Avatar 2 Quotes

My friend Kira always said that life is like an extremely difficult, horribly unbalanced videogame. When you’re born, you’re given a randomly generated character, with a randomly determined name, race, face, and social class. Your body is your avatar, and you spawn in a random geographic location, at a random moment in human history, surrounded by a random group of people, and then you have to try to survive for as long as you can.

No fire is ever the same fire. No Avatar is ever the same person. You and the flame change with every moment, every generation. You are one flame, and you are many.

My friend Kira always said that life is like an extremely difficult, horribly unbalanced videogame. When you’re born, you’re given a randomly generated character, with a randomly determined name, race, face, and social class. Your body is your avatar, and you spawn in a random geographic location, at a random moment in human history, surrounded by a random group of people, and then you have to try to survive for as long as you can. Sometimes the game might seem easy. Even fun. Other times it might be so difficult you want to give up and quit. But unfortunately, in this game you only get one life. When your body grows too hungry or thirsty or ill or injured or old, your health meter runs out and then it’s Game Over. Some people play the game for a hundred years without ever figuring out that it’s a game, or that there is a way to win it. To win the videogame of life you just have to try to make the experience of being forced to play it as pleasant as possible, for yourself, and for all of the other players you encounter in your travels. Kira says that if everyone played the game to win, it’d be a lot more fun for everyone. —Anorak’s Almanac, chapter 77, verses 11–20

We thought we were special, opening our perceptions, honing our empathy, spilling that cauldron of shared pain onto the dance floor of language and then trying to make a minuet out of all that chaotic hurt. It doesn’t matter a damn bit. We’re no avatars, no sons of god or man. We’re only us, scribbling our conceits alone, reading alone, and dying alone.

My friend is not a diplomat. She is the failure of diplomacy. She is the breakdown of negotiations. There is no escalation of hostilities beyond her.

The Park?" Gus asked skeptically, following him out of Kali's building and across the empty street. "The place with the homicidal poodle pack and creepy hanging goddess?

A SLUG IN BED WILL LOSE HIS HEAD! ARISE, PATHETIC ONE! TLALOC HAS RETURNED TO BEAT YOUR POWERS INTO YOU!

LOOK TO THE SKIES! THEY ARE FULL OF DISGUSTING SUNSHINE! LET US GO FORTH AND TRAIN ANEW TO BRING THE WRATH OF THE CLOUDS DOWN AMONG US! -- Tlaloc

This is what you must forgo, Kyoshi, the easy answers. You must give up your desire for someone to tell you your choices were correct in the end.

She wouldn’t allow herself to become a human scar, a compendium of personal loss. She had the obligation to be more than the sum of her grievances with the world.

In the end, it doesn’t matter a damn bit. We thought we were special, opening our perceptions, honing our empathy, spilling that cauldron of shared pain onto the dance floor of language and then trying to make a minuet out of all that chaotic hurt. It doesn’t matter a damn bit. We’re no avatars, no sons of god or man. We’re only us, scribbling our conceits alone, reading alone, and dying alone. Goddamn it hurts.

Human beings could drape themselves in titles and etiquette, but at their hearts they were all the same animal.

Some people in my country like to believe Avatar Yangchen watches over them. But you, Fire Lord. I can assure you that Avatar Kyoshi watches over you.

Why don’t sports teams have avatars? Why isn’t Gritty immortal and magical by now?

You need to believe in yourself more, kunju. Why can’t you be more like that nice lady from Brooklyn? She’s an avatar and a city councilwoman. So accomplished.

The Internet is not a virtual world inhabited by avatars. It is a means of communication that offers people in the physical world a method to organize, act, and promote ideas and awareness.

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.

In the end, it doesn’t matter a damn bit. We thought we were special, opening our perceptions, honing our empathy, spilling that cauldron of shared pain onto the dance floor of language and then trying to make a minuet out of all that chaotic hurt. It doesn’t matter a damn bit. We’re no avatars, no sons of god or man. We’re only us, scribbling our conceits alone, reading alone, and dying alone.

It wasn’t the reaction Rangi was looking for, but Kyoshi swelled with a sudden happiness. She couldn’t help it. Rangi acting so completely, utterly normal tugged on a rope connected directly to her heart. It always would.

Better than open war was not a standard to live by. And yet people seemed content with it.

The instant the facts disagreed with their preconceived notions, people lost their minds.

Only home could make you feel this bad.

Healing was better than destruction.

Didn't expect to be an avatar today myself, but that's what I get for not eating breakfast.

The avatar she’d designed to conquer the game of life wouldn’t stop to hug her nemesis. Badass Simone would pulverize the competition. Find his biggest weakness and exploit it in a tactical strike.

