My Last Dilemma

Original work and translation by Laysa Bulhões

No quadro eu pinto o que é dificil expressar
O que não consigo identificar
Suas palavras eu tento entender
Mas com seus atos, só consigo sofrer
Minhas lagrimas se secam sozinhas
Porque você não se importa
Um homen que já não conheço mais
Agora me perguntas, “Qual é o problema?”
É você, meu primeiro amor
Me último dilema


On the canvas I paint what it's hard to express
What I can't identify
Your words, I try to understand
Your actions, only make me ache
My tear dry by themselves
Because of your neglect
A man who I no longer know
Now asks, “What's your problem?”
It is you, my first love
My last dilemma

A Story of Love

Original work and translation by Anna Eliza Pereira


Não sei usar uma expressão
E as palavra se perdem na trauçãu
Estão tão perto e me sinto tão longe
De onde guia o coracao

As palavras diminuem o que eu sinto
Não sei qual é o meu destino
Como o mundo, minha cabeça dá voltas
Como o vento, a emoção não volta

A lua me levará
A um caminho que se realizará
Um sonho do coração
Uma história de paixão



I am out of expressions
The words are lost in translation
I am so close, but feel very far
To where the heart guides

Words diminish my feelings
I don't know what my destiny is
Like the world, my head is spinning
Like the wind, my emotions come and go

The moon will take me
To a road which will fulfill
A dream from the heart
A story of love

The Game of War

by Dan King

To play MW3 or not to play MW3--that is the question:
Whether 'ti nobler in the mind of suffer
The bullets and grenades of tormenting twelve year-olds
Or to take the controller and mic against Elder Scrolls V,
and by playing, enjoy it. To deathmatch--to lag--
No more; and my campaign we do away with
Makarov, and the world war he left
That the earth is heir to. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly praised by many. To spawn, to die--
To spawn--perchance to get a killstreak, aye, there's the fun.
For in that game of war what chances may come,
When we turn the corner to the other team,
Shall frighten us. There's the killcam
That make disgrace of so good a player.
For who would bear the kills and airstrikes of newbs,
Th' newbs' idiocy, the pro's frustration
The pangs of despised teammates, the lag's delay
The inaudible voice of the child, and attempts to mute.
The lacking merit of th' underage child
When he himself might be made of of,
quit and lag the entire game? Who would play?
To spawn in die under a weary cycle
But that dread of a different game,
The undiscovered controls from which,
No one truly understands, puzzles the mind
And makes us rather bear the ills of COD
Than to the others that we know not of?
Thus, COD does make cowards of us all,
Our natural curiosity only extending to MW4,
And enterprises with great games and fun,
Ignore their games and turn awry.
And lose the name of gaming.