NO ainda não está traduzido. Mostrando PT por enquanto.
Just something I needed to write down. Maybe it’s silly, but… I don’t think so. Last night, while gliding through Ashenvale in owlform, I stopped moving. Not because I lagged. Just... stopped.
I hovered above the trees, thinking about Teldrassil. About how something can be alive and vibrant one day, then smoke the next. In-game, yes. Just code and pixels. But grief leaks through — from fiction into skin.
The world lost our home. And Blizzard moved on.
My guild makes jokes. We dance in Darnassus’ ruins sometimes, like ghosts. We cast healing spells on burned ground. It doesn’t fix anything. But it feels like something.
I main a druid. I am a druid. I wear leaves and claws and healing dots like armor.
Sometimes I think that’s what all druids do — try to heal what can’t be healed.
Anyway. I should log off and do my real-life homework. But this matters too.
May Elune guide you, even if you don’t believe in her.
IRL bag today:
In-game bag:
I’m not okay in either realm. But at least my boots have +15 agility in Azeroth.
If you know, you know. If you don’t… roll a toon and find out.
Just off the Neuse River Greenway, beside Horseshoe Farm Park in Wake Forest, NC, there’s a slope—recently draped in straw matting, its surface stitched by the long shadows of overhead wires. A scene meant for erosion control, not contemplation. And yet… it feels like something else entirely.
Like the courtyard of a forgotten palace. A waiting place. A world paused.
It reminded me of Ico, that quiet, luminous game where light leaks through broken stone and time feels suspended. Its visual mood seems born from Giorgio de Chirico’s metaphysical plazas—empty, endless, hushed—and from Tropic of Cancer (1945) by Ramsès Younan, whose painted stillness carries the same breathless tension.
Fumito Ueda, the game’s director, once said he aimed to build a world “forgotten by time.” You can feel it, in the architecture. In the air.
And maybe that’s what this image is too: just a roadside scene. Or maybe, the opening frame of a dream you almost remember.
G. de Chirico, Arrivo del trasloco, circa 1965. Source: Fondazione Giorgio e Isa de Chirico
A un costado del sendero Neuse River Greenway, junto a Horseshoe Farm Park en Wake Forest, Carolina del Norte, hay un talud—recientemente cubierto con mantas de paja, su superficie cosida por las largas sombras de los cables que lo atraviesan. Una escena pensada para el control de erosión, no para la contemplación. Y sin embargo… evoca algo completamente distinto.
Como el patio de un palacio olvidado. Un lugar en espera. Un mundo en pausa.
Me recordó a Ico, ese juego callado y luminoso donde la luz se filtra entre piedras rotas y el tiempo parece suspendido. Su estética parece nacida de las plazas metafísicas de Giorgio de Chirico—vacías, infinitas, silenciosas—y del cuadro Trópico de Cáncer (1945) del surrealista egipcio Ramsès Younan, cuya quietud pictórica transmite la misma tensión contenida y sin aliento.
Fumito Ueda, director de Ico, dijo alguna vez que buscaba crear un mundo “olvidado por el tiempo.” Se siente en la arquitectura. En el aire.
Tal vez esta imagen sea solo una escena al borde del camino. O tal vez… el primer fotograma de un sueño que casi logras recordar.
G. de Chirico, Arrivo del trasloco, circa 1965. Fuente: Fondazione Giorgio e Isa de Chirico