Leave me to my lonely pillow. Go, and take your silly posies; Who has vowed to wear the willow Looks a fool, tricked out in roses.

Who are you, my lad, to ease me? Leave your pretty words unspoken. Tinkling echoes little please me, Now my heart is freshly broken.

Over young are you to guide me, And your blood is slow and sleeping. If you must, then sit beside me.... Tell me, why have I been weeping?

— Dorothy Parker

(each alternating line is indented in the original formatting)

Hello, all! Several days ago, one of you fine Lemmings posted a link to the new solo-oriented edition of Star Trek: Adventures. As one does, I immediately bought it and read the entire 300-some-odd pages. Lol. If anyone else was considering doing so, or is even remotely curious about it, here are my first impressions and a sampling of what the game (and its incredible matrix tables) has allowed me to create thus far.

These are just my spur-of-the-moment ramblings, so I hope they are still useful.

Rules

1. The rules are incredibly simple. Now, that's not to say that there aren't complexities to certain aspects of the game, but it, like its regular Adventures counterpart, is extremely narrative driven.
2. While being designed for solo play, it is absolutely possible to use this system in a group. In fact, it's probably the easiest thing to set up for a group in the genre. I was able to get four of my friends up to speed, with generated characters, and into a session in less than an hour. That's nearly unheard of for TTRPGs, at least in my experience.

Gameplay

1. Combat is a bit lackluster. It works very well, but it is bare-bones. Luckily, the rules from the regular books can transition pretty seamlessly into Captain's Log. It's even suggested for players that want "more crunch" with the combat systems.
2. The momentum and threat mechanics provide some really fun twists that keep the story chugging along before it can stagnate and get stale.
3. Despite the urge to let the randomness of everything take over for solo play, I've found over a few sessions that it's best to outline the entirety of the "episode" first. It doesn't detract from the fun at all, and it allows you to focus solely on the development and challenging of your character's values.
4. With a basic understanding of the "yes/no probability matrix" and some dice, or a phone app, you can literally play this anywhere. It is that flexible. Of course, nothing beats modeled miniatures in my mind, but I digress.
5. The tables. Oh, man, so many wonderful, beautiful, gorgeous tables. The last third of the book is just matrix tables to help create and complicate the myriad random Star Trek situations you might find yourself in. Honestly, the book is worth the price just for the tables. I'm not kidding.

Rating Overall: 8.5 / 10 Incredibly robust and fun, with enough of a random kick to keep things feeling like your exploring the unknown no matter how much preparation you do. Complexity: 3.5 / 10 If you're already familiar with the Trek universe, you can learn the entire game in an afternoon and be playing before the kids start to get home from school. Combat: 6 / 10 As I mentioned earlier, the system is very basic. It's still fun, given enough narrative spice, but it isn't impressive on its own. Characters: 9 / 10 The ability for this game to quickly generate believable friendly and hostile NPCs with their own varied motivations, outlooks, and backstories is insane. If it isn't the best out there, it's still one of the best I've ever personally used. Locations: 9 / 10 As above, so below. The game does with locations what it does for characters. Length: 7 / 10 There is a bit of groundwork that goes into setting up any game like this, but it goes quickly, in no small part to the (yes, I'm still on about them) crazy good tables.

------

What I've got for you here is a sampling of the game so you can get a feel for how it works, coupled with a single scene of my actually playing of it. One of the most important things I want to communicate is that, even though this is a game, it feels more like a series of incredibly intricate writing prompts. It isn't a bad thing at all, and I've been having a blast, but I want you to know what you're getting into before spending your money on it.

I used the in-game rules exclusively to develop this crew. The only personally creative parts are appearance descriptions.

Ship: U.S.S. Constantinople, N.C.C. 1453-B. Galaxy-class cruiser retrofitted with improved impulse and warp engines, hull integrity, and damage control systems.

