Starry thoughts

color only comes by that invisible bark

of thought that winds away into a fantasy.

Ever since I came here i knew you were like me,

living only for that vibrant slice

squashed ever smaller as we grow ever older

and the toil required to survive sucks away

hour upon hour upon hour

when all we want is time to escape

back into a story.

Don't you want to live in a story?

where magic runs deep in the

veins of the world,

sparking lights in the woods and

fire in your belly

and every day the great flying beasts soar over

looping into and weaving down the gales

screaming for the sheer rush of it,

where the light comes shining down

growing the green things up

and food and laughter and

good drinks spread all over

and the road runs up over the horizon,

where at every pass some monster

waits to wrestle the life from your bones?

Don't you almost want it—

some terrible evil to overtake the land

crush the people?

Then you will see them—the resilient few

when everyone else surrenders,

nay, glady surrenders

and slip into a dull existence,

forgetting the weightier things—

then they stand against the world, their light

is suddenly visible now that darkness has

encompassed everything else

and in the inevitable resulting faceoff—

the resilient are scattered.

Surviving, yet not enough

to save the world.

Surviving impossibly,

as though some silver thread of Fate

beyond mortal knowledge bound

back the darkness from utter destruction

in a silent promise that

Hope is yet to come.

It always starts with a foretelling,

some word repeated from the dawn of time,

someone is coming to deal the death-blow

Specifically,

this is how you will recognize them,

this is the place they will be born,

these are the powers they will reveal—

powers that reach beyond all magic

discovered up to this point,

this is the kingdom they will inherit

(because the Hero always comes

from some forgotten line of kings),

and the elders of the resilient pass

down the message for age on age until

the young ones begin to wonder

if there is any truth to this sort of thing at all.

And yet—for all that—

nobody recognizes them when they come.

They are too poor,

too ugly,

too uneducated,

too unheard of—

yet quietly, almost without effort,

every syllable, every pause of the prophecy

works itself into their life, as if

some silver thread of Fate had been waiting

forever for this moment.

Then impossibly great power of the darkness

fully manifests—blinding even the resilient,

so busy trying to save the world

that practically none of them pay their Hero

any attention whatsoever,

and those who do are stupid, clumsy, timid,

frighteningly disloyal

all together more of a hindrance than a help

so in the final inevitable faceoff

when the Hero prepares for the

ultimate confrontation of the forces of evil

even they abandon him,

and the Hero goes alone

and dies.

It can happen in stories.

You know the tropes—the hero's journey,

taken by the one with a thousand faces,

the corn king

who dies every year but comes around again

in the spring, bringing life with him.

It is just when the forces of evil think

they have got rid of him

and turn to wipe out the world forever

that he rises and deals that

foretold, final blow to them

sending shockwaves backward and forward

through the fabric of time itself

binding anything the darkness

ever did or will do

by that silver thread of fate that winds back and

stems from his God-like power,

and as the dust settles slowly on the

armies of the world

those among them with

eyes to see the spiritual

look upon him and behold the

face of resplendent Deity—

what wonder—

Obi-Wan is the amazing pilot who doesn't like to fly. The master swordsman who has no idea that he's a master swordsman. He's a Jedi Master with a spot on the Council, and he still deals with imposter syndrome. Other masters present him to the younglings as the ideal Jedi, and he doesn't even know it. He has no thought of his own glory, he just does whatever task he's given and wants to do it well. He does what he can, leaves the rest to the will of the Force, and he's a great Jedi.

Anakin is far and away the most powerful Jedi there's ever been--he's the strongest, the fastest, the most brilliant pilot, the most daring swordsman--and he knows it. So he thinks he deserves honor and authority and a place on the council, and it galls him when he doesn't get it. Being the best Jedi, to him, doesn't mean being the one who best lives up to the ideals, but being the strongest. And he's strong, and only getting stronger, and he needs to be strong enough to save everyone, because that's the only thing he can rely on. It's no wonder that he falls, because all his greatness is driven by fear and pride.

one angsty viking boy coming right up ✋

Say hello to team thunderblade.

And when i notice one of them my eyes will always start to roll.

The diction's always slurry when they rush the complicated words, and adding many fricatives will turn it so cacophonous. The slanted rhymes are silly and they keep just making more and more, please someone stop the parodies of modern major general.