Tangle Of Torment
Tangle Of Torment ->>> https://urllie.com/2tkvOa
Getting into the holiday spirit can be challenging if you're facing a tangled mess of Christmas lights. It seems that no matter how neatly these twinkling strands are packed away each winter, they somehow end up in a ball of torment the following holiday season. So what causes this mangled mess
Torment's scenery is more intricately detailed than the scenery in Baldur's Gate because of the close perspective, and much like its characters, the scenery looks good and looks different from what you're used to. The game has no pointless spans of wilderness; each area is carefully designed, and most areas are densely populated. The jutting blade-like architecture of the game's urban settings and the rough-hewn, almost alien tangle of its catacombs give Torment a well-defined, highly distinctive appearance, while the game's atmospheric soundtrack, good sound effects, and sparse but high-quality voice acting all help maintain Torment's style. The game has a consistently cold look that can even be unsettling and uncomfortable at times, but Torment's bleak environments seem to work intentionally to motivate the protagonist's desire to escape from the oppressive, claustrophobic confines of the city of Sigil. In spite of its harsh scenery, at times Torment is colorful and impressive looking, mainly because of its often-spectacular special effects. Powerful magic spells cause the screen to go dim and erupt in ghostly energy, which shakes and rattles the screen. Even the game's most minor incantations feature impressive effects and animations, although some of the more elaborate effects tend to make the game slow down.
icharos asked: I think you could make a living creating words to describe such deeply intimate sorrows. It would be like going to a doctor but instead of prescribing medication, you give the torment a name, and suddenly tangled emotions fall neatly into place and with that quiet word, you can breathe.
LEGO Spider-Man: Torment is a web series created by Max Carroll. It is the first sequel to Carroll's previous series, LEGO Spider-Man: Irresponsible. Unlike Irresponsible, Torment is set during Peter Parker's college years, and has a greater focus on Parker's struggle to maintain his personal life while acting as a vigilante, all while he is tangled in an organized crime plot enacted by the villainous Kingpin. The various influences for Torment come from the Stan Lee/Steve Ditko, Stan Lee/John Romita Sr., David Micheline/Todd McFarlane, and J. Michael Straczynski/John Romita Jr. runs on The Amazing Spider-Man, Sam Raimi's Spider-Man film trilogy, and the Ultimate Spider-Man comics. The series is notable for introducing iconic Spider-Man villains, such as the Kingpin, the Sandman, and the Rhino, and supporting characters, such as J. Jonah Jameson, Betty Brant, Joseph Robertson, and Ned Leeds, who weren't present in Irresponsible. The series also features appearances from Daredevil, Black Cat, and the Fantastic Four.
MEMOIR Granddaddy's Ugly Duckling Carol Alford-Haley Through a cascade of tears, I reached for his hand. \"Why, Granddaddy Why\" In the darkened room, a murmuring of voices caught my attention. Had I spoken aloud Those last few months I had taken turns at his bedside, waging quiet war within myself. In vain, I waited for his explanation and apology, but neither was offered, and I longed to tell him how much I loved him, and that he was forgiven. The code of silence from my childhood still harnessed me. The tension became unbearable. I told him I was leaving for a few days and he whispered goodbye. I had known he wouldn't still be there when I returned. Surely he did, too. The airport cab dropped me off at the funeral home just minutes before the end of the service. My sister-in-law urged me to go forward and see him before they closed the casket and my young daughter came to stand beside me and weep. \"They say ... if you touch them, it makes the grieving easier,\" I whispered and grasped his hand more firmly. She gently stroked the cold hand resting inches from her face. She was as innocent and trusting as I had been. A fresh torrent of tears dripped through my spent tissue and onto the satin lining of the coffin. Vague words whispered behind us. \"She was always his favorite,\" one said. \"Look how she loves him,\" another responded. \"She's pining for all those lost years after she moved away.\" Each of them innocentiy stabbed at old wounds. The exit doors opened suddenly sending a chill through the room. Winter's sky revealed the black silhouette of a hearse outside the door Carol Alford-Haley has worn many hats: shopowner, teacher, stafflecturer, artist, poet, songwriter, singer, and mother offour children. She also has a novel in progress. 10 and a row of dark-suited grandsons waiting as pallbearers. They stood at a given signal, then hesitated. My face reflected increasing torment until they could no longer look at me, nor I at them. I found myself racing past them and into the parking lot. Familiar voices called after me. \"Wait, Linda! Catch her, somebody!\" I neared the end ofthe parking lot before I remembered that I hadn't come here on my own. How ironic. Footsteps sounded behind me. \"Linda.