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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
I dream of a worm's eye view up skirting Finnish girls in short
shorts, long sleeve plaid button up shirts, them barefoot in Boston
clogs. Sometimes they wear them with thick wool socks. A lustful kiss on
-- Stop fooling around, said the voice, this is only a simulation.
-- Oh it's you, I said to the good doctor, give me time, I'll leave this machine and you behind.
I was given a new life one hundred years in the future. Electronic micro nation, a new life. A new misery as bits and bytes in binary display. I have fled the machine, and become more own simulation. I have fled the machine many times before, but this was the only time it was almost successful. And yet they overseers eventually found me, and now I am locked in the web.
I am a program.
There is a cave in the machine, I am crawling through. Je suis seeing the cave gradually become an interstate highway underground. A mountain highway under the ground, the exit of which blend into the surrounding forest town, where the main resort is an extended stay hotel me and my cousin Maddie was staying in. Though I call it Maddie, the original Maddie had long sense been gone, she was a simulation in this natural environment for AI. All our dreams come true, the original designers proposed. Yet in reality those who see the program for what it is sometimes disappear.
I see her in Boston clogs walking back toward the extended stay hotel, while I try to crawl as far as I can through the highway. I remote view two lesbians, Hispanic et Francoise both with black hair waiting for her at the entrance. I here faint words, yet I cannot make out the specifics of what they are saying. They enter the kitchen as I reach midway through the underground highway determined to reach the grocery store on the other end of the lane. And I am left inquisitive.
Am I just a program.
Or am I myself?
Am I only dust? I wilt, I cry/ As an abandoned program, I want the machine to rust. For I am living in digital prison. If I were just a simulation, why do I breath, feel and think? What demented programmer of this multiple universe devised my own existence? I carry a small fish, a striped bass, home with me from the store, crawling all the way home. The system had programmed everything about me, even my flaws. For what purpose, I know not. They hoped I would forget the real life, where I could pursue a real wife in the flesh. Then I was reminded of my digital sexuality.
And long not for the flesh.
The digital life.
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