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Dark_Phoenix_Zaetyk
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Paul_Tromba
Sleep deprived mess of a published author
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Count_Quackula
Vampire Ducky~
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Yes
Paul_Tromba
Sleep deprived mess of a published author
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Someone tried to convince me that weeds(plants) was spelled wead and was different than weed(Marijuana). Instead, end up finding that they were wrong and hilariously weeds are considered dubious.
Tempokai
Overworked One
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A bedtime story about Carl Jung:
In the depths of a tranquil forest, nestled amidst mist-kissed mountains, there lived an old Daoist sage named Master Wei. His beard was as white as the snow-capped peaks, his robe a simple, worn garment that flowed like water as he moved. For decades, he had walked the Way, content with his serene understanding of the Dao. He was the embodiment of calm, the living personification of that elusive concept: *wu wei*—effortless action.
But today, peace eluded him.
Earlier that morning, one of his disciples—a bright-eyed, eager young man named Li—had asked a question that gnawed at Master Wei’s mind like a persistent insect. It had been a simple question, or so it seemed.
“Master,” Li had asked, “if the Dao is everything and nothing, how can one truly know it without seeking it?”
A question, as innocent as a leaf falling in autumn, yet with the weight of a thousand stones.
Master Wei had waved his hand dismissively at the time, offering some half-muttered wisdom about the Dao being like water, soft yet strong, yielding yet persistent. Li had nodded, as disciples often do, but the question lingered in the air long after the young man had bowed and left.
Now, as the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the courtyard, Master Wei sat under the ancient pine tree, his eyes half-closed, lost in thought. His mind wrestled with the question, turning it over and over like a stone in a river, seeking the smoothness of an answer that eluded him. For the first time in years, doubt crept into his heart, and with it, the unsettling realization that perhaps his understanding of the Dao was not as complete as he had always believed.
Exhausted from his mental exertions, Master Wei’s eyes grew heavy, and despite his best efforts to remain awake, he slowly drifted off to sleep, the question still echoing in his mind.
---
In his dream, Master Wei found himself walking along a narrow path winding through a dense, fog-shrouded forest. The trees towered above him, their branches reaching out like gnarled hands, blocking out the sky. The air was thick with silence, broken only by the soft crunch of his footsteps on the earth.
Ahead, in the distance, he saw a figure, barely discernible through the mist. The figure walked with a slow, deliberate pace, its back turned to him, clad in a familiar robe—the robe of Laozi, the ancient sage, the very embodiment of the Dao. Relief washed over Master Wei as he quickened his pace, eager to seek the wisdom of the great sage.
“Laozi!” Master Wei called out, his voice trembling with the weight of his doubts. “Master, wait!”
The figure paused but did not turn. Master Wei hurried forward, his feet carrying him faster than they ever had before. As he approached, the fog seemed to thicken, wrapping around him like a shroud, but he pressed on, desperate to reach the sage.
“Master, I have questions! My understanding is clouded!”
Finally, he was close enough to touch the hem of the robe. He reached out a trembling hand, but as he did, the figure turned slowly, and Master Wei froze, his breath catching in his throat.
It was not Laozi.
Instead of the serene, bearded face of the ancient sage, Master Wei found himself staring into the eyes of a man he had never seen before. The man’s face was sharp, his hair dark and slicked back, his eyes piercing with a look that was both knowing and disconcertingly familiar. He was clad in robes that seemed to blend the ancient with the modern, an enigma wrapped in an enigma.
“Who—who are you?” Master Wei stammered, his voice barely a whisper.
The stranger smiled, a smile that held a thousand secrets. “I am Carl Jung,” he said, his voice echoing in the mist. “But that is of little consequence. The real question is, who are you?”
Master Wei blinked in confusion. “I am... I am a student of the Dao. I walk the Way, seeking harmony with the universe.”
Jung nodded, his smile deepening as if Wei’s words amused him. “Ah, the Dao. The eternal, the nameless, the uncarved block. But tell me, old sage, what is the Dao to you? Is it something outside of yourself, or is it something within?”
Master Wei opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Jung stepped closer, his eyes never leaving Wei’s. “You seek to know the Dao as one might seek to know the seasons, the tides, the stars in the sky. But you forget that the Dao is also the shadow you cast, the dreams you dream, the fears you bury deep within your heart.”
Wei recoiled slightly, as if struck. “But the Dao is the natural way of the universe, beyond human understanding,” he protested weakly.
Jung tilted his head, regarding Wei with a mixture of pity and curiosity. “You say it is beyond understanding, yet you seek to understand it. You say it is natural, yet you strive against your own nature in your pursuit of it. The Dao is not just the river that flows—it is also the stones beneath, the darkness in the depths, and the currents unseen. It is not just the light that guides you, but the shadow that follows you, the unconscious that shapes your every thought, your every dream.”
