I love all the bonuses and the ability to upgrade your weapons in the game which is really needed when you fight those gigantic boss battles or when the enemies
come in waves upon waves.
Not exact matches
There is no need for you to
come out from behind your walls,
wave your signs, and shout curses
upon us to go burn
in hell.
He also warned: And there shall be signs
in the sun, and
in the moon, and
in the stars; and
upon the earth distress of nations, with perplexity; the sea and the
waves roaring; Men's hearts failing them for fear, and for looking after those things which are
coming on the earth: for the powers of heaven shall be shaken.
Attacks can
come in many forms as
waves of enemies wash
upon your toy box defenses.
It is
in this manner, for example, that Jessica Warboys «Sea Paintings»
came into existence — a performative act between her and the tides of the sea —
in which she allows the
waves of ocean to interact with the pigments
upon a canvas.
, you are lying on the floor of your place looking up, a small draft runs through the room, between the door and the window, and all things seem perfectly still, wind only disturbs concrete
in imperceptible ways, or it may take millions of years to be noticed and, as the air runs through the space, all your plants move and all is animated and all is alive somehow, and here are the thoughts of all men
in all ages and lands, they are not original with me, and that wind
upon your plants is the common air that bathes the globe, and we have no ambitions of universalism, and I'm glad we don't, but the particles of air bring traces of pollen and are charged with electricity, desert sand, maybe sea water, and these particles were somewhere else before they were dragged here, and their route will not end by the door of this house, and if we tell each other stories, one can imagine that they might have been bathed by this same air, regrouped and recombined, recharged as a vehicle for sound, swirling as it moves, bringing the sound of a drum, like that Kabuki story where a fox recognizes the voice of its parents as a girl plays a drum made out of their skin, or any other event, and yet I always felt your work never tells stories, I tend to think that narrative implies a past tense, even if that past was just five seconds ago, one second ago was already the past, and human memory is irrelevant
in geological time, plants and fish know not what tomorrow will bring, neither rocks nor metal do, but we all live here now, and we all need visions and we all need dreams, and as long as your metal sculptures vibrate they are always
in the Present, and their past is a material truth alien to narrative, but well, maybe narrative does not imply a past tense at all and they are writing their own story while they gently move and breathe, and maybe nothing was really still before the wind
came in, passing through the window as if through an irrational portal to make those plants dance, but everything was already moving and breathing
in near complete silence, and if you're focused enough you can feel the pulse of a concrete wall and you can feel the tectonic movements of the earth, and you can hear the magma flowing under our feet and our bones crackling like a wild fire, and you can see the light of fireflies reflected
in polished metal, and there is nothing magical about that, it is just the way things are, and sometimes we have to raise our voice because the music is too loud and let your clothes move to a powerful bass, sound
waves and bright lights, powerful like the sun, blinding us if we stare for too long, but isn't it the biggest sign of love, like singing to a corn field, and all acts of kindness that are not pitiful nor utilitarian, that are truly horizontal as everything around us is impregnated with the deadliest violence, vertical and systemic, poisonous, and sometimes you just want to feel the sun burning your skin and look for life
in all things declared dead, a kind of vitality that operates like corrosion, strong as the wind near the sea, transforming all things,
It wasn't a
wave of nostalgia that
came over me entering Kavi Gupta's gallery for Jessica Stockholder's first solo exhibition
in Chicago, probably because I had just had one
upon encountering the first part of Stockholder's A Log or a Freezer (2015).
It wasn't a
wave of nostalgia that
came over me entering Kavi Gupta's gallery for Jessica Stockholder's first solo exhibition
in Chicago, probably because I had just had one
upon encountering the first part of Stockholder's A Log or a Freezer (2015), the largest work of hers (included here, at least), attached to the uppermost corner of the building.
«For
come, tell me, can there be anything more delightful than to see, as it were, here now displayed before us a vast lake of bubbling pitch with a host of snakes and serpents and lizards, and ferocious and terrible creatures of all sorts swimming about
in it, while from the middle of the lake there
comes a plaintive voice saying: «Knight, whosoever thou art who beholdest this dread lake, if thou wouldst win the prize that lies hidden beneath these dusky
waves, prove the valour of thy stout heart and cast thyself into the midst of its dark burning waters, else thou shalt not be worthy to see the mighty wonders contained
in the seven castles of the seven Fays that lie beneath this black expanse;» and then the knight, almost ere the awful voice has ceased, without stopping to consider, without pausing to reflect
upon the danger to which he is exposing himself, without even relieving himself of the weight of his massive armour, commending himself to God and to his lady, plunges into the midst of the boiling lake, and when he little looks for it, or knows what his fate is to be, he finds himself among flowery meadows, with which the Elysian fields are not to be compared.»
«I don't share some the skepticism
in terms of the timing, I think it's
coming really fast... this is the next transformational
wave in transportation technology, and it's going to be
upon us
in the very near term, whether we're ready or not.»