You dare laugh at the fall of Suyodhana and all the noble men like Bhishma, my father, Karna, and the others who fought for him? Read Jaya to know how Karna rejected the temptation to become Emperor and instead chose to stand by the man who had given him everything when he had nothing. Read how Karna was trapped by own nobility, how impossible promises were extracted from him; know how he was shot while extracting the wheel of his chariot that was stuck in the mud. Know that Arjuna did not keep his word, as any honourable warrior would have done, when he failed to kill Jayadratha before sunset, hiding behind the lame excuse that the sunset had been maya, an illusion created by an avatar. Sleep in your beds peacefully by all means, if your conscience still allows you to do so, you lucky devils.

The true problem with the world lies deep inside humanity itself, and despite your best efforts it will never be fixed. Mankind is a poor investment. A barren field. The less you do for it, the better.

When playing the game, sometimes you didn’t want your opponent to respect you as smart, rational, and clever. Sometimes you wanted the opponent to believe you were completely unstable and utterly reckless.

Yangchen stared at her before bursting into laughter. Chaisee startled backward. Yangchen’s shrill howls bounced and redoubled inside the small enclosure. Regrets? Threatening the Avatar with regrets was like trying to drown a fish.

The Final Days are here, priest. The prophecies given to us by the Avatar centuries ago are unfolding before our eyes. What you call riots are the first death throes of a society which deserves to die. The Days of Atonement are upon us and the Lord of Pain soon will walk among us.

Rejection of peace was a story immemorial. The Four Nations were always trying their level best to march off a cliff. And here she was, the latest Avatar attempting to drag them back from the edge. None of her past lives had succeeded in curbing the self-destructive nature of humanity.

Rounding a bend, they almost ran into a flock of sheep, tended by a boy in a coat that was far too big for him and belted at the waist with a twist of yellow binder twine. Reck stopped the van and the two men sat stranded amid a moving sea of dirty gray fleece. Strafford idly studied the milling animals, admiring their long aristocratic heads and the neat little hoofs, like carved nuggets of coal, on which they trotted so daintily. He was struck too by their protuberant and intelligent-seeming shiny black eyes, expressive of stoical resignation tinged with the incurable shame of their plight, avatars of an ancient race, being herded ignominiously along a country road by a snot-nosed brat with a stick.

It took so long for the threads of mistakes and monstrous deeds to stop weaving into the future, to just tie themselves off and end. Maybe they never ended.

That was the trouble with older siblings. They were full of it and made everything up as they went along, just like normal people.

That was the trouble with younger siblings, wasn’t it? Tell them to do one thing and they’d immediately do the opposite, was how the complaint usually went.

Rebuilding always took longer than destruction, cleaning a mess more time than making it.

Death and time made everyone small, reduced them to trivialities.

Certain people . . . they turn you into who you were before.

To the paranoid, facts seemed like threats.

A few years later, they unveiled a new retinal implant that allowed any blind people who wished to be sighted to “see” perfectly inside the OASIS. And by linking two head-mounted mini cameras to the same implant, their real-world sight could be restored as well. The ARL’s next invention was a brain implant that allowed paraplegics to control the movements of their OASIS avatar simply by thinking about it. It worked in conjunction with a separate implant that allowed them to feel simulated sensory input. And the very same implants gave these individuals the ability to regain control of their lower extremities, while restoring their sense of touch. They also allowed amputees to control robotic replacement limbs, and to receive sensory input through them as well.

life is like an extremely difficult, horribly unbalanced videogame. When you’re born, you’re given a randomly generated character, with a randomly determined name, race, face, and social class. Your body is your avatar, and you spawn in a random geographic location, at a random moment in human history, surrounded by a random group of people, and then you have to try to survive for as long as you can.

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.

It is the world’s first fully functional noninvasive brain-computer interface. It allows an OASIS user to see, hear, smell, taste, and feel their avatar’s virtual environment, via signals transmitted directly into their cerebral cortex. The headset’s sensor array also monitors and interprets its wearer’s brain activity, allowing them to control their OASIS avatar just as they do their physical body—simply by thinking about it.

I’ve heard the stories about you, Kyoshi, and I know the things you’ve seen. What do you care if a single peasant lives or dies?” She crossed the distance between them and thrust a closed fan under his chin, stopping short of his throat. “I care more for his life than I do for yours right now,” she said, examining the growing whites of Zoryu’s eyes. “Let me make myself perfectly clear. You live on top of what I control. Your islands are surrounded by my waves. You fill your very lungs at my discretion. So if I hear any news about ‘Yun’ being executed, you will truly learn what it’s like when the spirits forsake you in the face of the elements.

