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Corvus Robotica @Corvusheart@mastodon.social

Plato said "let there be angles", and there were angles. Plato saw that the angles were good, and he separated the tetrahedron from the cube

The pines were roaring on the heights,
The wind was moaning in the night,
The fire was red, it flaming spread,
The trees like torches blazed with light.

Русский чай - лучший чай

Snow. A pot of tea. A mountain of russian salad.

Good winter day.

No matter what snowy country you're in today Northerners are mocking southerners for their childlike joy and anger emotions towards snow.

I may have a walk in the heavy snowfall. I fancy Russian Salad and I have everything but the mayo.

Verden går til Helvete, tralala
Må me snu om det skal ende bra?
Som en vis mann til meg en gang sa
Pakk dine trix og stikk av i morgen den dag
Men før du drar, tralala
Fortell dine venner om i morgen
Finns det en kur? Abra kadabra!
Verden går til Helvete, trala
Til Helvete, tralalala

A feature article in our local newspaper about an 8-year-old girl who wrote to the editor, asking that the newspaper start running her favorite comic: Phoebe and Her Unicorn (en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phoebe_a)
The newspaper did the right thing. They said, yes (and will replace Beetle Bailey ... finally) and then connected the girl to the comic artist (Dana Simpson, a transgender artist), and shared the written Q/A between fan and creator. Come on. I love that! mastodon.social/media/tqW6hKcI

I have started muttering "Just as the prophecy foretold" under my breath anytime something inconvenient happens and apparently it is upsetting people.

Just as the prophecy foretold.

Morning, today is slow awakening, like emerging from a pond of syrup. Why were you in the pond of syrup to begin with? You don't know.

My whole body could fit in the beak of her fifteen times over, but she clamps the tip delicately over the ankh, it disappears and a door by her wing opens.

it's time. It's time.

*opens hearthstone*

kobolds and catacoooombs

"What will you pay?"
The voice sounds like any other human, neither ominous nor soothing.

The necklace I always wear tightens around my neck, it's the only thing I have that sparkle save two pounds in my pocket, I take it off. The ship bows her giant head towards my form, her eyes, of which I can only see one, is a lens contracting and expanding, beyond I glimpse shades floating from one corner to another in a mimic of a human crew.

I hold the necklace up to her, a silver ankh.