Nothing to report. The current tenant is not demonstrating any particular haste to vacate the premises, despite nigh-constant bitching about the lack of space.
I am very tired.
14.9.07
FAQs and Other Crap I'm Sick of Dealing With
1. Due date is November 23. Order may be delayed due to imprecise dating methods, first-time jitters, or congenital tardiness inherited from both parents.
2. No, we don't know what gender it is, and at this point in history it shouldn't make a damn bit of difference. So STOP ASKING.
3. No, we don't have a name picked out yet. The naming office is not accepting any additional submissions at this time.
4. Just because I'm eagerly awaiting the birth of my own child doesn't mean I'm interested in hearing about / seeing pictures of / making stupid noises at someone else's, particularly if I don't know them and I've got work to do.
5. Just because my body is currently slightly preoccupied with growing another human being doesn't mean I'm incapable of carrying on a conversation about some other topic.
6. If you don't know me, don't even think about touching my belly if you want to keep that hand.
7. The Alien reference was funny the first half-dozen times. Now? Not so much.
8. Thank you - I wouldn't have noticed I was "as big as a house" unless you pointed it out. Placenta brain, you know. And no, it's not twins. I think the ultrasound would have picked that up pretty early.
2. No, we don't know what gender it is, and at this point in history it shouldn't make a damn bit of difference. So STOP ASKING.
3. No, we don't have a name picked out yet. The naming office is not accepting any additional submissions at this time.
4. Just because I'm eagerly awaiting the birth of my own child doesn't mean I'm interested in hearing about / seeing pictures of / making stupid noises at someone else's, particularly if I don't know them and I've got work to do.
5. Just because my body is currently slightly preoccupied with growing another human being doesn't mean I'm incapable of carrying on a conversation about some other topic.
6. If you don't know me, don't even think about touching my belly if you want to keep that hand.
7. The Alien reference was funny the first half-dozen times. Now? Not so much.
8. Thank you - I wouldn't have noticed I was "as big as a house" unless you pointed it out. Placenta brain, you know. And no, it's not twins. I think the ultrasound would have picked that up pretty early.
13.7.07
Walked Through the Fire With a Ten-Headed Lion (Mage)
The tea was strong like whoa, but it was icy-cold so I just knocked it back. The guy stood there grinning at me, so I finally got a little ticked off about it and asked him what the heck his problem was.
"How are you feeling?"
"I dunno. Less thirsty. A little cooler. Why?"
"Oh... just wait. You'll see."
Then he just wandered off. I was starting to think that while Median and Fata and most of their crew were okay, this guy was kind of a jackass.
* * * * * * * *
"Fuck me."
Median glances at Phenex quizzically.
"What, right now?"
"No... shit. Something's happening. Where's Rosemary?"
"Went to get a drink at Lemonhead's... Phenex, what the fuck, man?"
He's on his feet and heading towards the lemonade vendor.
"Something's wrong. She's starting to spike, but it's all fucked up. Did you give her anything?"
Median steps back at the sudden fury in his voice.
"No... I wasn't even going to bring it up until tomorrow night when they light the Man up. Phenex, what's wrong with her?"
"I don't know. Get Inri."
He staggers off, trying not to grit his teeth. Rosemary's broadcasting static, but there's a steadily rising shriek of psychic feedback underneath.
* * * * * * * *
Sunset sure looks pretty tonight - it never looks that good in pictures. And the clouds look like big poufs of cotton candy like they used to have at the church fair.
I sure hope my dad doesn't find me.
Don't want to think about that. Think about something else. Go watch the stilt-walkers. That was fun.
"IAO! EVOHE!"
What?
Why are all these people staring at me? Guy comes up to me, dancing kind of jerky like a puppet. He's wearing black tights with glittery skeleton bones painted on it. The glitter shows up nice in the redgold sunset light.
"Glory to thee from gilded tomb!"
That was weird. Is it just me or are people generally acting really weird tonight?