Captain: Apius Stoyer (myself), rebelled against his Starfleet parents growing up but ended up attending the academy anyway. Turns out he was super good at science so that's the path he took. Two years after graduating and becoming an ensign, his current captain on the U.S.S. Persephone bungled a first contact with an incorporeal being and nearly lost the ship. Admiral Kent noticed the official protest in his logs and, impressed, whisked him away to the command track under the tutelage of one Commander C.J. Disto.

Scene One: A New Captain

Rolled for initial mission theme and conflict: got "Diplomatic / Establish Trade / Unite / Exploding Planet"

Captains log, stardate 446215.2. Yesterday, I received orders to take command of the U.S.S. Constantinople. She’s a beautiful ship with a crew complement of 1,637. That’s 1,384 Starfleet personnel, and 253 civilians. Virtually a skeleton crew compared to her other Galaxy-class counterparts, but more than enough to run the trade mission we’ve been given.

While being a perpetual “substitute captain” hasn’t been ideal, it is the natural result of my extraordinarily fortunate rise to prominence with Captain Disto. There are plenty of folks in the admiralty that would have rather put a more experienced officer in charge of one of their capital ships, but given the … urgency of the Afenian’s request, and the temporary lack of command officers with any recent experience on Earth, I’m finding myself with a remarkable chance to to change some minds.

She’s a beautiful ship. Newly retrofitted with all the trimmings: improved warp engines, better damage control systems, reinforced hull integrity, and a newly developed impulse drive system with an emergency magnetic focus index — well, I’m rambling now. Suffice it to say, she’s magnificent. Maybe I’m being a bit of a romantic, but stepping out of the shuttle bay and into the halls … it was love at first sight.

I think I’ll keep her.

//

Introductions go smoothly. Commander Wynter had met Captain Stoyer in the shuttle bay and spent the next half-hour introducing him to his new bridge officers.

In the Captain’s Ready Room:

KATOHA (OVER COMMS): Captain, Admiral Kent on the line for you.

STOYER: I’ll take it in here. Thank you, commander.

Desk viewscreen comes to life

STOYER: Admiral.

KENT: Captain. A pleasure, as always.

STOYER: I’ll assume I have you to thank for this assignment. She’s a real beaut, this ship.

KENT: That she is. You’ll do well with her. With any luck, the other admirals will begin to see that you’re a capable officer and not just some little pet project of mine. But, that’s not why I’ve called.

STOYER: No. So, what more information can you give me about the Afenian’s request? We haven’t ever had ties with them before. Why the sudden change?

KENT: I’m afraid that the copy of the request you’ve already been sent is all we have. When we tried to reach back out there was no response, so your mission remains vague.

STOYER: You’d think if it was so urgent they’d at least give us some details.

KENT: Well, “ours is not to reason why,” Captain.

STOYER: That’s a little ominous for a standard trade run, Admiral. Are you sure you don’t know something that you’re not letting on about?

KENT: No. I’m just an apprehensive old man. Expect the worst and hope for the best.

STOYER: You never were any good at the “motivational” and “inspiring” stuff.

The two share a subdued chuckle

KENT: You should be finished loading with all the generic goods by now. I’m transmitting your official directive and clearance codes. Stay safe out there.

The viewscreen flicks off and Captain Stoyer exits the Ready Room onto the bridge

KATOHA: Captain, cargo bay four reports fully loaded.

CAPTAIN: Excellent! Ensign Flannigan, take us out.

FLANNIGAN: Aye, sir!

As the ship peels away from the orbital dock, Ensign Flannigan opens the plasma vents and ejects a colorful display. Lt. Commander Katoha leans over and smacks him lightly on the head

STOYER: Ensign, what was that?

FLANNIGAN: It was for the boys and girls back home!

Captain Stoyer is unamused

FLANNIGAN: Okay, yeah. Sorry sir! I told my girlfriend at the docks that I’d show off some of her engine improvements when we set out.

