Some of those Principles came from certain mantras i heard working in a game store, about 20 years back. They'd say things like "Know when to take the fall, this isn't your characters personal victory parade" and "Don't look at your character sheet, it won't role-play for you." Stuff often debated

Principles of playing an Avatar:
- Revel in your Look and Poetics
- Choose who you want to be
- Know when to take the Fall
- Trust your (MC)
- The Dice give you options, not limitations
- The Rules give you options, not limitations
- Be honest about what you remember and what you don't

For "Always Say" i tried this:
Always Believe:
- in yourself
- in your friends
- in what you can grow into: together, alone, here, and in the real world.

Avatar Agenda:
- Face Dangers
- Make Friends
- Find New Homes

The game is about exploration and practicing being a better version of yourself, all wrapped up in a candy-coating of genre fiction tropes and powdered sugar poetics.

Nobody would say that chainsaws "support" being juggled...

I think this vibes with what I've been wondering about lately, about what happens when you finish asking "what did this game make me do?" And start asking "what did I do with this game?"

www.ursulakleguin.com/nbf-medal

I don't make salads, but this year i was told to bring back the tradition of "Andy & Ogre Make Mixed Drinks" - where Ogre and I pass out blank notecards for people to write the name of a 'mixed drink' - then we go into the kitchen with a stack of funny names and throw together sugary beverages.

It sucks how often this is the cry of the masses.

Noses are a terrible feature.

So i lit a candle, waited for it to burn bright, and then dropped him in. A tiny pyre for my nameless friend.

I couldn't just throw him in the bin. He died dramatically, and lived honorably. You know, for a housefly. I looked it up, they live about 3-6 weeks.

He'd spent more of his life in this house than i would. Lived more there than I have anywhere. By percentage, i mean.

I tried to focus on cleaning up, all the packing i needed to do, all the chores before i could get in my car and drive the 500 miles back to my bedroom.

But I kept returning to my drowned companion. Who i did not expect to miss.

Dan asked, after i explained my circumstances and demeanor, "What was his name?"

"I don't know. I guess i'll never know."

After Dan had wandered home, i fished my nameless friend out of his sugary grave, and left him to dry on a paper towel.

So, i was one sip into my tea when they did a typical fly-by - three loops around my shoulders - and then, for no discernible reason, went straight into my brew, flailed, and drowned.

I was surprised enough it took a minute to feel sad.

I tried once or twice to usher them out, into what was likely deep space for them, the great out of doors. But i guess this fly enjoyed my home, or maybe even my company, and never departed.

We were together, in some small way.

At least a dozen times during our time together, i'd thought of swatting them. People swat Flys. It happens.

But every time, something stopped me. Maybe it was being alone - completely alone - or maybe it was melancholy from working overtime. Either way, i started to see them as a housemate.

I'd only noticed them after my Dad and brother came up to visit, the first weekend after i'd settled in. It's possible we'd been living together the entire time. But i only noticed them after my family had gone and i was in a very empty house.

But not alone. They were there with me.