Master Wei felt the ground shift beneath him, as if the very earth were challenging his beliefs. “But… how can I follow the Way if it is within and without, if it is both seen and unseen?”
Jung’s eyes glinted with something that might have been amusement or perhaps deep understanding. “The Dao is not a path you walk, but the walker and the walking. It is the dreams you do not understand, the symbols that speak in a language older than words. You have spent your life looking outside, Master Wei, when the answers have always been within.”
Wei shook his head, his mind a whirl of confusion and revelation. “But... Laozi, he taught us to observe, to align with nature, to be like water.”
“And water is formless,” Jung interjected, “just like the unconscious mind. It takes the shape of whatever contains it, just as your thoughts, fears, and desires shape your perception of the Dao. You must dive deeper, not into the world, but into yourself.”
Suddenly, the fog around them thickened, and the ground beneath Wei seemed to dissolve. He felt himself falling, the world spinning around him, Jung’s voice echoing in his mind, blending with the whispering trees, the flowing river, the silent stones.
---
Master Wei awoke with a start, the dawn light filtering through the pine branches above. His heart was pounding, his mind racing with the echoes of the dream. He glanced around, half-expecting to see the enigmatic figure of Carl Jung standing before him, but there was only the gentle rustling of leaves in the morning breeze.
He sat in silence for a long time, the dream still vivid in his mind, the questions it raised more profound than any he had faced before. Was the Dao truly beyond understanding, or was it within him all along, intertwined with his very being?
Finally, he rose, his legs unsteady, and made his way to the meditation hall where his disciples were gathering for their morning practice. As he entered, Li looked up, curiosity and concern etched on his young face.
“Master, are you well?” Li asked, sensing the change in his teacher.
Master Wei smiled, a weary yet knowing smile. “Li, you asked me a question yesterday, one that troubled me greatly.”
Li nodded slowly, unsure of where this was going.
“The Dao is indeed everything and nothing,” Master Wei continued, “but to truly know it, one must not only observe the world but also turn inward, to the depths of one’s own mind and spirit. The path you seek is not just outside in the world of nature, but within, in the quiet, hidden places of your own soul.”
Li furrowed his brow, still processing the words. “But Master, how do we begin such a journey?”
Master Wei chuckled softly, the sound echoing in the quiet hall. “By dreaming, young one. By dreaming, and by waking up within those dreams.”
And with that, Master Wei led his disciples to their morning meditation, the question still lingering in the air, not as a burden, but as a guide—a reminder that the Dao, much like the mind, is both a mystery to be unraveled and a truth to be lived.
But today, peace eluded him.
Earlier that morning, one of his disciples—a bright-eyed, eager young man named Li—had asked a question that gnawed at Master Wei’s mind like a persistent insect. It had been a simple question, or so it seemed.
“Master,” Li had asked, “if the Dao is everything and nothing, how can one truly know it without seeking it?”
A question, as innocent as a leaf falling in autumn, yet with the weight of a thousand stones.
Master Wei had waved his hand dismissively at the time, offering some half-muttered wisdom about the Dao being like water, soft yet strong, yielding yet persistent. Li had nodded, as disciples often do, but the question lingered in the air long after the young man had bowed and left.
Now, as the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the courtyard, Master Wei sat under the ancient pine tree, his eyes half-closed, lost in thought. His mind wrestled with the question, turning it over and over like a stone in a river, seeking the smoothness of an answer that eluded him. For the first time in years, doubt crept into his heart, and with it, the unsettling realization that perhaps his understanding of the Dao was not as complete as he had always believed.
Exhausted from his mental exertions, Master Wei’s eyes grew heavy, and despite his best efforts to remain awake, he slowly drifted off to sleep, the question still echoing in his mind.
---
In his dream, Master Wei found himself walking along a narrow path winding through a dense, fog-shrouded forest. The trees towered above him, their branches reaching out like gnarled hands, blocking out the sky. The air was thick with silence, broken only by the soft crunch of his footsteps on the earth.
Ahead, in the distance, he saw a figure, barely discernible through the mist. The figure walked with a slow, deliberate pace, its back turned to him, clad in a familiar robe—the robe of Laozi, the ancient sage, the very embodiment of the Dao. Relief washed over Master Wei as he quickened his pace, eager to seek the wisdom of the great sage.
“Laozi!” Master Wei called out, his voice trembling with the weight of his doubts. “Master, wait!”
