Hac intellegentiae artificialis aetate, urgens fit humanam artem ab iis distinguere, quae machinis efficiuntur. Ars enim et ea, quae machina ex innumeris alienis imaginibus statisticae ope computationis generare potest, ontologice, prius etiam quam aesthetice, inter se differunt. Algorithmis humani deest favilla. Quapropter Ecclesia cum artificibus et humani cultus institutis foedus renovare cupit: foedus scilicet ad humanum custodiendum.
I don’t know about you all, but frankly I’m insulted by the notion that my vote this November could be bought for 5k. Not to mention the inflation this would cause. All things considered, I cannot in good conscience accept a penny less than 10k!
Thomas Massie is going NUCLEAR on Trump’s regime change war in Venezuela.
“How did it work out in Cuba, Libya, Iraq, or Syria?”
“Do we want another Afghanistan in the Western Hemisphere?”
“This is about oil and regime change.”
Rhea, I would embark on a nightmarish journey to the forbidden burial sites of The Ölde Ones and fight my way through 5000 fathoms of liquid hell for the chance at besting ÖOrgradryl, The Bastion of Agony himself, and obtaining The Scroll of The First Scholar, just to construct a lexicon diabolical enough to convey the things I’d be willing to do for a single bead of your sweat sealed by unholy magick in an impregnable vial.
They’ll tell stories of the man foolish enough, daring enough, to tackle such a daunting odyssey. They’ll sing songs of my heroism. Philosophers will argue the ethics of my cause. They’ll erect statues in my honor, and tear them down in my shame. My single, solitary, linear vision will redefine determination as it is known in the world. The people of this mortal plane will know purpose on a scale hitherto incomparable. They’ll tell tales of Rainey, the undying. The ghoul. The Revenant.
And it won’t be until I’ve completed this mission that my soul will finally know peace.