Zelda again

Here they are, the two videos I mentioned in my previous entry. Hope you like them as I did.

OCARINA OF TIME



LINK vs GANONDORF

Dancing Link

Since I can recall, I have been a huge video game fan. This has earned me the dub of "Geek" by a friend of mine (who, ironically, is even a bigger geek than me) to which all I have to say is "proud of it". Now, this posts name is "old school" simply because I consider myself an old school gamer. I've been playing video games since 1984, in those days I played my cousin's Atari console tirelessly (I was 2), and have never stopped.

One of my favourite, if not THE favourite altogether, is The Legend of Zelda. I consider the game the best game in history (for all of you wondering which one, well, ALL of them) and a must for any person who even dares to call himself a console video gamer; not having played Zelda is like not having played Mario. That's simply not right.

I was looking recently for two Zelda ads, one is the first Ocarina of Time ad, which is one of the best video games ads in history (this is the fan boy in me talking); and the other is a short demonstration Nintendo produced for when the gamecube was still called the dolphin of Link and Ganondorf duelling with sword (I can still remember being awed for hour on that 30 second video). I have found the Ocarina one and am still looking for the duel one, as soon as I find it I will post both of them.

Anyhow, while looking for it, I stumbled upon this very interesting Japanese ad for A link to the Past, a video game which simply is a true master piece. I found it so funny and at the same time perturbing that I thought I should share it with you. I hope you like it.



Just remember, it's a Japanese ad from the early 90s.

Whispered comments...

This is an entry in Sascha's blog. Read the comment and comment yourselves.

Angel

The following short story is not mine, but of a dear friend of mine; Mauricio Alvarez. He showed it to me about a two months ago and I thought it was really good. All due credits go to him.

She kisses me.

I can barely feel her lips against mine, but I can see her face, feel her warmth spreading through my stiff face. A tear rolls off her cheek and falls on me, although I can't feel it. Slowly she moves apart from me, her brown eyes filled with tears. I want to tell her how much I love her, I want to hold her and tell her everything is going to be fine.

But that's no longer possible. How did I end up like this, body dead and senseless, doomed to lie still in this bed until my body gives up the fight?

Even now, I don't know. I've lost track of how long I've been here, although it can't be that long. I've seen nurses come and go, a doctor, some friends, but not many, and her. She's my angel, the one who kept me safe from my inner demons. The person who always seemed to warm the air around her. And the more I knew her, the closer we got, the more I loved her. I could drown in those brown eyes and feel a warm comfort grow inside me. It was a beautiful thing.

Her hand brushes the hair off my face, while she covers her mouth with the other to drown a sob. That's when something inside me wakes up. I can't lose this fight. I owe it to her, who has done so much for me. Her company kept me sane while I saw my father dying slowly from the cancer that ate away his lungs. She was the one who stood by me in the long days hunting for a job, helping me as much as she could with what little spare money she had. I must not give up. I must fight and live.

My mind is suddenly flooded with images. My mother teaching me how to swim in my uncle's pool. My dad playing basketball with me and my brothers in the backyard. My classmates and I, dancing drunk after our last day of class in high school. Myself, walking into my college campus for the first time. The first time I saw her, the moment as vivid as if I were there. My dad's funeral. The dark days afterwards. And finally the road...I can sense cold fear around me. The road. The flashlights heading towards me. The horn blowing, cutting the air with a deep scream. And suddenly I'm staring at her again, in my hospital bed, but this time she seems to be fading away.

And I realize my fight is over.

But she kisses me. And that's all I really need.

товарищ, прочность и почетность! День принадлежит к нам!

What This World Needs

Ever since my friend Guille gave me the first Casting Crowns cd for me to listen to it I have loved this band. They have been a true blessing in my life and every song in every CD ministers my spirit as I have found almost no other band does. It showed and confirmed something which I always thought to be true, that a christian band can not, under any circumstance just be that, a band. That a christian band is not christian because they profess faith in Jesus and mix his name in some verses. That for a christian band to truly be one, there has to be a message, an abandonment to the work of Christ and a desire to serve other. That christian can not be musicians just because they like it and they wish to perform on-stage, but because it is a true calling from God in their lives and because they will minister other not only through their songs, but through their life. I truly recommend them to you if you don't know them yet.

I post here below the lyrics of a sing from their third album "The altar and the Door". The song's title is "What this World needs". This song has been a confirmation in my life of something I have always believed but that the world in which we live, Christian or non-Christian, makes it difficult to see and accept. We are sometimes so involved in our own church that we forget that we are but a cell of the body of Christ; not even a member, but a cell.