Maybe it's me. Everything's starting to look kind of wobbly, like it's underwater. Hope I don't have heatstroke. Maybe I should go back to the van and have some water - I don't think that tea's sitting right with me.
Crackle from someone's huge sound system makes her jump, and the noise creates faultlines that radiate outwards from the point of origin. The landscape holds for a moment in a brittle mosaic of hairline fractures, and then
everything
shatters.
"Glory to thee from waiting womb!"
The lady (?) is bright green - ivy waving up her arms and legs and she's wearing a toga-looking thing, only I can't see her face properly. Her belly is glowing bright pink and fading dark to bright like a heartbeat.
"How do you do that?"
Funny looks again. That didn't sound right. Maybe I should sit down.
"How are you feeling?"
"I dunno. Less thirsty. A little cooler. Why?"
"Oh... just wait. You'll see."
Then he just wandered off. I was starting to think that while Median and Fata and most of their crew were okay, this guy was kind of a jackass.
* * * * * * * *
"Fuck me."
Median glances at Phenex quizzically.
"What, right now?"
"No... shit. Something's happening. Where's Rosemary?"
"Went to get a drink at Lemonhead's... Phenex, what the fuck, man?"
He's on his feet and heading towards the lemonade vendor.
"Something's wrong. She's starting to spike, but it's all fucked up. Did you give her anything?"
Median steps back at the sudden fury in his voice.
"No... I wasn't even going to bring it up until tomorrow night when they light the Man up. Phenex, what's wrong with her?"
"I don't know. Get Inri."
He staggers off, trying not to grit his teeth. Rosemary's broadcasting static, but there's a steadily rising shriek of psychic feedback underneath.
* * * * * * * *
Sunset sure looks pretty tonight - it never looks that good in pictures. And the clouds look like big poufs of cotton candy like they used to have at the church fair.
I sure hope my dad doesn't find me.
Don't want to think about that. Think about something else. Go watch the stilt-walkers. That was fun.
"IAO! EVOHE!"
What?
Why are all these people staring at me? Guy comes up to me, dancing kind of jerky like a puppet. He's wearing black tights with glittery skeleton bones painted on it. The glitter shows up nice in the redgold sunset light.
"Glory to thee from gilded tomb!"
That was weird. Is it just me or are people generally acting really weird tonight?
Maybe it's me. Everything's starting to look kind of wobbly, like it's underwater. Hope I don't have heatstroke. Maybe I should go back to the van and have some water - I don't think that tea's sitting right with me.
Crackle from someone's huge sound system makes her jump, and the noise creates faultlines that radiate outwards from the point of origin. The landscape holds for a moment in a brittle mosaic of hairline fractures, and then
everything
shatters.
"Glory to thee from waiting womb!"
The lady (?) is bright green - ivy waving up her arms and legs and she's wearing a toga-looking thing, only I can't see her face properly. Her belly is glowing bright pink and fading dark to bright like a heartbeat.
"How do you do that?"
Funny looks again. That didn't sound right. Maybe I should sit down.
5.6.07
How Much Reality Can You Take? (Mage)
Inri finds her just after sunset, poking idly at the cooling embers of someone's abandoned campfire.
"Hey - haven't seen you much today."
"Yeah... I've kind of been staying away from camp. I've been thinking about a bunch of things.
"Want to talk about it?"
"I dunno that I can. It's all just so weird. I just needed a little time to figure out what I thought about it, you know?"
"Sort of. I mean, I imagine that a lot of this..." Inri waves her hand vaguely in the direction of the loudest noise at the moment, "seems... wrong? Is that it?"
"No! Well, sort of. Not quite though. It's more like... ever since my mom left, I've been wondering whether she left to get away from Dad, or whether she was trying to get to someplace that felt better for her. I mean, I don't really want to just get married to some guy and have a whole pile of kids, but that's just what you *do* in Gerberville."
"And this almost feels like too many possibilities."
