• (bkz: arien)
  • yeni bir sekizinci nesil yazar, hoşgelmiş.
  • tüm iddalarıma rağmen pes 2009 da gol dahi atamadığım beni feci şekikde hüsrana uğratan adam önümüzdeki maçlara bakacağız artık.
    (bkz: ısmarlama entry)
    (bkz: kumar borcu namus borcu)
  • tüm iddalarıma rağmen beni tekrar pes09 da hüsrana ugratmış hakkaten profesyonel oldugunu kanıtlamış insan. saygı duyuyoruz.
    (bkz: zorla giriyorum lan)
  • 25 şubat'ta gerçekleşen uçak kazası'nda siyah bir duman görüldükten sonra çakılmanın gerçekleşmesi hakkında yaptığım "j.j.abrams. kokuyor" yorumuma istinaden, şahsım için "böylesine bir trajediyle dalga geçmek için dizileri kullanan sik kafalı" tabirini yapacak kadar ince, hassas bir yeni nesil sözlükçü. canım benim.
  • tilion j.r.r tolkien'in kurguladığı fantastik evren eä'da ainur ırkına mensup bir maia olarak tanımlanmıştır. vala oromë'nin maia hizmetkarlarından biridir. ölümsüzdür ve doğumu arda diyarının doğumunun öncesine dayanmaktadır. tilion kaynaklarda insanların tanıdığı ve adını bildiği bir maia olarak geçer. ay'ın sorumluluğu ondadır ve arien'i sürekli takip eder, bazen güzelliğinin büyüsüne kapılıp ona yaklaşır ve diyarlara karanlık çöker. ayrıca tilion, arien'e kıyasla daha istikrarsızdır ve ondan daha hızlı hareket eder.
  • ayı yönlendirmesi için seçilen gümüş aşığı maia.
  • ‘the adventures of tom bombadil’ de bir şiirde bahsedilen, ayın kontrolünü sağlayan minör bir maia'dır. amazon'un rings of power dizisinde 1. bölümde gökyüzünden bir ateş topu olarak düşen kişi olabilir diye düşünüyorum. şiiri dikkatli okumanızı öneririm.

    the man in the moon came down too soon

    the man in the moon had silver shoon,
    and his beard was of silver thread;
    with opals crowned and pearls all bound
    about his girdlestead,
    ın his mantle grey he walked one day
    across a shining floor,
    and with crystal key in secrecy
    he opened an ivory door.

    on a filigree stair of glimmering hair
    then lightly down he went,
    and merry was he at last to be free
    on a mad adventure bent.
    ın diamonds white he had lost delight;
    he was tired of his minaret
    of tall moonstone that towered alone
    on a lunar mountain set.

    he would dare any peril for ruby and beryl
    to broider his pale attire,
    for new diadems of lustrous gems,
    emerald and sapphire.
    he was lonely too with nothing to do
    but stare at the world of gold
    and heark to the hum that would distantly come
    as gaily round it rolled.

    at plenilune in his argent moon
    in his heart he longed for fire:
    not the limpid lights of wan selenites;
    for red was his desire,
    for crimson and rose and ember-glows,
    for flame with burning tongue,
    for the scarlet skies in a swift sunrise
    when a stormy day is young.

    he’d have seas of blues, and the living hues
    of forest green and fen;
    and he yearned for the mirth of the populous earth
    and the sanguine blood of men.
    he coveted song, and laughter long,
    and viands hot, and wine,
    eating pearly cakes of light snowflakes
    and drinking thin moonshine.

    he twinkled his feet, as he thought of the meat,
    of pepper, and punch galore;
    and he tripped unaware on his slanting stair,
    and like a meteor,
    a star in flight, ere yule one night
    flickering down he fell
    from his laddery path to a foaming bath
    in the windy bay of bel.

    he began to think, lest he melt and sink,
    what in the moon to do,
    when a fisherman’s boat found him far afloat
    to the amazement of the crew,
    caught in their net all shimmering wet
    in a phosphorescent sheen
    of bluey whites and opal lights
    and delicate liquid green.

    against his wish with the morning fish
    they packed him back to land:
    ‘you had best get a bed in an inn,’ they said;
    ‘the town is near at hand’.
    only the knell of one slow bell
    high in the seaward tower
    announced the news of his moonsick cruise
    at that unseemly hour.

    not a hearth was laid, not a breakfast made,
    and dawn was cold and damp.
    there were ashes for fire, and for grass the mire,
    for the sun a smoking lamp
    ın a dim back-street. not a man did he meet,
    no voice was raised in song;
    there were snores instead, for all folk were abed
    and still would slumber long.

    he knocked as he passed on doors locked fast,
    and called and cried in vain,
    till he came to an inn that had light within,
    and he tapped at a window-pane.
    a drowsy cook gave a surly look,
    and ‘what do you want?’ said he.
    ‘ı want fire and gold and songs of old
    and red wine flowing free!’

    ‘you won’t get them here,’ said the cook with a leer,
    ‘but you may come inside.
    silver ı lack and silk to my back –
    maybe ı’ll let you bide.’
    a silver gift the latch to lift,
    a pearl to pass the door;
    for a seat by the cook in the ingle-nook
    it cost him twenty more.

    for hunger or drouth naught passed his mouth
    till he gave both crown and cloak;
    and all that he got, in an earthen pot
    broken and black with smoke,
    was porridge cold and two days old
    to eat with a wooden spoon.
    for puddings of yule with plums, poor fool,
    he arrived so much too soon:
    an unwary guest on a lunatic quest
    from the mountains of the moon.
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