Some of my friends in the other nations would argue that, on occasion, truth and beauty must be defended with ugliness. They would claim a gardener who nurtures a flower so others can enjoy it bloom for a few moments must spend much time with their hands buried in dirt.” Kyoshi would have chosen a less pleasant word than dirt. “What do you believe then?” Jinpa smiled sadly. “I believe I have to make peace with my own choices, just like everyone else.” The tint of pain in his expression reminded her too much of Kelsang for her to believe Jinpa was at complete peace with himself. Outsiders enviously and condescendingly assumed Airbenders lived in a state of innocent bliss, but that didn’t give the monks and nuns enough credit for their inner strength. From what Kyoshi knew, belonging to the wandering nation meant a constant struggle with your own morals against the world’s.

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.” Well, Martin, old colleague, old chum, you’re carrying the cross and suffering the pangs, but are you any closer to becoming God? Or do you just feel like some poor idiot who’s had a three-meter javelin shoved through his belly, feeling cold steel where your liver used to be? It hurts, doesn’t it? I feel your hurt. I feel my hurt. In the end, it doesn’t matter a damn bit. We thought we were special, opening our perceptions, honing our empathy, spilling that cauldron of shared pain onto the dance floor of language and then trying to make a minuet out of all that chaotic hurt. It doesn’t matter a damn bit. We’re no avatars, no sons of god or man. We’re only us, scribbling our conceits alone, reading alone, and dying alone.

we need tragedies. They teach us. We learn from them. Without tragedies, our hearts do not commit to avoid future ones. Without tragedies, many of our hearts would not turn to others, open up to them. And without tragedies, we do not have heroes, for they are not formed without great conflicts.

All right then. In that case, I only have one question.” Kyoshi cast her gaze around the room. “Are you sure this is all of you?” The Triad members glanced at each other. Mok’s face swelled with rage, reddening like a berry in the sun. It wasn’t insolence so much as pragmatism, her instinct for tidiness and efficiency rising to the surface. “If not, I can wait until everyone arrives,” Kyoshi said. “I don’t want to have to go back and check each floor.” “Tear her apart!” Mok screamed. The hatchet men charged from all directions. Kyoshi drew one of her fans. Two would have been a bit much.

My friend Kira always said that life is like an extremely difficult, horribly unbalanced videogame. When you’re born, you’re given a randomly generated character, with a randomly determined name, race, face, and social class. Your body is your avatar, and you spawn in a random geographic location, at a random moment in human history, surrounded by a random group of people, and then you have to try to survive for as long as you can. Sometimes the game might seem easy. Even fun. Other times it might be so difficult you want to give up and quit. But unfortunately, in this game you only get one life.

I’m sorry for saying you had to live with your pain.” Kyoshi put her palm to his chest in a gesture of comfort. “Because you won’t.” The cold she sent through his body formed a tunnel of ice between his ribs. It happened so fast, and with so much force, the moisture in the air behind him turned to frost. His back sprouted vaporous wings of crystal that disappeared just as quickly. With his heart and lungs frozen solid, Yun fell to the side. Kyoshi took the hand with which she’d killed one of the two people she’d loved and placed it against the wound of the other. Water. She needed more water. Her tears of light weren’t enough.

friend Kira always said that life is like an extremely difficult, horribly unbalanced videogame. When you’re born, you’re given a randomly generated character, with a randomly determined name, race, face, and social class. Your body is your avatar, and you spawn in a random geographic location, at a random moment in human history, surrounded by a random group of people, and then you have to try to survive for as long as you can. Sometimes the game might seem easy. Even fun. Other times it might be so difficult you want to give up and quit. But unfortunately, in this game you only get one life. When your body grows too hungry or thirsty or ill or injured or old, your health meter runs out and then it’s Game Over.

My friend Kira always said that life is like an extremely difficult, horribly unbalanced videogame. When you’re born, you’re given a randomly generated character, with a randomly determined name, race, face, and social class. Your body is your avatar, and you spawn in a random geographic location, at a random moment in human history, surrounded by a random group of people, and then you have to try to survive for as long as you can. Sometimes the game might seem easy. Even fun. Other times it might be so difficult you want to give up and quit. But unfortunately, in this game you only get one life. When your body grows too hungry or thirsty or ill or injured or old, your health meter runs out and then it’s Game Over. Some people play the game for a hundred years without ever figuring out that it’s a game, or that there is a way to win it.