"Yeah. I mean, I ain't going back, but I don't know where I do want to go or what I want to do when I get there. I don't wanna keep you all from doing whatever it was you were going to do after this, but... I got nowhere else to go. And I feel like I'm running out of time, like something's going to happen and I won't have any choice at all once it does. Does that sound totally crazy?"
"Actually, no. No it doesn't. And I don't really know what to tell you, because I don't want to be someone else telling you what you should do. But the fact that you're thinking about it, instead of just trying to avoid it, is probably a good sign. And we're not going to just leave you here or drop you off somewhere in California, because aside from the fact that it would be a really shitty thing to do, we like you. Our plans are open-ended enough that you're not going to be in the way, however long you decide to stick around, okay?"
"Okay. Thanks, Inri."
"Hey, no problem. You want to head back and cook up some cheese dogs on the fire?"
"Sure. That sounds great."
* * * * * * * *
So after that I felt a little better, even though I still didn't know what I wanted to do. And the big thing, when it happened, just opened things up even more.
But that was later on. We went back and the boys looked relieved to see us, so I guess they did like me, at least enough to worry. And everything looked better after a couple of cheese dogs and a whole mess of s'mores. I felt kind of goopy though, so I got some change out of my purse and went to grab a drink from the lemon-head guy. When I was standing there, though, one of the guys from Fata's camp came up and started talking to me.
"Getting some lemonade, hey?"
Which was kind of a stupid question, since that's all Lemon-head sold, but I suppose he was just making small talk.
"Want some tea instead? Not like hot tea - cold. Like what you had at Fata's the other night."
And all of a sudden that was all I wanted.
[TBC]
"Hey - haven't seen you much today."
"Yeah... I've kind of been staying away from camp. I've been thinking about a bunch of things.
"Want to talk about it?"
"I dunno that I can. It's all just so weird. I just needed a little time to figure out what I thought about it, you know?"
"Sort of. I mean, I imagine that a lot of this..." Inri waves her hand vaguely in the direction of the loudest noise at the moment, "seems... wrong? Is that it?"
"No! Well, sort of. Not quite though. It's more like... ever since my mom left, I've been wondering whether she left to get away from Dad, or whether she was trying to get to someplace that felt better for her. I mean, I don't really want to just get married to some guy and have a whole pile of kids, but that's just what you *do* in Gerberville."
"And this almost feels like too many possibilities."
"Yeah. I mean, I ain't going back, but I don't know where I do want to go or what I want to do when I get there. I don't wanna keep you all from doing whatever it was you were going to do after this, but... I got nowhere else to go. And I feel like I'm running out of time, like something's going to happen and I won't have any choice at all once it does. Does that sound totally crazy?"
"Actually, no. No it doesn't. And I don't really know what to tell you, because I don't want to be someone else telling you what you should do. But the fact that you're thinking about it, instead of just trying to avoid it, is probably a good sign. And we're not going to just leave you here or drop you off somewhere in California, because aside from the fact that it would be a really shitty thing to do, we like you. Our plans are open-ended enough that you're not going to be in the way, however long you decide to stick around, okay?"
"Okay. Thanks, Inri."
"Hey, no problem. You want to head back and cook up some cheese dogs on the fire?"
"Sure. That sounds great."
* * * * * * * *
So after that I felt a little better, even though I still didn't know what I wanted to do. And the big thing, when it happened, just opened things up even more.
But that was later on. We went back and the boys looked relieved to see us, so I guess they did like me, at least enough to worry. And everything looked better after a couple of cheese dogs and a whole mess of s'mores. I felt kind of goopy though, so I got some change out of my purse and went to grab a drink from the lemon-head guy. When I was standing there, though, one of the guys from Fata's camp came up and started talking to me.
"Getting some lemonade, hey?"
Which was kind of a stupid question, since that's all Lemon-head sold, but I suppose he was just making small talk.
