tirsdag 6. mars 2018

Adapting to change without a revolution.

On March 6th, 1918, the Finnish Army Corps of Aviation was established as a forerunner to the Finnish Air Force, with the first plane donated by the Swedish explorer and aviator Eric von Rosen.

A hundred years later, R./Nomi signed off, with some reluctance, the first experienced and personal polyamorous experienced befit of the writer of this blog. Yet it is not a time of mourning for the readers.

Details won't be shared. French chocolate won't be handed out.

Today is a day of sorrow, regret, and acceptance, tempered with respect and serenity. No matter what else it would bring before you, remain respectfully, please. Thank you, in advance, for your courtesy.

You may not know of what I speak. You may know of what I speak.

But remember - sometimes silence and comfort prevails.

My regrets are mine, and as such my mistakes. Blame nobody else for failures that does not belong to you, nor heartaches you should not take upon yourself lightly.

Ya lublu tebya, minikin.
Jeg elsker deg, V.
I love you, my little Tori.

Until we meet again.

fredag 2. mars 2018

Cannons, cinnamon and Cicero.

What dishonor can Sweden, France and Germany share?

They were all stopped by a Pyrrhic victory, courtesy of General Frost.

If you don't know either of these terms, I'm ashamed of you and your knowledge of history.

Betterment is, after all, a process, not an achievement.

Mars is laughing at us, isn't it? And where's Venus? Hiding, I pressume - not that there's anything wrong at hiding from hideous laughter, if you're able to.

And thus, the moon take her rightful place in the sky as cannons sounds, accompanied by fluit and drum, dark tunes of victories long past, reminding of us the future and the perils of absolute power.

A solemn tombone, a haunted tuba and a rather inisting trumpet - three instruments beginning with the letter Tango (but not the dancing form, mind you) - would all but cime in another musical piece of shine and proclaim the future.

Alas, such a fate is bleak: there are no cinnamon left.

Now practice the NATO phonetic alphabet, as of 1956 and present, please - you might need it sooner rather than later.

...wait, Civero? Oh, for... just google Skyrim, would you?!