Captain Stoyer raises an eyebrow; it is difficult for Ensign Flannigan to respond; Lt. Commander Katoha slips her face into her hands, attempting to contain her second-hand embarrassment

FLANNIGAN: [clears throat] It won’t happen again, sir! Course laid in.

STOYER: Engage.

Looking about the bridge, Captain Stoyer really begins to take in the crew. He’s done this many times before, but the responsibility of having the welfare of others—others he’s never met before—always gives him pause for that first moment.

Commander Wynter: slightly shorter than Stoyer, has a stern face. Thin lips nestle underneath a nose and pinched eyes in a permanent scowl, but her mannerisms showcase that there’s much more to her personality. Her dark red hair is pulled tightly to her head in a bun, adorned solely by a Starfleet delta pin.

Ensign Flannigan: a young hotshot freshly graduated from the academy. Closely cropped, curly, dark brown hair reflects his innermost desires, struggling against being contained and wanting to burst out and be free. The conn has a knack for attracting just that sort of personality, but his flight record is spotless, if a bit reckless.

Lieutenant Vaath: it is highly unusual to see an Orion in Starfleet. There’s no wonder he took the security path; he’s a daunting figure. That impression is made all the stronger by his soft-spoken demeanor. Admiral Kent called him a “gentle giant with an indignant streak.”

Lt. Commander Katoha: a Bajoran that bounced around between specializations until she graduated. She’s something of a renaissance woman, and a perfect fit for her current station. Sporting short, spikey, blonde-dyed hair and a, by Bajoran standards, modest earring, she’s quick with a quip and loves to laugh.

Chief Engineer, Lieutenant Steward: a crotchety old man. It was clear he was only on the bridge out of protocol and wanted, desperately, to return to the main engine room. His Illyrian mutation enhanced his hearing dramatically. “The Engine Whisperer,” Stoyer had heard some call him. His disheveled appearance was hardly regulation appropriate, but the Captain figured he was lucky enough to get him into a uniform at all.

Chief Science Officer, Lt. Commander Zendala, wasn’t present. She was hard at work in sick bay with CMO, Lieutenant Rielach, putting on the final coat of paint, so-to-speak. Zendala is a Palmyran. Deep, darkly caramel skin and ever-so-slightly pointed ears gave her an elegant, almost elvish appearance.

Chief Medical Officer, Lieutenant Rielach, also preoccupied in sick bay, is a gorgeous Deltan woman. Her empathetic, and empathic, manner may make her the friendliest doctor that Captain Stoyer has ever had the pleasure of working with. Thankfully, her vow of celibacy was current and on file. He could count on her to gently dissuade potential suitors, avoiding all of that pesky drama.

//

So, as you can see, the potential is SO high for invested RPG players that prefer to actually roleplay. But, if you're looking for something with a bit more meat on the bone as far as far as gaming goes, it may not be the best fit. But, whatever your preference, if you get your hands on it, it's a grand old time.

Is that Eric Garner worked for some time for the Parks and Rec. Horticultural Department, which means, perhaps, that with his very large hands, perhaps, in all likelihood, he put gently into the earth some plants which, most likely, some of them, in all likelihood, continue to grow, continue to do what such plants do, like house and feed small and necessary creatures, like being pleasant to touch and smell, like converting sunlight into food, like making it easier for us to breathe.

— Ross Gay

Who shall declare the joy of the running Who shall tell of the pleasures of flight! Springing and spurning the tufts of wild heather, Sweeping, wide-winged, through the blue dome of Everything mortal has moments immortal, Swift and God-gifted, immeasurably bright.

So with the stretch of the white road before me Shining snowcrystals rainbowed by the sun Fields that are white, stained with long, cool, blue shadows, Strong with the strength of my horse as we run Joy in the touch of the wind and the sunlight! Joy! With the vigorous earth I am one.

— Amy Lowell

Gather up whatever is glittering in the gutter, whatever has tumbled in the waves or fallen in flames out of the sky,

for it’s not only our hearts that are broken, but the heart of the world as well. Stitch it back together.