"Want some tea instead? Not like hot tea - cold. Like what you had at Fata's the other night."
And all of a sudden that was all I wanted.
[TBC]
25.5.07
General Announcement
This message has been brought to you by Electric Maenad's current inhabitant and the Office of Memes in Questionable Taste.
1.5.07
And No One Forces Down Our Eyes (Mage)
Over half-burnt, half-raw cheese biscuits and poisonously strong coffee the next morning, Phenex studies Median closely. They've known each other since they were kids in Pine Heights in Austin, and he recognizes that look of barely-controlled manic glee. It's the same look he had the night Phenex Awakened, even though at the time he had no idea what the hell Median was grinning about, considering Phenex had just had the shit beaten out of him by a couple of homophobic redneck assholes. Of course, after he saw the state said assholes were in, he felt a little better. And after last night, he's inclined to agree that it's a matter of days, if that, before Rosemary Awakens.
Her aura's already started sparking with the earliest warning signs of psychic nova. He's tried to keep his observations fairly surreptitious - he doesn't want her to catch him staring at her, especially when she doesn't know what he's looking for. She's been watching him cautiously, in that way that white suburbanite kids always seem to watch guys like him. Still, she hasn't been overtly hostile, and considering her relatively narrow reality tunnel to date, she's been handling the whole Burning Man experience pretty well. He's still hoping that Median and Inri find something to distract her this afternoon. Even a lot of the regulars find the Sundance a little grisly.
* * * * * * * *
On the third morning, I went with Inri to a big open space where a crowd of people were doing Tai Ch'i. I found it a little hard at first, mainly because it was so slow and I kept losing my balance, but once I figured out where exactly to put my feet it was a lot easier. Even though it was really slow, it still made my arms and legs ache. After that, we went to the sunshowers - it was real nice to have a cool shower, although I had to trade my favorite pair of earrings. Afterwards, she said she was going to go for a walk. I was already hot again, so I went back to the camp, but Phenex was gone and Median was busy fiddling around with a bunch of computer parts and kept grunting whenever I tried to talk to him. I decided that not moving was making me hotter than walking was, so I wandered off to see if I could find Inri.
I was starting to find it a little easier to get around the place, because there were a lot of really big sculptures or tent complexes that you could use as landmarks, and of course the Man stood right in the middle of it all, so if you could remember which way he was facing from the place you needed to be, all you had to do was walk in a straight line. After a while, I decided to pick a direction and just see how much stuff there was before you ran out of camp and got into the bare desert again.
The people on the outside parts seemed to be a little less sociable than the ones in the middle. They didn't tell me to go away or anything, but they made it pretty clear they weren't really into talking. And then, just before it looked like there wasn't anything else to see, I spotted a tall pole just past a low ridge. I almost missed it with the air all wavy, but I thought I'd have a look see anyway.
It was about the size of a telephone pole and it had a bunch of ropes coming down from the top. There were a bunch of guys dancing around it, holding onto a couple of ropes apiece. A few other guys were pounding on drums and doing this high, wailing chant. They mainly looked like Indians, although they weren't wearing traditional costumes. Matter of fact, they weren't wearing much period.
I saw Phenex about the same time that I realized the guys weren't holding onto the ropes - the ropes were tied to sticks that were stuck right into their chests, and they were all bleeding and still dancing around the pole. Every once in a while, one of them would pull just a little too hard and the sticks would come out and the other guys would all cheer and pour water over the cuts and then rub in some sort of black paste before putting bandages over top. All most of them seemed to want to do afterwards was just lie on the ground - going by the amount of blood all around the pole and all over the dancers, they looked like they'd been going for a while.
I didn't know what to think of that, so I slowly started wandering back to camp. Inri was still gone, and Median was sleeping, so I just sat there doodling in the dirt with a stick. Phenex came back about half an hour after I did, all bandaged up and sweaty.
"Doesn't that hurt?"
He looked down at his chest and then looked at me.