Outside, the floorboards creaked from the weight of a person walking, as if complete silence were a cloak the enemy could wear and discard at will. The treading of heavy boots came closer and closer. The doorway filled, blacking out the faint light from the hall, and a tall, incredibly tall, figure stepped inside. A thin line of blood trickled from its throat, as if it had been beheaded and glued back together. A dress of green silk billowed underneath the wound. Its face was a white mask, and its eyes were monstrous streaks of red. Trembling, Kuji raised his blade. He moved so slowly it felt like he was swimming through mud. The creature watched him swing his sword, its eyes on the metal, and somehow, he knew it was fully capable of putting a stop to the action. If it cared to. The edge of the dao bit into his opponent’s shoulder. There was a snapping noise, and a sudden pain lashed his cheek. The sword had broken, the top half bouncing back in Kuji’s face. It was a spirit. It had to be. It was a spirit that could pass through walls, a ghost that could float over floors, a beast impervious to blades. Kuji dropped the handle of the useless sword. His mother had told him once that invoking the Avatar could safeguard him from evil. He’d known as a child she was making up stories. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t decide to believe them right now. Right now, he believed harder than he believed anything in his life. “The Avatar protect me,” he whispered while he could still speak. He fell on his behind and scrambled to the corner of the room, blanketed completely by the spirit’s long shadow. “Yangchen protect me!” The spirit woman followed him and lowered her red-and-white face to his. A human would have passed some kind of judgment on Kuji as he cowered like this. The cold disregard in her eyes was worse than any pity or sadistic amusement. “Yangchen isn’t here right now,” she said in a rich, commanding voice that would have been beautiful had she not held such clear indifference for his life. “I am.

My friend Kira said that life is like an extremely difficult, horribly unbalanced videogame. When you're born, you're given a randomly generated character, with a randomly determined name, race, face, and social class. Your body is your avatar, and you spawn in a random geographic location, at a random moment in history, surrounded by a random group of people, and then you have to try to survive for as long as you can. Sometimes the game might seem easy. Even fun. Other times it might be so difficult you want to give up and quit. But unfortunately, in this game you only get one life. When your body grows too hungry or thirst or ill or injured or old, your health meter runs out and then it's Game Over. Some people play the game for a hundred years without ever figuring out it's a game, or that there is a way to win it. To win the videogame of life you just have to try to make the experience of being forced to play it as pleasant as possible, for yourself, and for all of the other players you encounter in your travels. Kira says that if everyone played the game to win, it'd be a lot more fun for everyone.

My friend Kira always said that life is like an extremely difficult, horribly unbalanced videogame. When you’re born, you’re given a randomly generated character, with a randomly determined name, race, face, and social class. Your body is your avatar, and you spawn in a random geographic location, at a random moment in human history, surrounded by a random group of people, and then you have to try to survive for as long as you can. Sometimes the game might seem easy. Even fun. Other times it might be so difficult you want to give up and quit. But unfortunately, in this game you only get one life. When your body grows too hungry or thirsty or ill or injured or old, your health meter runs out and then it’s Game Over. Some people play the game for a hundred years without ever figuring out that it’s a game, or that there is a way to win it. To win the videogame of life you just have to try to make the experience of being forced to play it as pleasant as possible, for yourself, and for all of the other players you encounter in your travels. Kira says that if everyone played the game to win, it’d be a lot more fun for everyone.

It had been decided long before she was born that power was adequate compensation for losing what she most held dear. But what was the point anymore? What did the generations have to offer her but sorrow and pain? All she knew as she rocked back and forth, cradling the girl she loved in a lullaby of grief, was that if Rangi was taken from her, she would no longer be Kyoshi. She would no longer be human. She would be forever on the other side of the rift, among the swirling colors of the void she’d glimpsed in the Spirit World, watching humans from afar, a terrible and alien presence.

Kelsang used to say there was pain and joy in all things, often when trying to comfort Kyoshi about her earliest years in Yokoya. During her visit to the Fire Nation, Kyoshi had been thrilled each time she discovered another little cache of information about Rangi, like unearthing another bit of treasure. But under the shine was life, grubby and dirty and impossible to burnish. She would take it anyway. Along with everything else about her girl, no matter how unexpected or painful. It took every ounce of her willpower not to lean over and give the Firebender a forbidden kiss on the top of her head.

An innocent man was going to die, and the whole world down to the victim himself was whispering in her ear to stand back and let it happen. Kyoshi’s shriek started low in her stomach and filled her body. It was a sound of pure and total despair. The country would be saved. Her side had won. The guards rounding the corner were thrown back by her cries of anguish, the ghost tearing itself free from her lungs. Yun’s impostor, so ready to die, shuddered away from her howls like they were curses. Kyoshi screamed in the darkness, over and over again, her hatred for the world and herself spiraling into oblivion.

