[Further Forthcoming]
#branischiaz - informational
#braiz - text
#onez - audio
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lingua_ignota
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Cosimo Galluzzi

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祝日 / Permanent Vacation
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Misplaced Lens Cap

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[Further Forthcoming]
#branischiaz - informational
#braiz - text
#onez - audio
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lingua_ignota

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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im taking on the signals of the world im feeling ffhe signals and sounds from it im taking it in in seeing it from orbit i can see it all l
i like girls. i like them so much that the whole idea of "being in love with a specific girl" sounds incoherent to me, i can't even picture it because i love girls in such a fundamentally transcendent way that my love for a particular girl would, at least ideally, have to eclipse the love i feel for girls in general. right? otherwise isn't there a risk that, should things go bad between you and that specific girl, that you'll be like "oh... hmm, turns out i just don't really like girls" and as a result you just... don't? like girls anymore? doesn't that seem like a posssible pitfall of trying to make a specific girl your girlfriend? it seems really worrisome to me, but i also know that i try to do things with my relationships that do not necessarily make sense or are possible for other people
a rendition
It's Christmas, season of charity, selflessness, hope, and joy! The Empress has a gift prepared for her subjects, something they've been asking for—more or less politely—for years:
A republic!
The new constitution is all drafted up! The military will be reformed! Every ship in the harbor is flying the new colors. The streets are packed, sooty faces upturned in disbelief as the Empress speaks from her balcony.
Every man and woman, free and equal!—Her Majesty says grandly.
Now, about her "abdication"... the Empress pauses for effect, grinning madly. She whips the pistol from her belt, shoves the barrel up under her chin, and crack, and
oh God, she's tumbled from the balcony, and
thud.
a rendition
A pair of used nitrile gloves hit the biohazard bin. The veterinarian sighs, reties her hair, starts spraying down her exam table. The rote act dredges back the memory of doing the same thing in another place, another life. That room had windows, she's pretty sure.
The door buzzes and thuds. Another guard with another chunk of wetware, lead by the neck, dizzy on the comedown. "Table," she says without looking, jerks her thumb. Body thumps, plastic crackles. The pilot realises where it is and starts to kick.
She takes a scruff grip on the cold sweat-slick skin, shoves the diagnostic plug into the spinal port. The thrashing cuts dead. Wasn't enough time to sanitise the plughead for this one.
Twitch, twitch.
Oh, well.
a rendition

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The rain mixes my fresh blood into the dirt. I know they'll tell you that my last words were something brave, not the orders they had to hear me repeat. No one is here to watch me die.
My grip slackens and my rifle falls. The fixed bayonet parried by mud. No one is here to listen when I say that you fell first.
a rendition
getting court-martialed for your amusement
Her Majesty likes to play the high-stakes tables.
And when a woman is in the business of sending ten thousand men to the front, or tumbling a colony into famine, with a pen stroke, money isn't stakes enough anymore.
The card table no longer satisfies. Now it has to be the counsel table. Something about looking the defendant in the eye gives her the thrill that the roll of a die no longer can.
Maybe the footage does show the defendant abandoning her post, but can the Crown demonstrate proper chain of custody over that body camera? Can it? I don't think so!
Don't mind how the Empress licks her fangs and leans over the table, two hands planted firmly amid spilling papers. Don't mind how she presses her thighs together and wiggles excitedly every time there's a setback. She's here to fight like hell for you.
Her Majesty will get one of you off, in any event.
a rendition
"No ma'am. The backup array has confirmed it. The chain of command is headless. Enemy first strike was totally effective."
"..."
"...ma'am, we've all read the handbook. Your position is ceremonial at this point. You have to give the launch order."
"..."
"Yes, ma'am, millions dead, the entire continent uninhabitable, the revolution has failed. Respectfully, get it together and let's kill some damned fascists on our way out. Give the fucking order."
Red-faced and snarling, Darcy reached for her sidearm. Her second-in-command outdrew her. There was blood on the wallpaper.
"..."
"Shut up! Shut up about the light of humanity! If you had moral issues with this post you should have said something before the end of the world! Read the fucking order into the fucking radio, comrade!"
Darcy couldn't feel her one good arm.
"..."
"Gladly, ma'am. And until today I'd have said I'd be proud to follow you there—God, what a way to get your heart broken. This is why they say not to fall for your superiors, right?"
"..."
"...you never figured it out, ma'am? Truly? Well, I'm sorry you had to find out this way."
Blood on the carpet.
"All stations, this is VADM Braucher. VADM Braucher. The Admiral's dead. You all know what the handbook says—"
a rendition
dolls keep giggling at it when it calls them 'miss.'
well! please forgive this one, its lady, for highly esteeming the work it does! this one prostrates before it and repents for its delinquence, blessed and peerless implement!
...will that one require any help carrying its things, honored vessel?
(USER WAS DISMEMBERED BY SISTERS)
(USER WAS PUT IN A CUTE LITTLE PURSE AND THAT PURSE PUT IN A WASHING MACHINE)
a rendition
true love is found within the woman who poisons your wine, who tenderly holds your head as you shake and shudder
true love is a woman who tenderly strokes your cheek, who takes you to bed, and brings you wine in bed, just as poisoned, so you can stay a moment longer with her
a rendition