"'Course it hurts. That's why we do it."
Her aura's already started sparking with the earliest warning signs of psychic nova. He's tried to keep his observations fairly surreptitious - he doesn't want her to catch him staring at her, especially when she doesn't know what he's looking for. She's been watching him cautiously, in that way that white suburbanite kids always seem to watch guys like him. Still, she hasn't been overtly hostile, and considering her relatively narrow reality tunnel to date, she's been handling the whole Burning Man experience pretty well. He's still hoping that Median and Inri find something to distract her this afternoon. Even a lot of the regulars find the Sundance a little grisly.
* * * * * * * *
On the third morning, I went with Inri to a big open space where a crowd of people were doing Tai Ch'i. I found it a little hard at first, mainly because it was so slow and I kept losing my balance, but once I figured out where exactly to put my feet it was a lot easier. Even though it was really slow, it still made my arms and legs ache. After that, we went to the sunshowers - it was real nice to have a cool shower, although I had to trade my favorite pair of earrings. Afterwards, she said she was going to go for a walk. I was already hot again, so I went back to the camp, but Phenex was gone and Median was busy fiddling around with a bunch of computer parts and kept grunting whenever I tried to talk to him. I decided that not moving was making me hotter than walking was, so I wandered off to see if I could find Inri.
I was starting to find it a little easier to get around the place, because there were a lot of really big sculptures or tent complexes that you could use as landmarks, and of course the Man stood right in the middle of it all, so if you could remember which way he was facing from the place you needed to be, all you had to do was walk in a straight line. After a while, I decided to pick a direction and just see how much stuff there was before you ran out of camp and got into the bare desert again.
The people on the outside parts seemed to be a little less sociable than the ones in the middle. They didn't tell me to go away or anything, but they made it pretty clear they weren't really into talking. And then, just before it looked like there wasn't anything else to see, I spotted a tall pole just past a low ridge. I almost missed it with the air all wavy, but I thought I'd have a look see anyway.
It was about the size of a telephone pole and it had a bunch of ropes coming down from the top. There were a bunch of guys dancing around it, holding onto a couple of ropes apiece. A few other guys were pounding on drums and doing this high, wailing chant. They mainly looked like Indians, although they weren't wearing traditional costumes. Matter of fact, they weren't wearing much period.
I saw Phenex about the same time that I realized the guys weren't holding onto the ropes - the ropes were tied to sticks that were stuck right into their chests, and they were all bleeding and still dancing around the pole. Every once in a while, one of them would pull just a little too hard and the sticks would come out and the other guys would all cheer and pour water over the cuts and then rub in some sort of black paste before putting bandages over top. All most of them seemed to want to do afterwards was just lie on the ground - going by the amount of blood all around the pole and all over the dancers, they looked like they'd been going for a while.
I didn't know what to think of that, so I slowly started wandering back to camp. Inri was still gone, and Median was sleeping, so I just sat there doodling in the dirt with a stick. Phenex came back about half an hour after I did, all bandaged up and sweaty.
"Doesn't that hurt?"
He looked down at his chest and then looked at me.
"'Course it hurts. That's why we do it."
20.3.07
A Foreign Feeling in a Country to Match (Mage)
By the second day at Black Rock City I'd managed to train myself to stop staring, although I'd still look at things/people just as intently. Everyone was an artist and a lunatic and a mad scientist all at once. The first night we all headed down to the central area together, and I got my first good look at the Man. Up close, he looked more like an electrical tower than a person, because you couldn't really see the head from the bottom. He was covered in neon tubing, little twinkling LEDs, ribbons of reflective fabric, and luminous paint. When they lit him up after sundown, he looked like a giant carnival ride, although Median said he wasn't going to move until the last night, just before they burned him down.
