PERILS OF TRANQUILITY
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Most renown among these is Cornubit, the Sylvan world, a cryptic garden of ancient trees, interwoven and encompassing all the planet's land.
Like most worlds of its kind, it is populated by a small, devout population following their own version of the Imperial Cult, endowed with naturalist beliefs in nymphs and entish omens, in voices of the leaves whispering of imperial saints. Yet the mundane simplicity of these worlds covers up much older, more exquisite secrets. For no other reason could the Adeptus Mechanicus have such interest in protecting, even guarding such a remote and non-industrial world.
On the winding tendrils of deep, azure gloom sit worlds like pearls on a chain tightly strung. Upon these worlds lie colonies of living tombs, necropolises of the all but dead, those whose bodies fade away, but whose souls are kept alive by the strange longevity of the deep gloom. In these world's vast crypts and catacombs, they are preserved, but not rejuvinated. Anointed with precious oil and incents, they lead a half-life for centuries, confined solely to the constraints of the waking mind. The tomb colonists of the Deep Gloom are the sector's living memory, chroniclers of lives spanning many thousand years and wardens of old and dangerous secrets.
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As such their value cannot be overstated, and has been assessed as such by the Cult Mechanicus Cambria. For this reasons, the many worlds of living tombs are constantly and jealously guarded by detachments of the Mechanicus Navy, scouring for knowledge in the minds of the barely living.
To the chronicles of the Imperium, the worlds within the Azure Gloom never were young. Even the oldest descriptions of contact with their reclusive people, speak of an ancient culture, untouched by the perils of the Age of Strife, witout any meaningful technology, but equally without barbaric tendencies. Unremarkable as they were to the early Imperium and its conquest of all known stars, these peaceful worlds grew in importance as millennia after millennia of endless war drew on.
Like many places throughout the imperium, where the war could be avoided, they would have been chosen by the Adeptus Ministorum as holy worlds, to erect temples and monuments of pilgrimage. But the great dominance of the Mechanicus spared these worlds the fate of becoming overrun with those seeking solace and salvation.
Instead, the half-dead of the living tombs were left to ponder the universe alone.
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He begins with a sober summary from the bombsite ruins of the last general election, pointing out bleakly that 37 per cent of those registered to vote enthusiastically chose the dismantling of the NHS, war on the poor and the succour of the rich. This is uncomfortable but unarguable. Food for thought, if not substantial enough to sustain a whole book. In pursuit of this notion, Hatherley hunts down his sacred cows hungrily and with brio.
He finds this creeping menace of austerity nostalgia everywhere. He sees it in the retro-chic tat offered on hipster market stalls.
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- The perils of cat ownership.!
He sees it in Downtown Abbey. Surely, however, no one else has hung such a sustained and analytical large-scale social critique on its slender frame. We may be in the realm of the sledgehammer and the nut here.
Yet Hatherley does have a point. In the same way, keeping calm and carrying on is the last thing we should be doing right now. Pop culture sometimes leads Hatherley astray.http://altcreate.wecan-group.com/cuando-comiences-a-brillar.php
A lifeless bird. Dropped proudly at the feet of the 9 year olds. Later, we had a short memorial service for the bird. The cat was not invited. Relations between me and the cat have been rather strained since, but she seems utterly remorseless, making no effort whatsoever to ease the friction between us; pouncing on me at am daily and disappearing shortly before her appointment with the vet — the second consecutive appointment I have had to sheepishly cancel.
After a morning of misconduct and disregard for social mores, she is now serenely snoozing atop the playroom sofa, winning us back round. Oh, for the life of a cat….
The perils of cat ownership. – raising badgers
The highlight was skipping success at Town Sports. I am not at all competitive and have had no sporting success whatsoever in my life — the only notable thing I ever achieved at school was breaking my arm in Netball — but I was rather pleased she won; not least because my husband proved quite how low his boredom threshold is and after two hours, slightly colder than comfortable on a picnic blanket on a field was almost in despair. The medal took the edge off it.