I no longer hold the title for worst breach of manners in the Four Nations,” Kyoshi said. “And I am never, ever going to let you forget it.” Rangi reached over and took her hand. Red scars traveled down Kyoshi’s wrist in wavy, branching patterns like the veins of a palm frond, a token from when she’d fought the lightning. “For as long as you live?” Rangi asked solemnly. Kyoshi smiled and nodded. “For as long as I live.” Rangi pressed her lips to the healed skin on Kyoshi’s knuckles. The kiss sealed a promise to always give each other a hard time for the rest of their days. If Kyoshi held any longing for the past, it was for those simpler moments when she was Rangi’s greatest and only headache.

against the velvet rope force fields that kept everyone without an invitation at bay. As I walked toward the entrance, the crowd bombarded me with a mix of insults, autograph requests, death threats, and tearful declarations of undying love. I had my body shield activated, but surprisingly, no one took a shot at me. I flashed the cyborg doorman my invitation, then mounted the long crystal staircase leading up into the club. Entering the Distracted Globe was more than a little disorienting. The inside of the giant sphere was completely hollow, and its curved interior surface served as the club’s bar and lounge area. The moment you passed through the entrance, the laws of gravity changed. No matter where you walked, your avatar’s feet always adhered to the interior of the sphere, so you could walk in a straight line, up to the “top” of the club, then back down the other side, ending up right back where you started. The huge open space in the center of the sphere served as the club’s zero-gravity “dance floor.” You reached it simply by jumping off the ground, like Superman taking flight, and then swimming through the air, into the spherical zero-g “groove zone.” As I stepped through the entrance, I glanced up—or in the direction that was currently “up” to me at the moment—and took a long look around. The place was packed. Hundreds of avatars milled around like ants crawling around the inside of a giant balloon. Others were already out on the dance floor—spinning, flying, twisting, and tumbling in time with the music, which thumped out of floating spherical speakers that drifted throughout the club. In the middle of all the dancers, a large clear bubble was suspended in space, at the absolute center of the club. This was the “booth” where the DJ stood, surrounded by turntables, mixers, decks, and dials. At the center of all that gear was the opening DJ, R2-D2, hard at work, using his various robotic arms to work the turntables. I recognized the tune he was playing: the ’88 remix of New Order’s “Blue Monday,” with a lot of Star Wars droid sound samples mixed in. As I made my way to the nearest bar, the avatars I passed all stopped to stare and point in

Yo sé de un laberinto griego que es una línea única, recta. En esa línea se han perdido tantos filósofos que bien puede perderse un mero detective. Scharlach, cuando en otro avatar usted me dé caza, finja (o cometa) un crimen en A, luego un segundo crimen en B, a 8 kilómetros de A, luego un tercer crimen en C, a 4 kilómetros de A y de B, a mitad de camino entre los dos. Aguárdeme después en D, a 2 kilómetros de A y de C, de nuevo a mitad de camino. Máteme en D, como ahora va a matarme en Triste-le-Roy. —Para la otra vez que lo mate —replicó Scharlach— le prometo ese laberinto, que consta de una sola línea recta y que es invisible, incesante. Retrocedió unos pasos. Después, muy cuidadosamente, hizo fuego.

Doom, meanwhile, had a long-term impact on the world of gaming far exceeding even that of Myst. The latest of a series of experiments with interactive 3D graphics by id programmer John Carmack, Doom shares with Myst only its immersive first-person point of view; in all other respects, this fast-paced, ultraviolent shooter is the polar opposite of the cerebral Myst. Whereas the world of Myst is presented as a collection of static nodes that the player can move among, each represented by a relatively static picture of its own, the world of Doom is contiguous. As the player roams about, Doom must continually recalculate in real time the view of the world that it presents to her on the screen, in effect drawing for her a completely new picture with every frame using a vastly simplified version of the 3D-rendering techniques that Eric Graham began experimenting with on the Amiga back in 1986. First-person viewpoints had certainly existed in games previously, but mostly in the context of flight simulators, of puzzle-oriented adventures such as Myst, or of space-combat games such as Elite. Doom has a special quality that those earlier efforts lack in that the player embodies her avatar as she moves through 3D space in a way that feels shockingly, almost physically real. She does not view the world through a windscreen, is not separated from it by an adventure game’s point-and-click mechanics and static artificiality. Doom marks a revolutionary change in action gaming, the most significant to come about between the videogame’s inception and the present. If the player directs the action in a game such as Menace, Doom makes her feel as if she is in the action, in the game’s world. Given the Amiga platform’s importance as a tool for noninteractive 3D rendering, it is ironic that the Amiga is uniquely unsuited to Doom and the many iterations and clones of it that would follow. Most of the Amiga attributes that we employed in the Menace reconstruction—its scrolling playfields, its copper, its sprites—are of no use to a 3D-engine programmer. Indeed, the Intel-based machines on which Carmack created Doom possess none of these features. Even the Amiga’s bitplane-based playfields, the source of so many useful graphical tricks and hacks when programming a 2D game such as Menace, are an impediment and annoyance in a game such as Doom. Much preferable are the Intel-based machines’ straightforward chunky playfields because these layouts are much easier to work with when every frame of video must be drawn afresh from scratch. What is required most of all for a game such as Doom is sufficient raw processing power to perform the necessary thousands of calculations needed to render each frame quickly enough to support the frenetic action for which the game is known. By 1993, the plebian Intel-based computer, so long derided by Amiga owners for its inefficiencies and lack of design imagination, at last possessed this raw power. The Amiga simply had no answer to the Intel 80486s and Pentiums that powered this new, revolutionary genre of first-person shooters. Throughout

think the sword couldn’t at least slow an avatar down to get away?” Barabus stood up to go to his cot. “Then we shall just have to try and reason with it, I suppose.” “Yes, because words so often win out over swords,” Iskerus said sarcastically.