- Casting Crowns Lyrics

Please do leave your comments and reflections on this subject and on the lyrics, and if you have the chance, get a Casting Crowns CD. Believe me, you won't regret it.

Riddles in the Net

I have always been quite a fan of puzzles, though I have a love-hate relationship with jigsaw puzzles), they keep me entertained for hours no matter my mood. Recently (about a week ago to be accurate) a friend of mine gave me a link to an online riddle called "Neutral Riddle". It consists basically of 70 levels, each level being a riddle on it's own. The objective is, of course, to finish all 70 riddles. I has kept me entertained for a week now (consider that I only have internet access during weekdays and only in the morning at that) and I am currently on level 43.

If you enjoy a good challenge and great brain exercise (which we all need in order to keep sharp) I highly recommend giving it a try. The only inconvenience to some of you may be that in order to advance you sometimes have to download files or even software. But don't worry, there no malicious software involved.

Never Dreamt

Again, here we have another small composition I wrote for college. Hope you all enjoy it.

Maybe I am not supposed to be a scribe. Although it has been my life long dream to be one, I have never possessed the required skill for it. I long to write, I crave epic stories, desire romance and drama, and cherish poems and sonnets; yet they all elude my mental grasp. Ever since I can recall, I have reached for the quill and ink, and failed.

My mind went blank, my palms and fingertips began sweating, and I ran out of breath. Every single time I reached for the ink and sat in front of a blank parchment, I experienced the same symptoms. Every time, but one. Not long ago I dreamt of a poem, a gorgeous epic poem which included all I ever wanted to write about. It was a gift from God, or so I thought; yet now I know it actually was a curse from the devils. If only I had never dreamt that dream.

Every time I think about time I despair, yet ever since my poem was made public by my benefactor, time is all I hear. After my ode was published, an editor was appointed to me. Supposedly to help; in truth, to torment. Every week he calls for me, and everyday he reminds me that my time is running short, that my patronage is at an end. If only I had never dreamt that dream.

My editor called me asking about my next writing again this morning. Threatened me with poverty and hunger and tried to force me to spew verses I had not written nor conceived. My editor called me to torment my soul. Never more would that happen, for I have no more soul. I have forgotten it, lost it in the days of yore; it has been eroded by the tortuous days I have lived since my poem was published. I too shall pass, as my dreamt poem already has. Farewell all. A sad unmemorable farewell for a sad unmemorable scribe.

If only I had never dreamt that dream.

Provide Feedback

As the title so aptly states, I do want some feedback. After all, the sole purpose of me posting my writings is to have the world read what I can produce and tell me if I am a good writer, an average one, or should go ahead and search for an aspiration in life other than writing a book. So, please do click on the "comments" link and leave one. Thanks.

This is a short short writing I had to do for college. As you may or may not know (most likely not) I am an English major. My "professor" placed four phrases on the blackboard and we had to write a story using all four phrases. This was the result and it has no real title, so feel free to dub it as you will.

Enjoy.

The cold southern wind was blowing mercilessly, chilling my face and immobilizing it. Nonetheless, I kept firm with a steady, unblinking stare into the horizon. They were coming, I knew it, I felt it. Though my eyes could not see them, the wind brought me tidings of that which went on beyond the horizon. The time had come, I best be prepared.

I was in no mood to talk to anyone, least of all the other men back at the camp. I had been sent up this hill as a scout, to keep watch and send warning of any danger. I knew their pursuer, I knew their allegiance, yet they knew not mine, my true alignment. Yes, they were coming, but that was not the only warning carried by the wind. The first was aimed at the fugitives at the camp at the foot of this hill, the latter, was aimed at me.

"Hell", I said, "can't I just feel for once the wind caress my cheek and bring peace with it rather than doom?" No one was around me as to hear that remark, yet it wasn't intended for any human ears, but the wind's. It had been uttered into an to that soft breeze which was gently turning into a gale. A gale which urged me to move.

The phone they had given me as to warn them faster of incoming forces started ringing now. No doubt it was them, wondering what had happened to me, worried, not for my well-being, but theirs. The dense foliage which covered this "watch post" kept them from seeing me, just as it kept them from seeing their captors who by now were surely closing in on the camp already.

A single shot breaks the still silence, giving way to the dreaded stillness of death. As a flock of birds take off from close by treetops, more gun bursts and shout are heard. The strife had started. Turning around I began walking and dropped the still ringing phone on the snow covered grass. I kept a steady pace away from the phone's call, the gun bursts, they screaming; from the guilt, just as I had so many times before. I picked up my own pace, the phone kept ringing and I could not afford being caught. My allegiances were neither with the fugitives nor their captors; they lie elsewhere.

They always do.