Zeer's Soliloquy.

Trying a new, smaller way to get a peep of my thoughts about media out without having to write a long post, welcome to the first Zeer's Correspondence. Dear Reader, I bought this game a month ago but I have not finished it yet, not for lack of quality, no, but for an abundance of it. Since I cannot think of a better term, I am writhing horrified through the game, afraid of what is in store after experiencing first hand… how much it can stir unpleasant feelings in me. I have just passed the first instance of Michel and the White Haired Girl, the one that comes Jacopo and his whole maddening door, and while that one surely disquieted me… Door two, or rather the one with the beast, tore me up inside so badly I had to take a break from it all. Pardon my French but Holy shit, that whole series of events, it really affected me in a way I did not expect. It was not as if it was wholly unexpected, I did pick up on the fact we had two stories concurrently running, and of course how they h...

What is love? Here is a weird one, a reflection on what I think love is. To start, and bear with me, I think we should define what love is not. Love is not hate, it is not hurting them who you love, and it is certainly not jealousy. But what is hate, what constitutes hurting who you love, and what is the basis of jealousy? They say hate is only a step from love, that you can hurt those you love without thought, and that jealousy only has so much leverage because of love. Is love the springboard? It cannot be thus, for love is obviously not these things. How can love become so cruel and bitter? Perhaps love is the exception to logic, perhaps it is the anomaly of human thought, that which stands on a precipice between madness and joy. In this regard, love must be tied to ambition, and like ambition love is human. Not a thing alive knows the ambition of man, nor his love, but also man destroys and takes; scorches the Earth and what lives on it for his own benefit, his ambition. There we f...

  Rose Blanche - Poem Collection IV Of Roses and Me ～～～～～～～ Actually by: Zeerdank ～～～～～～～ And us, who were and still are, the rose. Our poems are stained in blood; our love endures. Such is our way, we know not of anything else. - Rose Blanche ～～～～～～～～～～【ℛ】～～～～～～～～～～ I -  Hell is for the Stars Hell hath no blazing fires, Nor doth it ev’ell sires, Dost all stars preach to choirs? The sky to them dares lacking, Not fit to be their backing, Their idol is that tyrant Morningstar. I… see that stars dost fit hell, Their selfish brightness shows well, On the dark skies of ev’ell. What then is hell to fear of, If brill’ant stars declaim love- -And praise the black eternal hellish sky? ～～～～～～～～～～【ℛ】～～～～～～～～～～ II -  An Ancient Dismays What an intriguing sight, That even gods can cry… And by to cry, can they then die? Or is the world still theirs? For should the onus lay on them, The horrid acts of men. Doth that give them the cause to weep like so? Tears, for one, at least of them...