. The people of the town killed my brother to uphold the law, and it meant nothing in the end. If the law was there to protect the village, and the village didn’t survive, then what did they gain?

Their avatars all sat motionless, with their eyes closed. This was a signal that they were “engaged,” meaning they were currently on phone calls, browsing the Web, or logged into chat rooms. It was poor OASIS etiquette to try to talk to an engaged avatar. They usually just ignored you, and you’d get an automated message telling you to piss off. I took a seat at my desk and tapped the Engage icon at the edge of my display. My own avatar’s eyes slid shut, but I could still see my surroundings. I tapped another icon, and a large two-dimensional Web browser window appeared, suspended in space directly in front of me. Windows like this one were visible to only my avatar, so no one could read over my shoulder (unless I selected the option to allow it). My homepage was set to the Hatchery, one of the more popular gunter message forums. The Hatchery’s site interface was designed to look and operate like an old pre-Internet dial-up bulletin

The Sixers killed my brother last night,” he said, almost whispering. At first, I was too stunned to reply. “You mean they killed his avatar?” I asked, even though I could already tell that wasn’t what he meant. Shoto shook his head. “No. They broke into his apartment, pulled him out of his haptic chair, and threw him off his balcony. He lived on the forty-third floor.” Shoto opened a browser window in the air beside us. It displayed a Japanese newsfeed article. I tapped it with my index finger, and the Mandarax software translated the text to English. The headline was ANOTHER OTAKU SUICIDE. The brief article below said that a young man, Toshiro Yoshiaki, age twenty-two, had jumped to his death from his apartment, located on the forty-third floor of a converted hotel in Shinjuku, Tokyo, where he lived alone. I saw a school photo of Toshiro beside the article. He was a young Japanese man with long, unkempt hair and bad skin. He didn’t look anything like his OASIS avatar. When Shoto saw that I’d finished reading, he closed the window. I hesitated a moment before asking, “Are you sure he didn’t really commit suicide? Because his avatar had been killed?” “No,

It was also a lot easier for online teachers to hold their students’ attention, because here in the OASIS, the classrooms were like holodecks. Teachers could take their students on a virtual field trip every day, without ever leaving the school grounds. During our World History lesson that morning, Mr. Avenovich loaded up a stand-alone simulation so that our class could witness the discovery of King Tut’s tomb by archaeologists in Egypt in AD 1922. (The day before, we’d visited the same spot in 1334 BC and had seen Tutankhamun’s empire in all its glory.) In my next class, Biology, we traveled through a human heart and watched it pumping from the inside, just like in that old movie Fantastic Voyage. In Art class we toured the Louvre while all of our avatars wore silly berets. In my Astronomy class we visited each of Jupiter’s moons. We stood on the volcanic surface of Io while our teacher explained how the moon had originally formed. As our teacher spoke to us, Jupiter loomed behind her, filling half the sky, its Great Red Spot churning slowly just over her left shoulder. Then she snapped her fingers and we were standing on Europa, discussing the possibility of extraterrestrial life beneath the moon’s icy crust.

inbox. It was from Ogden Morrow. The subject line read “We Can Dance If We Want To.” There was no text in the body of the e-mail. Just a file attachment—an invitation to one of the most exclusive gatherings in the OASIS: Ogden Morrow’s birthday party. In the real world, Morrow almost never made public appearances, and in the OASIS, he came out of hiding only once a year, to host this event. The invitation featured a photo of Morrow’s world-famous avatar, the Great and Powerful Og. The gray-bearded wizard was hunched over an elaborate DJ mixing board, one headphone pressed to his ear, biting his lower lip in auditory ecstasy as his fingers scratched ancient vinyl on a set of silver turntables. His record crate bore a DON’T PANIC sticker and an anti-Sixer logo—a yellow number six with a red circle-and-slash over it. The text at the bottom read Ogden Morrow’s ’80s Dance Party in celebration of his 73rd birthday! Tonight—10pm OST at the Distracted Globe ADMIT ONE I was flabbergasted. Ogden Morrow had actually taken the time to invite me to his birthday party. It felt like the greatest honor I’d ever received. I called Art3mis, and she confirmed that she’d received the same e-mail. She said she couldn’t pass up an invitation from Og himself

She really believed she was going to save us all … but then again, so did Pan, and so did the Avatar of Gravity. The problem with saviors is they don’t tend to care who they step on to get what they believe we all want.

She stared at the water until the sun’s reflection became too much, and then reached for her single bag of belongings. Digging around, she found the clay turtle. It was made of earth. It was tiny. She could use it for practice. Small, she thought as she cradled it with both hands. Precise. Silent. Small. She curled her lips in concentration. It was like crooking the tip of her pinky while wiggling her opposite ear. She needed a whole-body effort to keep her focus sufficiently narrow. There was another reason why she didn’t want to seek instruction from a famous bending master with a sterling reputation and wisdom to spare. Such a teacher would never let her kill Jianzhu in cold blood. Her hunger to learn all four elements had nothing to do with becoming a fully realized Avatar. Fire, Air, and Water were simply more weapons she could bring to bear on a single target. And she had to bring her earthbending up to speed too. Small. Precise. The turtle floated upward, trembling in the air. It wasn’t steady the way bent earth should be, more of a wobbling top on its last few spins. But she was bending it. The smallest piece of earth she’d ever managed to control. A minor victory. This was only the beginning of her path. She would need much more practice to see Jianzhu broken in pieces before her feet, to steal his world away from him the way he had stolen hers, to make him suffer as much as possible before she ended his miserable worthless life— There was a sharp crack. The turtle fractured along innumerable fault lines. The smallest parts, the blunt little tail and squat legs, crumbled first. The head fell off and bounced over the edge of the saddle. She tried to close her grip around the rest of it and caught only dust. The powdered clay slipped between her fingers and was taken by the breeze. Her only keepsake of Kelsang flew away on the wind.