Make a place where the day speaks to the night and the earth speaks to the sky. Whether we created God or God created us

it all comes down to this: In our imperfect world we are meant to repair and stitch together what beauty there is, stitch it

with compassion and wire. See how everything we have made gathers the light inside itself and overflows? A blessing.

— Stuart Kestenbaum

The houses are haunted By white night-gowns. None are green, Or purple with green rings, Or green with yellow rings, Or yellow with blue rings. None of them are strange, With socks of lace And beaded ceintures. People are not going To dream of baboons and periwinkles. Only, here and there, an old sailor, Drunk and asleep in his boots, Catches tigers In red weather.

— Wallace Stevens

When the ancient world foundered Bottles had not been invented So whatever was valuable there Was rolled up Into a few proper names And set afloat on the water.

They have reached us safely, those names.

And when we uncork one, Homer, say, or Pythagoras or Tacitus, Great sheaves of light break open in the sky, Millennial chaff falls on our shoulders.

Let us do all we can to increase The store of proper names in the world So that if the earth goes down They will keep on floating, Trojan horses with the whole of mankind in their bellies, Headed for the gates of other planets.

— Marin Sorescu translated from Romanian by Seamus Heaney

Like crawling black monsters the big clouds tap at my window, their shooting liquid fingers slide over the staring panes and merge on the red wall. Some of the fingers pull at the hinges and whisper insistently: “Let us come in, the cruel wind whips and drives us till we are sore and in despair.” But I cannot harbor the big crawling black clouds, I cannot save them from the angry wind. In a tiny crevice of my aching heart there is a big storm brewing and loud clamour and constant prayer for the reflection of snow-capped mountains on a distant lake. Tired and dazed I sit on a bear skin and timidly listen to the concert of storms.

— William Saphier

The people along the sand All turn and look one way. They turn their back on the land. They look at the sea all day.

As long as it takes to pass A ship keeps raising its hull; The wetter ground like glass Reflects a standing gull.

The land may vary more; But wherever the truth may be — The water comes ashore, And the people look at the sea.

They cannot look out far. They cannot look in deep. But when was that ever a bar To any watch they keep?

— Robert Frost

That’s the job, he said, shrugging his shoulders and running his hand through his hair, like Dante, or a spider that knows its web, That’s just the job, he repeated stubbornly whenever I complained about working the night shift in hundred-degree heat, or hauling my ass over the hump for a foul-mouthed dispatcher yelling at us over a loudspeaker, or riding the cab of an iron dungeon creeping over bumpy rails to a steel mill rising out of the smog in Joliet or Calumet City where we headed to track down a few hundred giants in chains clanking together on rusty wheels for dragging home and uncoupling at the clearing yard loaded with empty freight cars waiting to be loaded with more freight, because that’s the job.

— Edward Hirsch

Hey all! I'm trying to get "Star Trek: The Next Generation — A Final Unity" up and running on my PC. I've never ventured into the DOS emulation scene before, so this is all new to me.

I downloaded vDOS to get everything running, but the only file I can find for the game is an NRG file that I can't seem to natively run. I'm aware that I need to convert it to an ISO or other readable disk format, but I'm not really sure where to go from here.

Any help is much appreciated. Thank you!

In a rush this weekday morning, I tap the horn as I speed past the cemetery where my parents are buried side by side under a smooth slab of granite.

Then, all day long, I think of him rising up to give me that look of knowing disapproval while my mother calmly tells him to lie back down.

— Billy Collins

In third grade you learned to fold a dollar so that Washington’s head looks like a mushroom, later about wheat, buffalo, Augustus Saint-Gaudens. You used beech leaves for play money, tore them off living twigs, brought an Aruban florin to show-and-tell, felt the sound of a Canadian quarter hitting the Coke machine’s return as the sound of thirst. Every coin its own flavor and weight, every olive branch, every Roman nose. Remember when you learned how one thing could stand for endless others, how with a few creases a man becomes a destroying angel.