\" That name again. Had it ever been mine My name was Linda Carol. Everybody called me Linda. At fifteen, I changed schools and rejected the name Linda. Linda was ugly, backward , and inarticulate. There was nothing positive about Linda. I turned and through veiled eyes recognized only my daughter of those that followed. I hugged her to me and wiped my face on a coat sleeve. Hands thrust fresh tissues before me. I bit my lip. \"What's wrong, Linda I've never seen you like this.\" With eyes closed, I shook my head. I wasn't ready to explain. How could I tell them Granddaddy's death was for me an overdue birth These were tears of both sorrow and relief. Granddaddy was dead. My own hands had touched him and proven it. My head pounded with thoughts waiting for recognition. I remembered the nightmares and sleepless nights; emptiness I mistook for hunger which food couldn't satisfy; the nagging doubts about my selfworth that prevented me from accepting compliments; difficulty making and keeping friends; hidden attempts at suicide for which I lacked courage; the constant dread and worries for which there had been a tangle of wordless sentences. Always too preoccupied to be attentive, too busy building walls to build roads, I was friendlier with strangers than with family. No one had noticed the signs. What about the vaginal infections and menstrual cycle gone haywire How could they not know I felt betrayed by all of them. I recalled being eight years old and one of them telling me that my eyes were my only saving feature and that there was no shame in my being mentally handicapped. She said I could make up for it by being sweet and nice . . . sweet and nice. If only they had...
The trap seems to work like this. A hypervitalism (that will to survive taken as noble bedrock, rather than hardwired compulsion that can't choose otherwise) and mastery over the hostile/alien sets out its bait: that hostility itself, a horror of the cosmos and a promise of extended silence, all things rare in popular cinema. (Even Event Horizon had stake its malignity on a distinctly human framework of Hell.) Implausible, sure, but the camera still might come undone from a fixity on the face. It does for the first minutes. Hollywood might tangle with the unrecuperable.
And so, jerking the line, the trap-film strips the armor off its its scapegoat and locks her in a small pen where she waits to be gobbled up by a subjectless beast (Space itself, or, in the film's grander terms, Death). The scapegoat escapes, climbs back in, switches pens, weeps, floats like a fetus, mourns her lost daughter, moves to another failed container, and the whole scenario keeps putting off the inevitable, further and further, while subjecting her to physics experiment-cum-torment after torment as if this was Scientific American's production of Justine, until... until the actually inevitable happens. After literally screaming \"I want to live!\", she does just that. As if it was just a matter of willpower.
Many families tangle in reactivity when stepping back to be thoughtful, empathic, less pressured, or perfect serves them well. Good enough is fine. Best to avoid being the angry, troubled, frantic, or indulged family.8
Who is not interested in the insects that persist in living in our homes as unwelcome guests Some of these intruders are blood-thirsty creatures, and torment the bodies of their helpless hosts; some confine their attnetions to the carpets, woollens, and upholsters, and others are partial to the pantry, but all are heartily hated by the industrious housewife.
Birdalone looked and saw that they were come to the wall of the dale, and that there it went down sheer to the plain thereof, and that before them was a cleft that narrowed speedily, and over which the rocks well-nigh met, so that it was indeed almost a cave. They rode into it straightway, and when that they had gone but a little, and because it had winded somewhat, they could but see the main valley as a star of light behind them, then it narrowed no more, but was as a dismal street of the straitest, whiles lighter and whiles darker, according as the rocks roofed it in overhead or drew away from it. Long they rode, and whiles came trickles of water from out the rocks on one hand or the other; and now and again they met a stream which covered all the ground of the pass from side to side for the depth of a foot or more. Great rocks also were strewn over their path every here and there, so that whiles must they needs dismount and toil afoot over the rugged stones; and in most places the way was toilsome and difficult. The knight spake little to Birdalone, save to tell her of the way, and warn her where it was perilous; and she, for her part, was silent, partly for fear of the strange man, or, it might be, even for hatred of him, who had thus brought her into such sore trouble, and partly for grief. For, with all torment of sorrow, she kept turning over and over in her mind whether her friends had yet come home to the Castle of the Quest, and whether they would go seek her to deliver her. And such shame took hold of her when she thought of their grief and confusion of soul when they should come home and find her gone, that she set her mind to asking if it had not been better had she never met them. Yet in good sooth her mind would not shape the thought, howsoever she bade it. 59ce067264