In the Fire Nation, hair was heavily linked with honor. She’d heard that sometimes the losers of an important Agni Kai would shave parts of their head bald, laying patches of their scalp bare to symbolize an extra level of humility from their defeat, but the topknot was always sacred. It was never touched except in circumstances akin to death.

Whoever said 'trash', stand where you are! Let me teach you how to spell 'trash'." Huang Shaotian's Flowing Tree unexpectedly turned around and chased after them. "Who said it? Who? Who? Where are you running? A bunch of Level 33 players and you're afraid of a tiny Level 27 Blade Master? If I'm trash, then what are you? Maybe you're non-recyclable trash? Completely worthless trash? That's right! I'm talking to you guys! 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14, 14 pieces of trash running nice and orderly! Are you all lining up and waiting to be put in the dumpster? But wait! Did you forget that you were non-recyclable? Have some awareness! You should just dig a hole and bury yourselves it it! Stop polluting the environment. Every second you exist..." "Shut up!!" Someone finally erupted.

According to tradition, there’s a celebration bigger than Twin Sun Day. We eat special foods like spiral-shaped noodles. School is canceled. Do you know how rare it is for school to be canceled in the Fire Nation?

Nezram’s Ruby Ray,

Tron is one of the greatest movies of all time right behind Star Wars, Star Trek, any Marvel Comics movie—most importantly Guardians of the Galaxy, ET—because aliens, hello—Avatar, and Titanic.

So much went wrong there, however. Its avatar was shot in an attempted robbery. Before the birth; indeed, before I even arrived. Pure bad luck, I thought—but then the hospital mishandled her chart and nearly killed her in surgery, and then they turned her out before she was fully recuperated because she was indigent…” He shakes his head, muttering in Cantonese about barbaric American health care for a moment before resuming English. “I gave her a place to stay, but she had no strength when the city tried to rise, and the Enemy came. The levees broke after she died, and rather than help, your media and incompetent leadership compounded the catastrophe at every turn.” Then his frown deepens. “But if the Enemy was at work there, interfering somehow even before the city chose

There are 15 dimensions in our time and space matrix. The 15-dimensions break down into 5 Harmonic Universes called HU. You live in HU1, which encompasses dimensions 1, 2, and 3 and holds your physical body and Inner Child. HU2 holds dimensions 4, 5, and 6 and your Soul. HU3 holds dimensions 7, 8, and 9 and your Over Soul. HU4 holds dimensions 10, 11, and 12 and your Avatar, which is often called the Christ or Buddha Consciousness. HU5 holds dimensions 13, 14, and 15 and your Rishi identity. When you receive DNA Activation, these fragmented parts are healed and reassembled, creating a true state of At-ONE-ment with Source. This is the true evolutionary path of human consciousness.

He is a curious avatar. Passion and pain, made manifest. The dreams he had are gone. All that is left is this unflinching need to prove the world false. Does he truly understand his own actions? Or does he merely flail about as marionettes do without skilled hands to guide them?

If the game wants to win, it will.

The Mahabharata is our story, but in this modern version - our Shakuni has an English avatar.

Goodwill is so rare that when one intends to do it , you think it's some sort of chicanery. What we don't realise is that ego can make us feel better , but helping can make us inspire others.

Determining the fates of others on a case-by-case basis, considering the infinite combinations of circumstance, will wear on you like rain on the mountain. Give it enough time, and you’ll bear the scars.

That’s where you’re wrong. The illusion that the self is separate from the rest of the world is the driving factor that limits our potential. Once you realize there’s nothing special about the self, it becomes easier to manipulate.

The important work of Miriam Sweeney at the University of Alabama shows how Microsoft’s Ms. Dewey was a highly sexualized, racialized, and gendered avatar for the company (see fig. 9.1). Her Bitch interview about fembots is a perfect entry point for those who don’t understand the politics of gendered and anthropomorphized robots.

He racked his brain for something to say. What do you say to an Avatar of your God? "Hello, heard any good Sunlord jokes recently?" "Good morning, how may I worship you?

It's time we reconsider what we (think) we know about the concept of reality. For alpha generation kids, playing Roblox with an avatar 1,000 km away one day and hide-and-seek in the physical world the day after, is pretty much the same experience. At a closer look, reality is simply a form of consensus among individuals.

Per i ragazzi della generazione Alpha, giocare su Roblox con un avatar a 1.000 km di distanza, oggi, e a nascondino nel mondo fisico, domani, è praticamente la stessa esperienza. Nel giro di un paio di decenni, la realtà estesa e quella fisica diventeranno talmente indistinguibili al punto che non avrà neanche più senso porsi la domanda.

Holy Shu.

Some women flirted and strutted, manipulating men at every turn, but Vega seemed to have no clue she was beautiful. The spandex suit clung to her athletic feminine form, and even though the viewers couldn’t see her body through the avatar, Toro certainly could.

What’s the point of avatars from mythology?” Hargrave posed the question to the room at large. “Why not just hide their identities with generic faceless figures?” “You don’t know much about gaming, do you?” Patel said, then quickly added, “Sir.

Crear Un Avatar

Un avatar es una exploración y una descripción detallada de tu cliente objetivo y de su vida.

To some degree, when we go online we all become avatars. We’re constantly reinventing ourselves.