"That one gets a little blasphemous," he muses. "Imagining past the death of angels."
Rumi had style. Maybe it was the mysticism— made all the religion tolerable.
Pause. Consider. Mm, what the hell. Daniel follows him. (As if he wouldn't? He tells himself it wasn't guaranteed. It can't be. Armand didn't know he'd follow, or else he wouldn't have to invite him, even wordlessly.)
The city is always packed, it's always busy. A couple of unconvinced, marginally rude attendees fade into obscurity while an ocean of minds and bodies open up, all awaiting assessment for their potential. Daniel is more familiar with video games than the average seventy year old, owing to a combination of nostalgic tolerance based on youthful enjoyment of arcade machines and time sunk in to topics around violence in media. He thinks of the way people decry anything with harm done opponents made out of pixels arranged to look like humans, other living things, the slaughter of which is seen as nothing more than a thing to do to receive experience points.
He also thinks about the movie Gerry when he thinks of video games, but that's like, whatever. A funny thing his brain does, because it's all ridiculous. The point is: converting living beings to an inanimate resource. Thinking nothing of it. Pixels. Mortals. Different from him. He thinks of Louis. Why is a fox less than a human. Why did he tap the woozy Slavic guy's neck like a heroin user lifting a vein, a dismissive and vulgar routine, but fix himself to Armand's throat like it was a lifeline?
"Pretend you're me." Oh, another one of these. "And pretend I want to pick off skeptics. Where do I put the line? What's the most minor offense that still ranks?"
Daniel does not sounds like he thinks this is a morally deep question. He sounds like he thinks it's darkly funny to joke about.
no subject
Rumi had style. Maybe it was the mysticism— made all the religion tolerable.
Pause. Consider. Mm, what the hell. Daniel follows him. (As if he wouldn't? He tells himself it wasn't guaranteed. It can't be. Armand didn't know he'd follow, or else he wouldn't have to invite him, even wordlessly.)
The city is always packed, it's always busy. A couple of unconvinced, marginally rude attendees fade into obscurity while an ocean of minds and bodies open up, all awaiting assessment for their potential. Daniel is more familiar with video games than the average seventy year old, owing to a combination of nostalgic tolerance based on youthful enjoyment of arcade machines and time sunk in to topics around violence in media. He thinks of the way people decry anything with harm done opponents made out of pixels arranged to look like humans, other living things, the slaughter of which is seen as nothing more than a thing to do to receive experience points.
He also thinks about the movie Gerry when he thinks of video games, but that's like, whatever. A funny thing his brain does, because it's all ridiculous. The point is: converting living beings to an inanimate resource. Thinking nothing of it. Pixels. Mortals. Different from him. He thinks of Louis. Why is a fox less than a human. Why did he tap the woozy Slavic guy's neck like a heroin user lifting a vein, a dismissive and vulgar routine, but fix himself to Armand's throat like it was a lifeline?
"Pretend you're me." Oh, another one of these. "And pretend I want to pick off skeptics. Where do I put the line? What's the most minor offense that still ranks?"
Daniel does not sounds like he thinks this is a morally deep question. He sounds like he thinks it's darkly funny to joke about.