Zoryu shrugged, a gesture that looked strange when performed by the leading figure of an entire country. His sturdy shoulder pads weren’t designed for ambivalence and almost swallowed his head as they rose upward.

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.

That might just be the fangirl in me that fell in love with Prince Zuko instead of Sokka from Avatar: The Last Airbender. I've got a thing for the bad guy.

She could hear Jianzhu laughing in her ear. Or maybe it was Kelsang weeping over the loss of his daughter, her betrayal of his example.

She surged forward and grabbed Zoryu by the shoulders. Manhandling the Fire Lord was probably punishable by death, but right now Kyoshi could only see a scared young person whose weakness was going to get everyone killed. She saw herself. And she hated it. “You have to be stronger,” she said. She could have been talking into a mirror. “We have to be stronger. Our opponents in this game are playing for blood and they’re willing to break every rule. We have to break a few as well.

There’s a saying among the destitute of the Ba Sing Se Lower Ring,” Kyoshi said. “The ones who are so poor that if they find a copper piece in the street, they take it straight to the gambling dens and the numbers rackets, because a single coin won’t make a difference in their survival. ‘You either accept the risk of winning, or the guarantee of losing.

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.

The rest of the soldiers attacked. They were the royal elite, undoubtedly selected from the best of the best to serve in the palace. But Kyoshi was the Avatar. And she still had a free hand.

It felt like she was decaying with each step, flakes of her peeling away to reveal hollowness underneath. She was a layer of dried paint surrounding nothing.

At some point, almost overnight, everyone started talking about the metaverse. It was suddenly treated like the Next Big Thing, even though most of the central blocks of the metaverse (digital twins, iCommerce, Business-to-Avatar advertising, etc.) have been around for years. To make things worse, it makes no sense to me to see a bunch of experts talking ABOUT the metaverse in a 2D environment. It's like talking about the Internet possibilities over a fax machine.

Interoperability is the biggest challenge for brands trying to enter the metaverse. The risk of betting in the wrong m-world and being left empty-handed in five years is real. Interoperability of platforms is not a prerequisite for the metaverse, but without it, we'll end up working in silos with the same (disastrous) Web 2.0's paradigm. We must make sure that environments, objects, avatars, NFTs, avatar skins, etc. can be moved from one platform to the other. I should be able to play Axie Infinity, sell my Axie on OpenSea, get paid in Ethereum, buy an avatar skin in Minecraft, and then wear it in Decentraland. That's the central concept of decentralization (and the core idea of Web 3.0). Are we there yet? Definitely not.

Let me make myself perfectly clear. You live on top of what I control. Your islands are surrounded by my waves. You fill your very lungs at my discretion. So if I hear any news about ‘Yun’ being executed, you will truly learn what it’s like when the spirits forsake you in the face of the elements.

No Avatar is ever the same person. You and the flame change with every moment, every generation. YOU are one flame, and you are many." The sounds pouring forth from Nyahitha turned into echoes of themselves, an overtone, a reverberation. They lost their meaning and found their weight. "One and many. You are the flame. One out of many, one and the many.

A sexier version of the Mortal Kombat theme song plays in the background of my mind while my Madame Kink avatar cheers at the new level I’ve gained. Purchase of whips, chains, handcuffs and a black leather one piece now available. But wait, there’s more. That sneaky little bastard gift with purchase is there, too. A ball gag!

You took me from the crystal, the first gate to the source, and dragged me to into the abyss. You sought to eclipse all knowledge of light from my soul, so that I would become your dark god. But Sofia…” and here he paused with a smile. “Don’t you understand that by showing me the dark of the Tree, you made me into the perfect avatar of the Shamir? The true king must have knowledge of both light and dark. You gave me this.

Love could sometimes be a weakness. Mercy could sometimes be cruel.

She gave her hand a twist, and the wall locked itself into a spiral as tight as the petals of a flower in the cold.

Gone was the stifling humidity of the coast, replaced by a warm, pliant breeze. The ocean rolled and foamed beneath them, a layer of confection spread as far as the eye could see. The only thing ruining the flight was the company.

The Avatar always wanted to stay in the unknown.

I hope our depiction of Pandora and Earth’s infiltration of that world in A2 and the other sequels will not only entertain but also cast light on the urgent choices humanity faces as we look to the environment and our collective future on Earth.