— Michael Metivier (Poem from the July 2023 issue of Poetry©)

Of the old house, only a few, crumbled Courses of brick, smothered in nettle and dock, Or a shaped stone lying mossy where it tumbled! Sprawling bramble and saucy thistle mock What once was fire-lit floor and private charm, Whence, seen in a windowed picture, were hills fading At night, and all was memory-coloured and warm, And voices talked, secure of the wind's invading.

Of the old garden, only a stray shining Of daffodil flames among April's Cuckoo-flowers Or clustered aconite, mixt with weeds entwining! But, dark and lofty, a royal cedar towers By homelier thorns; and whether the rain drifts Or sun scortches, he holds the downs in ken, The western vales; his branchy tiers he lifts, Older than many a generation of men.

— Laurence Binyon

The greatest poem ever known Is one all poets have outgrown: The poetry, innate, untold, Of being only four years old.

Still young enough to be a part Of Nature's great impulsive heart, Born comrade of bird, beast, and tree And unselfconscious as the bee—

And yet with lovely reason skilled Each day new paradise to build; Elate explorer of each sense, Without dismay, without pretense!

In your unstained transparent eyes There is no conscience, no surprise: Life's queer conundrums you accept, Your strange divinity still kept.

Being, that now absorbs you, all Harmonious, unit, integral, Will shred into perplexing bits,— Oh, contradictions of the wits!

And Life, that sets all things in rhyme, may make you poet, too, in time— But there were days, O tender elf, When you were Poetry itself!

— Christopher Morley

cross-posted from: https://lemmy.world/post/1113470

> A noiseless patient spider, > I mark'd where on a little promontory it stood isolated, > Mark'd how to explore the vacant, vast surrounding, > It launched forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself. > Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them. > > And you O my soul where you stand, > Surrounded, detatched, in measureless oceans of space, > Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them. > Till the bridge you will need be form'd, till the ductile anchor hold, > Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul. > > — Walt Whitman

A noiseless patient spider, I mark'd where on a little promontory it stood isolated, Mark'd how to explore the vacant, vast surrounding, It launched forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself. Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.

And you O my soul where you stand, Surrounded, detatched, in measureless oceans of space, Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them. Till the bridge you will need be form'd, till the ductile anchor hold, Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.

— Walt Whitman

I love thy music, mellow bell, I love thine iron chime, To life or death, to heaven or hell, Which calls the sons of Time.

Thy voice upon the deep The home-bound sea-boy hails, It charms his cares to sleep, It cheers him as he sails.

To house of God and heavenly joys Thy summons called our sires, And good men thought thy sacred voice Disarmed the thunder's fires.

And soon thy music, sad death-bell, Shall lift its notes once more, And mix my requiem with the wind That sweeps my native shore.

— Ralph Waldo Emerson

What we need most, we learn from the menial tasks: the novice raking sand in Buddhist texts, or sweeping leaves, his hands chilled to the bone, while understanding hovers out of reach; the changeling in a folk tale, chopping logs, poised at the dizzy edge of transformation;

and everything they do is gravity: swaying above the darkness of the well to haul the bucket in; guiding the broom; finding the body's kinship with the earth beneath their feet, the lattice of a world where nothing turns or stand outside the whole;

and when the insight comes, they carry on with what's at hand: the gravel path; the fire; knowing the soul is no more difficult than water, or the fig tree by the well that stood for decades, barren and inert, till every branch was answered in the stars.

— John Burnside

It rained all day. It really poured down To flood the fields And woods and town. It made the landscape All dark and damp To bring on many A cold and cramp. But all storms cease, So this one did. Along towards evening Storm clouds hid.

Then through the night All nature works To straighten out The little quirks. It was bright next morning And much the same As if there hadn’t Been a rain.

— Leo VanMeer