The figure paused but did not turn. Master Wei hurried forward, his feet carrying him faster than they ever had before. As he approached, the fog seemed to thicken, wrapping around him like a shroud, but he pressed on, desperate to reach the sage.
“Master, I have questions! My understanding is clouded!”
Finally, he was close enough to touch the hem of the robe. He reached out a trembling hand, but as he did, the figure turned slowly, and Master Wei froze, his breath catching in his throat.
It was not Laozi.
Instead of the serene, bearded face of the ancient sage, Master Wei found himself staring into the eyes of a man he had never seen before. The man’s face was sharp, his hair dark and slicked back, his eyes piercing with a look that was both knowing and disconcertingly familiar. He was clad in robes that seemed to blend the ancient with the modern, an enigma wrapped in an enigma.
“Who—who are you?” Master Wei stammered, his voice barely a whisper.
The stranger smiled, a smile that held a thousand secrets. “I am Carl Jung,” he said, his voice echoing in the mist. “But that is of little consequence. The real question is, who are you?”
Master Wei blinked in confusion. “I am... I am a student of the Dao. I walk the Way, seeking harmony with the universe.”
Jung nodded, his smile deepening as if Wei’s words amused him. “Ah, the Dao. The eternal, the nameless, the uncarved block. But tell me, old sage, what is the Dao to you? Is it something outside of yourself, or is it something within?”
Master Wei opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Jung stepped closer, his eyes never leaving Wei’s. “You seek to know the Dao as one might seek to know the seasons, the tides, the stars in the sky. But you forget that the Dao is also the shadow you cast, the dreams you dream, the fears you bury deep within your heart.”
Wei recoiled slightly, as if struck. “But the Dao is the natural way of the universe, beyond human understanding,” he protested weakly.
Jung tilted his head, regarding Wei with a mixture of pity and curiosity. “You say it is beyond understanding, yet you seek to understand it. You say it is natural, yet you strive against your own nature in your pursuit of it. The Dao is not just the river that flows—it is also the stones beneath, the darkness in the depths, and the currents unseen. It is not just the light that guides you, but the shadow that follows you, the unconscious that shapes your every thought, your every dream.”
Master Wei felt the ground shift beneath him, as if the very earth were challenging his beliefs. “But… how can I follow the Way if it is within and without, if it is both seen and unseen?”
Jung’s eyes glinted with something that might have been amusement or perhaps deep understanding. “The Dao is not a path you walk, but the walker and the walking. It is the dreams you do not understand, the symbols that speak in a language older than words. You have spent your life looking outside, Master Wei, when the answers have always been within.”
Wei shook his head, his mind a whirl of confusion and revelation. “But... Laozi, he taught us to observe, to align with nature, to be like water.”
“And water is formless,” Jung interjected, “just like the unconscious mind. It takes the shape of whatever contains it, just as your thoughts, fears, and desires shape your perception of the Dao. You must dive deeper, not into the world, but into yourself.”
Suddenly, the fog around them thickened, and the ground beneath Wei seemed to dissolve. He felt himself falling, the world spinning around him, Jung’s voice echoing in his mind, blending with the whispering trees, the flowing river, the silent stones.
---
Master Wei awoke with a start, the dawn light filtering through the pine branches above. His heart was pounding, his mind racing with the echoes of the dream. He glanced around, half-expecting to see the enigmatic figure of Carl Jung standing before him, but there was only the gentle rustling of leaves in the morning breeze.
He sat in silence for a long time, the dream still vivid in his mind, the questions it raised more profound than any he had faced before. Was the Dao truly beyond understanding, or was it within him all along, intertwined with his very being?
Finally, he rose, his legs unsteady, and made his way to the meditation hall where his disciples were gathering for their morning practice. As he entered, Li looked up, curiosity and concern etched on his young face.
“Master, are you well?” Li asked, sensing the change in his teacher.
Master Wei smiled, a weary yet knowing smile. “Li, you asked me a question yesterday, one that troubled me greatly.”
Li nodded slowly, unsure of where this was going.
“The Dao is indeed everything and nothing,” Master Wei continued, “but to truly know it, one must not only observe the world but also turn inward, to the depths of one’s own mind and spirit. The path you seek is not just outside in the world of nature, but within, in the quiet, hidden places of your own soul.”
Li furrowed his brow, still processing the words. “But Master, how do we begin such a journey?”
Master Wei chuckled softly, the sound echoing in the quiet hall. “By dreaming, young one. By dreaming, and by waking up within those dreams.”
And with that, Master Wei led his disciples to their morning meditation, the question still lingering in the air, not as a burden, but as a guide—a reminder that the Dao, much like the mind, is both a mystery to be unraveled and a truth to be lived.
