Kamen Rider Vulcan somehow reminds one of Iron Man, and I’m pretty sure I’m not alone on this. His henshin sequences (esp. Vulcan’s first henshin and Rampage’s first henshin) reminds of Tony Stark’s suit up scenes, the round chest part in Assault Wolf also is vaguely similar to Iron Man’s core reactor.
So I guess i wouldn’t be surprised if Naki becomes Fuwa’s Jarvis of sorts...
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you know, much as i like my friend he does come out with the stupidest shit sometimes. example, tonight during the regularly scheduled furious, fuming rant about the adult baby currently throwing a tantrum because someone won't give him his building blocks, he interrupts my monologue to say this, "the american election choices shouldn't have come down to an idiot and the most corrupt person in history", and it's like boy. really? you're going to stand there, knowing that we both have a fairly in depth understanding of history and say that?
I was recently told that if I’m jealous, then it means that I feel like I’m replaceable and that I should find a relationship where I don’t feel that way.
How when feeling replaceable stems from the simply need for human touch? I have never been so lonely in my life than I have lately and it hurts so bad I can barely get out of my own bed to deal with my life, let alone ‘find a better relationship’ as if they’re ripe for the picking.
As a result, I often find myself asking a lot ‘Am I even wanted?’ Or ‘Who would even want to be near me, let alone talk to me?’
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It becomes a parallel reality because I feel parallel realistic. It has a flow, and its own - unique in its way - logic, but from a step back, from a slight, momentarily taken distance, you can see that it doesn't quite fit. It doesn't however completely have its own route, its own autonomy. It just seems to be me that it's slightly off course. So I suppose that means that it's not a parallel, not even close to the power and autonomy of a parallel, but it;s just a seemingly sloppy or slightly hyperactive version of the original. It will always depend on it, be magnetized by it and within it's attempts to become it;s own, it will only keep on staggering on either sides, collide with it, become just another disappointing and predictable shadow of it. And let's also mention the unfortunate frequency of the use of the word reality. Lack of a better invention. For reality can be only one, and the rest can be called knowledge or acknowledgment. So anything slightly over the boundaries of this, slightly dancing with its strictness is a priory exiled. So reality isn't the right word either. So since the first two words of this session were so poorly chosen doctor and the rest of my time has been spent declining them, why doctor did you let me ramble on for so long?
It seems that sometimes it is impossible to stop moving and stand still for more than merely moments. Other times again it seems to be a bliss to sink into one of those moments, which slowly stretches, and time passes by differently. And then, the melody starts, and everything has a soundtrack, and everything divides itself into scenes, putting me automatically in the position of director, actor and audience. I create, deliver ans interpret. And then, the concept of film seems much more attractive. My own, small, private cinema.
I found myself sitting in such a combination of romanticisms doctor, that I dare say the description can only sound cheesy. Within an enormous contradiction of scale, among the towers and the skyscrapers, the christmas lights and the last minute shopping frenzy, I stumbled upon a bar nearly completely hidden behind a heavy structure of scaffolding, covering the whole front view of the building. Considering it might be closed, with the place being empty other that the barman reading his newspaper behind the bottles and food, I opened the door and asked if I could go in. Within a few seconds I had occupied a small round table in the corner with a large glass of red wine in front of me, and of course 'algo para picar'. Half brick, half tiles, the walls were decorated with mosaically tiled pictures. This, combined with the many but low lights and the velvet red chairs gave everything a church vibe -however not an unpleasant one, making one feel slightly smaller and find themselves whispering, if talking at all. Classical piano music turned slowly into a light waltz and combined with the warmth of the wine, bubbled into a warm mesh of air, liquid and textures.
