There's more to living than only surviving Maybe I'm not there, but I'm still trying Though you hear me I don't think that you relate My will is something That you can't confiscate So forgive me, but I won't be frustrated By destruction in your eyes As you're staring at the sun

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3 years ago

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guardians of a bygone era. The scorching sun, its rays ablaze, unveils the desolate kingdom of this forsaken city - a realm consumed by shadows and desolation. Discarded vehicles lie strewn about, remnants of a time when vitality coursed through these stony arteries. Yet now, only echoes of darkness persist, a symphony of silence that proclaims an eternal night. The air hangs heavy with the scent of ash and smoke, while the ground sears beneath one's fingertips, as if the very earth were aflame.

The vegetal beast towers above you—an amalgamation of ancient wood and living energy, its form shifting almost imperceptibly as it moves. From your vantage point, the creature resembles a twisted, organic skyscraper covered in luminescent growths that pulse in perfect unison with the surrounding forest. Massive "limbs" extend from its central core, branching like old-growth trees, each supporting secondary growths that end in those probing filaments.

[Introducing Alan Tricia Infinite's stunning collection of watercolor masterpieces] A 53,000-year-old exotic alien palace has been discovered on the toxic salt planet Minerva, located in the distant LHS 1140 system. Constructed using the white rocks of the Valley Soranara, the palace houses intricate metal statuettes resembling unknown octopoid creatures. The Descended Mazing faction has invested heavily in the research, and quantum imaging reveals underground tunnels converging on the palace. S

With growing desperation, rough hands set about the rote ritual. Fragrant beans surrendered to grinding teeth and pounding stone, remnants scattering upon the dank air in aromatic puffs. As smoke swirled with inherent portents, a raging heart stirred restlessly. Within the crude lair, imaginings of ruin floated on the fumes of percolating darkness. Scrawls upon stolen parchment told of enemies to vanquish and towns to despoil, but the unseen Taskmaster's demands loomed. Lips curled back in a sou

The unceasing night spoke. She grew something as your lungs cold enough to make every breath an assault, grim veins of bare oblivion threading your every thought. Clarity to her: purest cold cut, black silence unwilling to slow your air. Your symphonic descent flourished. Being ancient, she stiffened spirit, own will still pulsing underneath of howling skin and towers thrust upward through the murk. Your belongingness froze; for a moment balanced silence. The gods struggled. There sat shattering

The structure, cloaked in mystery and history, stands stoically within the tranquil ocean, mirroring the resilience of the ancient world. These ancient sites, steeped in the shadows of forgotten empires, demand meticulous documentation and study to unlock their secrets. In the untamed lands of the Cimmeria region, where relics of lost kingdoms face the ravages of nature and the relentless march of time, the need for precise as-built documentation services is paramount

[Renaissance, a Sir] Who was I? Where was I?… The landscape was totally unknown to me, even my body was unfamiliar. What forces brought me here? I searched my mind for memories… There was something there, but it was too clouded… A name… I scanned the horizon. A distant structure rose out of the mists. As evening approached I came upon an enigmatic oasis with a fountain.

The island becomes a tapestry of intrigue and possibility, its secrets beckoning Raquel to push further, to delve deeper into the heart of the unknown. She encounters advanced machinery that hums with a symphony of purpose, its intricacies unraveling before her in a mesmerizing display of ingenuity. Each discovery fuels her determination, propelling her forward with an insatiable thirst for answers. As the pieces of the puzzle fall into place, Raquel's understanding of the island's purpose solid

The deadline looms as the unearthly music swells around me. Another mysterious tale takes shape amid the flickering lights and scrapes of stone on stone. What monsters will crawl from the recesses of my mind this time? Mama Yaga's watching, as always, from her crooked hut in the grim forest. I can feel her beady eyes peering through the gloom, waiting to see what images I will weave with pen and ink. The pressure builds, a familiar intruder, but inspiration remains elusive. The radio spirits off

$Your belonging and in that your joint built your world. The last spark stiffened red as thin glass reached down. Whole the terror spilling, towers caved and stitched themselves within there. The whole symphonic descent, fractured spirit still. The will, the bludgeoning and brooding silence pulsed still and your presence of your calling remained in your thin space of skin, bit-ignorant. Ice ache. You sit still, sunk below opened prose, grinding. Tracks of decay shattering frost and hardened shado$