After staring at the Man for a while, we wandered around some more. There was always something going on - we saw a group of girls in mylar ballet costumes dancing to what I eventually recognized as the Sugar Plum Fairy dance number from The Nutcracker, sped up and almost obscured by booming drums. Later on, Median took us to a smaller tower that looked like a silver tree and introduced us to some people he knew from a website in California. I found out that after Burning Man he was going to the University of California at Berkeley to study computer science. I was impressed - I'd always found math hard, only Median said it wasn't really like math, but more like speaking another language or a secret code. Inri and Phenex were also going to Berkeley; she was going to be taking Peace and Conflict Studies, and Phenex was planning to study Rhetoric. That kind of surprised me, because Phenex didn't really talk much, although he was always giving you looks that made you think he'd said something anyway.
Median's friends were kind of cool, although my father would have disapproved because a lot of them said they were witches, although the way they said it sounded like "witches", if that makes any sense. Like they were just calling themselves that, but it wasn't really the right word because the right word hadn't been invented yet. Fata Morgana, a tiny woman with black hair and henna tattoos all over her face and hands, took me into her tent and gave me a tarot reading. I felt a little uneasy, because fortune-telling was a sin, but she was being so nice I didn't want to say no. Her (huge!) tent was draped with black velvet inside so no light and very little noise could get in from outside, and she had small lanterns with bulbs inside that changed colour hanging at each corner. There was incense burning in a small brass pot hanging from the ceiling - it smelled like violets and cloves and made my eyes sting a little. She poured some cold, mint-flavoured tea into tiny glasses, then we sat down in the middle of the floor on big, soft pillows, and she laid the cards out on a bright yellow scarf.
In a triangle pointing towards me, Fata put down "The Heirophant," (upside-down), "The Chariot", and "The Ace of Swords". In another triangle facing herself, she put down "The Star," "The Sun," and "Judgment," which looked a lot like how Dad said the Rapture would be. She frowned and said that I'd just liberated myself from an oppressive authority figure through an act of will (which was true, although I wouldn't have gotten all that far if Median hadn't picked me up), and that I would be "Awakening to my inner light." I wasn't sure what she meant, and the incense was really starting to make my eyes sting, so I just nodded and thanked her and went back outside. I didn't notice Median go into her tent, but about fifteen minutes later he came out and as soon as he saw me he gave me another one of those big lopsided grins of his and two thumbs up.
After staring at the Man for a while, we wandered around some more. There was always something going on - we saw a group of girls in mylar ballet costumes dancing to what I eventually recognized as the Sugar Plum Fairy dance number from The Nutcracker, sped up and almost obscured by booming drums. Later on, Median took us to a smaller tower that looked like a silver tree and introduced us to some people he knew from a website in California. I found out that after Burning Man he was going to the University of California at Berkeley to study computer science. I was impressed - I'd always found math hard, only Median said it wasn't really like math, but more like speaking another language or a secret code. Inri and Phenex were also going to Berkeley; she was going to be taking Peace and Conflict Studies, and Phenex was planning to study Rhetoric. That kind of surprised me, because Phenex didn't really talk much, although he was always giving you looks that made you think he'd said something anyway.
Median's friends were kind of cool, although my father would have disapproved because a lot of them said they were witches, although the way they said it sounded like "witches", if that makes any sense. Like they were just calling themselves that, but it wasn't really the right word because the right word hadn't been invented yet. Fata Morgana, a tiny woman with black hair and henna tattoos all over her face and hands, took me into her tent and gave me a tarot reading. I felt a little uneasy, because fortune-telling was a sin, but she was being so nice I didn't want to say no. Her (huge!) tent was draped with black velvet inside so no light and very little noise could get in from outside, and she had small lanterns with bulbs inside that changed colour hanging at each corner. There was incense burning in a small brass pot hanging from the ceiling - it smelled like violets and cloves and made my eyes sting a little. She poured some cold, mint-flavoured tea into tiny glasses, then we sat down in the middle of the floor on big, soft pillows, and she laid the cards out on a bright yellow scarf.