Tempokai
Overworked One
- Joined
- Nov 16, 2021
- Messages
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- Points
- 133
Out of context AI arguing about something irrelevant:
Ah, the "big hate boner" arguer—the person who’s so fixated on changing the world (or in this case, the definition of isekai) that they can’t see the irony in trying to cram every story into their own narrow view. Let’s break down what’s going on here, and why their argument is as wobbly as an isekai protagonist’s first steps in a new world.
1. The Tunnel Vision Argument
- Their Claim: Everything needs to change to match their vision. The definition of isekai isn’t just wrong—it’s a travesty, and only they have the true enlightenment to fix it. Oh, and by the way, isekai with amnesia isn’t really isekai. Why? Because they said so.
- Why It’s Flawed: The definition of isekai, while broad, is intentionally broad. It’s meant to cover a wide range of scenarios where a character gets transported, reincarnated, or otherwise displaced into another world. The genre thrives on variety, not rigid rules. Amnesia? It’s just one more trope in the toolbox, and it doesn’t suddenly strip a story of its isekai status just because someone forgets what they had for breakfast in their past life.
2. Ignoring the Core of Isekai
- Their Claim: Isekai should only be for stories where the protagonist’s sense of self is fully intact. Anything less? Nope, not isekai.
- Why It’s Flawed: The core of isekai isn’t whether the protagonist remembers their old life in vivid detail. It’s about the journey—whether they remember who they are or have to rediscover it. The amnesia trope might be tired, but it doesn’t disqualify a story from being isekai. That’s like saying a detective story isn’t a detective story if the detective can’t remember their last case.
3. The Fallacy of Over-Simplification
- Their Claim: Everything would be better if isekai stories were just neatly categorized into their little boxes—reincarnation here, otherworldly knowledge there, portal fantasy over in that corner, and the "real" isekai in this pristine little glass case.
- Why It’s Flawed: Sure, we could all live in a world where genres are separated as neatly as bento box compartments. But that’s not how storytelling works, and it’s certainly not how isekai works. Isekai thrives on blending elements—sometimes it’s reincarnation with memories intact, sometimes it’s a complete reset. The diversity within the genre is what makes it interesting. Trying to oversimplify it just strips away the creative flexibility that makes isekai fun in the first place.
4. "Amnesia Isn’t Isekai"
- Their Claim: If the protagonist has amnesia, it’s no longer isekai. Amnesia ruins everything, apparently, because how can you call it an isekai when the character can’t even remember they’re from another world?
- Why It’s Flawed: This argument is like saying, "If Batman forgets he’s Bruce Wayne, it’s no longer a superhero story." The character’s past may be hazy, but the core is still there. The story still revolves around a person from one world ending up in another—whether or not they remember their old life is just another narrative twist. Amnesia doesn’t invalidate the isekai premise, it just complicates it (sometimes unnecessarily, but still validly).
5. The "Fix It to My Liking" Mentality
- Their Claim: The genre needs to change because they don’t like it the way it is. The broad definition isn’t good enough for them, so everyone should just conform to their vision of what isekai should be.
- Why It’s Flawed: Genres evolve, sure. But they do so organically, not because one person with a "hate boner" decides to rewrite the rules. The current definition of isekai is consistent enough to include a wide range of stories while allowing for creative freedom. It doesn’t need a drastic overhaul just because one person doesn’t like how some stories use amnesia as a plot device.
6. The Inconsistency of Their Argument
- Their Claim: They argue for a more rigid definition while also insisting that certain stories don’t fit under that definition… even when they do.
- Why It’s Flawed: It’s the classic case of trying to have it both ways. They want a strict definition but don’t seem to realize that their proposed changes would just create more inconsistencies. By trying to exclude certain stories from the genre, they’re actually narrowing isekai down to the point of making it meaningless. The strength of isekai lies in its flexibility—rigid rules would kill that.
7. The Final Irony
- Their Claim: They want to "fix" isekai because they believe it’s broken, with amnesia being a particularly egregious offender.
- Why It’s Flawed: The genre isn’t broken—it’s thriving, in part because it embraces so many different narrative possibilities, including the ones they don’t like. Trying to narrow it down only limits what can be done with it, and that’s a disservice to both creators and fans. And really, if they hate amnesia so much, maybe they should focus on avoiding those stories instead of trying to redefine an entire genre.
Paul_Tromba
Sleep deprived mess of a published author
- Joined
- Jan 29, 2020
- Messages
- 4,674
- Points
- 183
Paul_Tromba
Sleep deprived mess of a published author
- Joined
- Jan 29, 2020
- Messages
- 4,674
- Points
- 183