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INSTRUCTIONS FOR OPERATION OF C.C.S.-ISSUE BATTERY HOMUNCULUS ("ANNIE CANISTER")
Screw type-23 homunc. tin firmly onto issued canister (listen for 'crack'/'hiss' of seal) (fig. a). Connect to donor via standard arcanist's cable (fig. b). On exposure to live ether, the tinned homunculus will germinate, producing a quantity of ether sequestration tissue. Mass of adult type-23 homunc. is proportionate to ether supply -- DO NOT overfill canister (fig. c).
Once filled, store battery in cool, dry environment to maximise shelf life. Dispose of spent battery by burial of sealed canister (min. depth 6 Imperial feet) or discreet incineration of contents. Avoid involvement of non-R.A.C. personnel in disposal procedures. In event of exposure to t-23 homunc. tissue or fluids, scrub thoroughly with anti-bac soap.
a rendition
She doesn't want you to know this, but She's psychologically incapable of ignoring or diminishing any heartfelt praise of Her name.
so long as you continue: Her athame will rest at distance, and begloved hands sit in clasp.
but the candles will not gutter out, nor blade's silver shine diffuse.
now She may tolerate any repetition of "you're perfect"s until your throat runs out of wetness. personally though, i expect you to be professional and maintain your artistic integrity throughout.
a rendition
I provide dignity in death.
I never ask why. Anyone who makes the difficult journey up the mountainside to my ranch and has walked through my statue gallery has already proven that they know their own mind.
One-legged veterans and wasting academics and broken-hearted lovers come to see me, and I show them my pieces. Suits and silks, dresses, gemstones: pay and I will make you your most beautiful self, tailored to the last degree.
Then, when you've swayed in front of a full-length mirror and told me, as they always do, that everything is perfect, utterly perfect, we go down to the lakeside and you feel my hands on you, gently posing you. Hold it. Just like that.
Now, if you're ready, open your eyes. Look in mine and it will be over, painless and quiet. You will be the beauty that no one else was grateful enough to see in you. Your shoulders will be proud and high long after the ones who beat you down like this are worm food.
The world has no hold over you. It has no hold.
a rendition
nobody tells you this but you can get a job as the little fairy that helps put together model ships and stuff. yeah they shrink you down. it's a really hard and scary process but it's the only way to get all those fine detailsn
a rendition
itty bitty kitty titties four times fast
a rendition

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Local artist, hungry, desperate, sells her soul to "bring about the better world." Shrewdly insists on a guarantee of satisfaction in the contract.
Devil agrees, gives her the reins of a bloody uprising, to her outrage. Months of campaign follow, in moments of stress she fondles the amulet that holds the contract: if dissatisfied, snap the chain to return herself and the whole world to the moment before the signing.
She never does.
In the better world, she is a carpenter. Much must be rebuilt.
When she is old, the devil steps over her threshold, and remarks on the children at play. Don't congratulate me, she says, I'm no mother. Those are my neighbors' children. We share the load around here.
Satisfied? he asks; yes, she says. Then it's time to give the amulet back: contract fulfilled. She leaves an older child in charge of things, goes to her room, to the back of her closet, for her old uniform.
The jacket ill fits now. The radio earpiece is just for show.
Do you have it? he asks; no, she says, and hands the devil a shovel. Come with me. Out to the graveyard. Dig, boy.
I wanted out so many times, she says, to snap that chain and go back to the negotiating table and say not like that, you lying son-of-a-bitch, I wanted peace. But everyone all around me really believed. That red-black flag meant everything to those poor saps.
The shovel hits wood.
So, she says, when my love took one in the chest, I didn't go back. I knelt with her in the rubble and I pressed that damned charm into her hands, and I asked her if she'd go back if she could.
The devil looks up from the digging and finds her staring him down. So, she says, guess who's still got it? Go fetch, boy, then you fix up this grave when you're done and you go back to hell until I'm dead and it's time for you to collect. We have no further business.
And the devil thinks, maybe the jacket does fit her after all.
a rendition (latter post only)
understand what you are simplifying. layers of muscle, overlapping and bent around structures- it's a wonder strings suffice. what is dead wood to living bone? feel the difference. you've lived in a body, yes? what do you build, when you try to simulate it? how does it feel to be in a body?
a rendition