In a triangle pointing towards me, Fata put down "The Heirophant," (upside-down), "The Chariot", and "The Ace of Swords". In another triangle facing herself, she put down "The Star," "The Sun," and "Judgment," which looked a lot like how Dad said the Rapture would be. She frowned and said that I'd just liberated myself from an oppressive authority figure through an act of will (which was true, although I wouldn't have gotten all that far if Median hadn't picked me up), and that I would be "Awakening to my inner light." I wasn't sure what she meant, and the incense was really starting to make my eyes sting, so I just nodded and thanked her and went back outside. I didn't notice Median go into her tent, but about fifteen minutes later he came out and as soon as he saw me he gave me another one of those big lopsided grins of his and two thumbs up.
19.3.07
Ain't Got no Money and I Ain't Got no Hair
So... in a potentially regrettable burst of enthusiasm / lapse of judgment, I decided to sign up for U of C's HeadShave 2007 for cancer research / awareness. Ever since then, I've been pulling my hair back and trying to see if there's any sort of weird bumps on the less-visible portions of my skull and hoping to all the gods that I'll end up looking more like Natalie Portman in _V for Vendetta_ and less like Britney Spears in rehab / the loony bin. In either case, I'm somewhat curious to see what it'll look like growing out, as I haven't seen my natural hair colour since 1990.
I've also been amusing myself with various outrageous lies in response to the inevitable question of why I shaved my head. I mean, the cancer fundraising answer is certainly worthy and reasonable, but I also like some of the following:
1. (on a day I'm wearing my tricorn hat) "Arr... to get rid of th' lice!"
2. "I've converted to Buddhism." (which, for those of you familiar with my dilatory and meandering search for Truth (TM) is alarmingly plausible, at least until you factor in how snarly I get on a vegetarian diet)
3. "I needed to prepare for my upcoming trepanation."
4. "I had to sell my hair to pay my gambling debts."
5. "Lost a bet. Don't want to talk about it."
6. "I've joined the Hare Krishnas. Want to buy a flower?"
7. "I didn't - it just all fell out last night. Damnedest thing."
8. "Tried giving myself a haircut. Don't want to talk about it."
9. "Got attacked by a trichophage. Don't want to talk about it."
I've also been amusing myself with various outrageous lies in response to the inevitable question of why I shaved my head. I mean, the cancer fundraising answer is certainly worthy and reasonable, but I also like some of the following:
1. (on a day I'm wearing my tricorn hat) "Arr... to get rid of th' lice!"
2. "I've converted to Buddhism." (which, for those of you familiar with my dilatory and meandering search for Truth (TM) is alarmingly plausible, at least until you factor in how snarly I get on a vegetarian diet)
3. "I needed to prepare for my upcoming trepanation."
4. "I had to sell my hair to pay my gambling debts."
5. "Lost a bet. Don't want to talk about it."
6. "I've joined the Hare Krishnas. Want to buy a flower?"
7. "I didn't - it just all fell out last night. Damnedest thing."
8. "Tried giving myself a haircut. Don't want to talk about it."
9. "Got attacked by a trichophage. Don't want to talk about it."
8.3.07
And See Ye Not Yon Bonny Road? (Mage)
Phenex rubs his jaw, then rakes his fingers impatiently through his dreads.
"Could warn a brother, Median. You know that shit makes my teeth ache."
Median grins at him, looking not at all contrite.
"Sorry 'bout that."
"Mind filling me in? Inri might be willing to take in strays for no reason, but considering she's a sleeper and underage, I've got a suspicion there's another reason we're keeping the kid."
The other man stares out the window, his eyes briefly turning the colour of a funnel cloud.
"It's highly likely that she's going to awaken. Best guess would be sometime in the next week, give or take a couple of days. Somehow I don't think Child Services is equipped to deal with that."
"Shit. So why not tell Inri?"
"Because I'm going to do something that'll make it a virtual certainty, and I know she won't approve."
