Do you want to permanently delete this comment?
This text may contain very explicit scenes and is not suitable for younger readers. Are you old enough and willing to read this text nonetheless?
Choose your ingredients and mix a Cocktail for you and your friends.
Hier findet ihr nützliches Zubehör für Rollenspiele.
Einfach einen Würfel auswählen und das Ergebnis erscheint im Chat :)
The next time you want to go shopping on Amazon, you could do it with this link:
Amazon for Belletristicans
(Only works for amazon.de at the moment)
... because if you get to Amazon via Bellatristica, we get up to 10% of the value of your shopping cart, without making it cost more.
The same thing works from everywhere on Belle, no matter if it's a book recommendation in our Blog or an Amazon link in a profile.
Everything we earn this way, will be added to Belletristia's development budget.
Thank you very, very much! :)
- Ben & Sebastian
She purchased her first thing of weed in a long, long time. And
turned her already existing sense of reality, into a darker tunnel into a
darkness beyond all darkness.
It was two gloves, one a traditional fingerless glove. The other a makeshift glove from a wrist guard bandage. The traditional fingerless glove carried a set of thumb drives and a keychain flashlight. The other one, carried a traditional razor blade for shaving. Rana preferred the use of disposable razors. She carried these as a means of self-defence, the blades flying like shooting stars in a midnight sky. She also reclaimed her passion for throwing knives, although she had not made any major effort in trying to find them. She remembered how her old best friend would make her ramen noodles on the electric stovetop. He would say how the first thing to do as a ninja was to get a balanced dinner, then joked that although ramen wasn't nutritious, at least they tasted well enough. It was a few days before his young cousin would wear her crocs to the swimming pool, decked out in black. Rana at the time would fantasize about her in robotic monochrome skirts, masturbating nightly on the couch whenever she visited.
Many years have went by since Rana had met with him. He had done something stupid to get himself three years probation, and now received a special extra level of surveillance beyond the standard ubiquity. She wondered whether she would have the nerve to throw her ninja stars at him, or give into the flow of the bedsheets, being caressed on the neck. October came and went, and month by month after Rana felt quite spent. And now she lived with perpetual shin splints because of her increasing weight issues. Her mother constantly taunting her about needing to lose a few. But perhaps this was one respect Rana was not quite lazy, and no matter how much she ate she seemed to somehow continue to gain weight.
She masturbated to girls tap dancing and doing figure eights in roller oxfords, as she invited them over to suck her penis under the glow of the L.E.D. light, and reading pages from Neuromancer by William Gibson. And the night turned off in lurid sequence, and the wind whistled lullabies in one's ears. For it was great to have a real girlfriend after all these years. But at the end of the day the girl she loved was strictly imaginary, and not like the plentiful fish one can find in the ocean of the city streets. Rana also didn't want to go land fishing, prefering the midnight hours over the morning misery. Blizzards, rain, solar storms, it was all the same to her. As nobody what the weather would be like, there was only a couple of places in town she really liked to visit. She hoped the store was more temporary, but this was definitely no sure thing. She wanted to take a cute anime girl under her wing for a permanent fling. Yet now all she could do was hesitate sing, listening to the awful sounds of city streets. There was no rush on any told day, and she always had some level of panic attacks and anxiety, no matter how faint or subtle. Minute ones were worse, as nobody would no why you fell.
Yet now looks at the news, and sees people talking about Grenfell. She didn't care about anything anymore.
But she was polite enough...
Rana finished the Luna Browser, and integrated it with the Brainnode system Rana finished the Luna Browser, and integrated it with the Brainnode system. She wanted to build an artificial personality, an extension of herself, capable of entering inside the computer. This would enable her to hash, shred, and remove files that she never considered important. She wanted to also extend such functionality into her public key cryptographic system. A private Key required two rather large floating point numbers that formed it, and the public key was both numbers multipied together in order to create the public key, was that was to encrypt the text that would be sent across inter web systems. She devised a method of using such public key cryptographic keys only once, and using such keys across the sneaker net. Such keys would be traded and used in a digital economy, but unlike Bitcoin, would be valued based on Perfect Forward Secrecy.
This system of Perfect Forward Secrecy, would protect meat space correspondence so that if intercepted they can only ever retrieve the public key and not the private key with a different key-pair every time they communicate on the wire. They would use it to exchange links to various contraband websites that sold digital cryptographic systems. The primary difference between contraband and a band of contra was who held the criminal assets, and Rana was her own personal asset. She refused to work for any government or corporation, prefering instead to be her own boss in this brave new world called the digital wild west, now emerging since the beginning of the elimination of Net Neutrality. She belonged to a particular class of electronic deviants, that had no criminal ties to their past, and not arrest records of having gone to protest event, except for the brief history where she was in Washington joining Satanic Temple campaigns to end the uniting of Church and State. She was dismayed by the idea that so few Satanists had actually used Public Key to secure their personal assets. Such as various photos of them going to specialized events. Rana had already deleted the photos from her phone, although in the back of her mind she wondered whether they were collected at some point in order to be shown in a database.
She had went through the town that played as a city, with city lights in her face, wishing for some end to the physical pain in her legs as she walked through the sidewalks, seeing children's chalk sketches melting and fading away in the drops of rain. She reveled in her own profanity, yet self-censored beyond what most would feel comfortable in public. But she had more about herself that she needed to censor, such as certain aspects of her own sexuality, that she had been able to find for multitudes of years. She would go to Coffee shops, and see ladies in Birkenstocks, under the glow of L.E.D. lights. She perfected the suppression of her sexual desires down to a new art form. Yet unloaded in her studio flat. She made Lasagna with her mother to satisfy her belly fat, and slept while being awake writing bad attempts at children's stories while drinking tobacco tea, meant more properly to kill roaches, because she felt she was not beyond reproach.
But her mom was different.
Mom felt she needed a dietary coach.
If one could sense one person's body language, then one can sense the cry of the planet. Like a million voices shouting at once, yelling. The strangling, and it's not different realities but different layers of our own few may notice. A collection of different individual's body language forming a kind of narrative dissonance, where reality itself is unsure quite of what it once to be. Something completely understood, yet paradoxically is to complicated to understand. Something far more strange than the matrix is afoot, something marching forward in lock step. One can feel the world, dying in it's fading breath.
Rana had known she was an INFJ for a very long time, although her last room mate was unsure how scientific the concept was, yet here her room mate was, talking about a specific variant of transhumanism as Rana spent her time coming to grips with her own rape and kidnapping. The complete abolition of her bodily autonomy, while her room mate, far different than her Alien room mate, talked about eventually eliminating human mortality. For what it was worth, her then room mate didn't believe in reincarnation as well. Her desire to continue to live forever was driven by the eventual realization that we all will eventually die. And Rana, as smug as she was on the surface, had already come to grips with her own death; she had been planning it every since she had graduated from high school in 2007, and after the memory of herself fading into oblivion from her classmate's mind. She wanted her life to take a sudden rewind, after a slow kathartic release of the venom in her veigns, the complete worship of her own prickly sensations, as she slowly takes the last few gasps of her life.
It was the Spring of 2006, when she had met a girl in her classroom. She was one of those students where one wouldn't normally expect her to go to detention, and was generally well behaved. She saved most of her general disobediance to the world of the inter webs. Yet it was that particular moment, when she decided to kiss the girl, that her life went into a permanent downward spiral. Her self-esteem gradually withering into something thinner than powder. Her parents said she always danced to the beat of her own drummer.
And yet everything became silent.
As silent as the wind.
She was the tree nobody heard.
To leave a comment, join us withoror via email.