La ficcionalización del documental Entre las estrategias que usan los documentales para asemejarse a las ficciones están: Dramatizaciones: a falta de material audiovisual del hecho relatado, se recurre a actores y actrices para interpretar lo que sucedió. El documental Chuck Norris vs. Communism (Ilinca Călugăreanu, 2015) está construido en muy buena parte por dramatizaciones de los hechos que tuvieron lugar tal como son recordados por los sujetos del filme. Reencuadres y retakes: las entrevistas y ciertos sucesos para los documentales pueden repetirse, en caso de que cierto ángulo o posición de la cámara resulte más atractivo, o para tener la cantidad suficiente de tomas en la edición: se le pide al sujeto que vuelva a servirse comida, o que diga de nuevo alguna frase en voz alta, de modo similar a los retakes en las películas de ficción. Animaciones, representaciones de sueños, fantasías, alucinaciones: ante la incapacidad de conseguir material audiovisual, se recurren a animaciones o distorsiones de la imagen y el sonido con tal de representar cómo se sintió/vio desde la subjetividad del personaje. The Nightmare (Rodney Ascher, 2015) cuenta el problema de parálisis de sueño que de manera crónica sufren los sujetos, y sus pesadillas son relatadas por medio de animaciones y distorsiones de la imagen (ralentización, filtros de colores, sombras digitales, etcétera). Música para dramatizar: a pesar de que el diseño de sonido en los documentales es visto como algo de poca manipulación, es cierto que en otros documentales puede resultar enormemente significativo para ambientar o dirigir los hechos (en documentales sobre músicos, como Gimme Shelter, Charlotte Zwerin y Albert y David Maysles, 1970); y en otros casos, es la música la que dirige el montaje de las imágenes (como la famosa saga inaugurada por Koyaanisqatsi, Godfrey Reggio, 1982). Esta segunda alternativa produce una espectacularización de la edición, y con ello, de la construcción artificial del mundo a través de ella con un interés emotivo-dramático. En general, el uso de recursos narrativos estructurales (arcos narrativos, clímax, turning points, suspenso, sorpresa): para mantener interés en el relato, como tener una pregunta guía al inicio y responderla hasta el final; u ocultar la verdadera identidad o relación con los hechos de un personaje, como en el documental Life 2.0 (Jason Spingarn-Koff, 2010), donde poco a poco, con la manipulación de la luz, se va revelando el aspecto físico de la persona con el avatar de niña que pone bombas en plazas comerciales de Second Life.

What people are saying about WAR EAGLES ​5 out of 5 stars! WW2 with a dash of fantasy! I really enjoyed stepping back in time as the race for air travel was developing. One could truly feel the passion these pilots and engineers had for these magnificent machines. The twist of stepping back into a land of Vikings and dinosaurs was very well executed. Well done to both the author and the narrator. ​ Reminiscent of Golden Age Sci Fi This audio book reminded me of some of the 40's and 50's era tales, but what it happens to be is an alternative timeline World War II era fun adventure story. Think of a weird mash-up of a screw-up Captain America wanna-be mixed with the Land of the Lost mixed with Avatar where Hitler is the real villain and you might come close. At any rate, it's load of good fun and non stop action. But don't get distracted for a minute or you'll miss something! There are american pilots, Polish spies, Vikings, giant prehistoric eagles and, of course, Nazis! What more could you ask for to while away an afternoon? Our hero even gets the (Viking) girl! Put your feet up an get lost in what might have been.... 4 out of 5 stars! it's Amelia Earnhart meets WWII This is not an accurate historical fiction book, but rather an action-packed book set an historical time. I normally listen to my books at a higher speed, however the amount of drama and action in this book I had to slow it down. I like the storyline and the narrator however, the sound effects throughout the book did kind of throw me since I'm not used to that and most audible books. still I would recommend this is a good read.​ 5 out of 5 stars! I Would Like to See this on the Silver Screen Back in the late 1930s, the director of King Kong started planning War Eagles as his next block buster film. Then World War II intervened and the project languished for decades. It helps to know this background to fully appreciate this novel. It’s a big cinematic adventure waiting to find the screen. The heroes are larger than life, but more importantly, the images are bigger and more vivid than the mighty King Kong who reinvented the silver screen. And what are those images you may ask? Nazis developing super-science weapons for a sneak attack on America, Viking warriors riding gargantuan eagles in a time-forgotten land of dinosaurs, and of course, those same Vikings fighting Nazis over the skyline of New York City. This book is a heck of a lot of fun. It starts a little bit slow but once the Vikings enter the story it chugs along at a heroic pace. There is a ton of action and colorful confrontations. Narrator William L. Hahn pulls out all the stops adding theatrical sound effects to his wide repertoire of voices which adds a completely appropriate cinematic feel to the entire story. If you’re looking for some genuinely heroic fantasy, you should try War Eagles. Wonderful story War Eagles is a really good adventure story. ​5 out of 5 stars!

