New year, and the ring
Happy New Year, for anyone reading the blog post lately. I mean, today is quite hectic, but I think I will need to resolve the old discussion on philosophy and politics back there. But for now, perhaps there is hope in describing of the new year’s date, of what to be in Halo, of the Human-Covenant war. Might as well be something of the game I just purchased, that is.
Despite which human is overburdened from technological superiority, numerical advantages, of overwhelming unity of the theocratic empire, upon which the Covenant treats us as nothing but pest to be contained or eradicated, per the Prophet’s words, such is the fate of humanity to fight on despite knowing the end is near. Or rather, to fight against the closing night. Every loss comes with haunting reminders of what to be paid. Every victory comes with desperation. Every motion meets with resistance. Every ship shot down reminds of those fallen by the side, engulfed by the cold hard truth of space, to spare a single round onto the abomination that shred below of what used to be called, ‘home’, into the fragrant glass. Every bullet strikes hard, of which every single enemy feels like a wall to bypass. Of those memories left behind of those people you once know, in the desperate last stand where hopes come for escape to be possible, yet to see them sacrifice for you to escape, knowing that another time, until refuges are still there, you might be the next one to pass the torch on the glowing candle among the darkness, to among which finally comes of the time. Where of this endless space giving no place to go. To fight in such, knowing of the desperation, of another day surviving not by rhetoric of the far land heroes, but the boring passing between times. To bear such pain of which shakes to the core, is perhaps what to be respected. Or rather, of the dread in between but melody of resolve. Quiet. None shall see this death, but the world itself to keep on. For those ventured into the dark and never return, gathered in parts, etched to existence.
For years to come, until we finally be there of the place we saw of fictions. Perhaps this year would be the last stand of those of the old, and the young to partake. Let’s hope it turns out well.
What is said of the fragrant glassing is per meaning, the disturbance of which experiences are there to take hold. Sometimes, destructions come of the beauty otherwise is felt deeply in thematic. Under those flowers once bloom, there is a tragic story underneath. Such is life, and more so of the desperation felt in the genocidal war where nothing remains.