So let’s go down another level of niching and call our product…. “Time Management for B2B Outbound Sales Reps.” Following the same principles of specificity, now we know our sales people probably have very experienced deals and commissions. A single sale would easily net this salesman $500 (or more), so it would be easy to justify a $499 price tag. This is already a 25x increase in price for almost an identical product. I could stop here, but I’m going to go one step further. Let’s just niche down one last level…. “Time Management for B2B Outbound Power Tools & Gardening Sales Reps.” Boom. Think about it for a second, if you were a power tools outbound sales rep, you would think to yourself “This is made exactly for me” and would happily fork over maybe $1000 to $2000 for a time management program that could help you achieve your goal. The actual pieces of the program may be the same as the generic $19 course, but since they have been applied, and the sales messaging could speak so much to this avatar, they will find it more compelling and get more value from it in a real way.

He was endless. Powerful. Unstoppable. An avatar of rage and destruction.

As Kyoshi lay there, she could feel the gift Kuruk had given her. The battle between the previous Avatar and Father Glowworm had left identifying scars on both parties, marks carved so deep as to be permanent. She and Yun were inheritors of that legacy. She could tell where he was. It was a faint presence, flickering at this distance, but it had direction. She knew if she reached for him, extended the flow of her spirit, she could follow him to his location. He'd likely tracked her through the Fire Nation using the same method. They were each other's beacons, two torches in the darkness. And he'd used that connection over and over again, to make her suffer.

She didn’t have the right to lose herself in her rage and let it take her to oblivion.

Didn’t expect to be an avatar today myself, but that’s what I get for not eating breakfast.

They were simply good people.

Lesser Avatar of Nidhogg Nidhogg, the serpent that gnaws on the World Tree’s roots, was the first Planeswalker. His powers started as the ability to store Yggdrassil’s root and earth in subdimensional spaces. After absorbing enough of the great tree’s power, he transcended into a four-dimensional being with the power to move freely through space but not time. As a lesser avatar, the wyrm is no Planeswalker but has the power of spatial creation and manipulation. Until she masters her powers, the wyrm can only create sub-dimensional, vacuum-filled spaces. Sucking living entities into the space will satiate her almost endless hunger and add to her intelligence. However, a small mana pool limits how often she can use the ability. Would

Instead of adapting, their leaders clung to power and strove instead to be the last ones to starve to death. The Mayan civilization in South America did the same, and I expect our own civilization will do likewise. The people behind the modern global economy will prevent any meaningful change until it’s too late.” The avatar looked to Sebeck. “But the question that needs to be answered is whether civilization’s inability to adapt is a failure of leadership—or an unwillingness in humanity itself.

Because his men wanted to bite, fuck, and eat. The captives represented something for his men: They were avatars of a poisoned and progressive world. Educated, which meant they were against hard work, against blisters on your hands, against calluses on your feet. Science-minded, which meant they were against God. Experts, which meant they were liars. Diverse, which meant they were against the supremacy of whiteness. To his men, to the Creel Coalition, the captives were the reason the world fell in the first place. Creel told them so. Said this was the CDC. This was where White Mask was made, and released. A bioweapon. A leaked plague. Devil-born, evil-endorsed.

So, super crazy,” Carol said. “I really can’t even think of the right way to express this. Take the craziest thing you know of, dip it in crazy batter, fry it in crazy oil, dip it in crazy sauce, chew it all up, and that would not be as crazy as this.” She paused, tapping her finger on her chin. “No. That didn’t quite do it. But it did make me a little hungry. Doesn’t crazy batter and crazy sauce sound mouthwatering together?” “Wait,

Super toad!” Carol said. “What?” “I was trying out another expression. Instead of ‘holy cow,’ maybe you can just pick any adjective and any animal and it would work.” “No, I don’t think so.” “Dancing piglet!” Carol whispered a little louder. “Oh, it totally works. Bloated antelope! Ugly barn owl! Hippie hedgehog! I’m going to have to write these down.” “Shhhh,

What?” Carol said. “You think I just crack under pressure?” Abby thought she could see a dramatic increase in Carol. She got it. “Well, it was a lot of pressure,” Carol blurted, her voice rising. “Like super pressure. Pressure like the heaviest thing in the world on top of me, plus three hundred elephants, two hundred walruses, and several of those super fat cats whose owners don’t stop feeding them—that kind of pressure. And they all ate extra donuts for breakfast.” “I

Derick twisted the keys, and the quaking Bridge calmed down. “You’re crazy. You could have gotten killed.” “You are a rock star,” Carol said. “Seriously, I need your autograph.” Abby

They made me snarl like an angry dog, these companies who paid a great deal of money to shut me out of their world and

If what you say is true...If i really am your mother...Then I'm sorry I didn't love you ENOUGH.