* * * * * * * *
I don't know what I was expecting. Although really, even if I'd been expecting something, it wouldn't have been what I was expecting, if that makes any sense.
Around two on the second day of driving, we turned off the main highway onto a dusty side road. For another hour, there was nothing to see except cracked, sun-baked ground and the occasional piece of bleached wood, bone, or a tumbleweed spinning along. Then I saw something glittering in the distance.
"What's that?"
"Wait."
The others were all grinning. Inri looked like she was about to start bouncing up and down like a little kid. So I squinted out the front window for the next half hour, watching the gleam ahead spread out and upwards, although the heat shimmering up from the sand still kept me from making out exactly what it was. Once, I saw a man zoom across the road on what looked like an easy chair slung between two motorcycles, trailing multicoloured streamers behind him.
Finally, I could see RVs, buses, geodesic domes, tents, antennae, and the huge skeletal steel form of a man towering above everything else. Median turned to me and grinned wildly, his spiky blond hair seemingly standing on end with excitement.
"Welcome to Burning Man."
* * * * * * * *
For the first couple of hours after we'd found a spot to park the van and set up the tents and camp beds, I just wandered around aimlessly. I made sure to note the landmarks along my route, so that I could find my way back to the others if I got lost. It was still overwhelming though. I'd never been to a place like this or seen people like these before - it kind of reminded me of pictures in old National Geographic magazines of tribespeople in Africa, except instead of bones and feathers and cowhide the people here were done up in fiber optic cable and bubble wrap and computer parts. They were all really friendly though - even more so when they found out it was the first time I'd been there. And it wasn't the skeevy sort of friendly that guys at the bar put on when they're trying to get me to go home with them either - I don't think most of the people I met had any ulterior motives besides making sure that I was having a good time.
"Could warn a brother, Median. You know that shit makes my teeth ache."
Median grins at him, looking not at all contrite.
"Sorry 'bout that."
"Mind filling me in? Inri might be willing to take in strays for no reason, but considering she's a sleeper and underage, I've got a suspicion there's another reason we're keeping the kid."
The other man stares out the window, his eyes briefly turning the colour of a funnel cloud.
"It's highly likely that she's going to awaken. Best guess would be sometime in the next week, give or take a couple of days. Somehow I don't think Child Services is equipped to deal with that."
"Shit. So why not tell Inri?"
"Because I'm going to do something that'll make it a virtual certainty, and I know she won't approve."
* * * * * * * *
I don't know what I was expecting. Although really, even if I'd been expecting something, it wouldn't have been what I was expecting, if that makes any sense.
Around two on the second day of driving, we turned off the main highway onto a dusty side road. For another hour, there was nothing to see except cracked, sun-baked ground and the occasional piece of bleached wood, bone, or a tumbleweed spinning along. Then I saw something glittering in the distance.
"What's that?"
"Wait."
The others were all grinning. Inri looked like she was about to start bouncing up and down like a little kid. So I squinted out the front window for the next half hour, watching the gleam ahead spread out and upwards, although the heat shimmering up from the sand still kept me from making out exactly what it was. Once, I saw a man zoom across the road on what looked like an easy chair slung between two motorcycles, trailing multicoloured streamers behind him.
Finally, I could see RVs, buses, geodesic domes, tents, antennae, and the huge skeletal steel form of a man towering above everything else. Median turned to me and grinned wildly, his spiky blond hair seemingly standing on end with excitement.
"Welcome to Burning Man."
* * * * * * * *
For the first couple of hours after we'd found a spot to park the van and set up the tents and camp beds, I just wandered around aimlessly. I made sure to note the landmarks along my route, so that I could find my way back to the others if I got lost. It was still overwhelming though. I'd never been to a place like this or seen people like these before - it kind of reminded me of pictures in old National Geographic magazines of tribespeople in Africa, except instead of bones and feathers and cowhide the people here were done up in fiber optic cable and bubble wrap and computer parts. They were all really friendly though - even more so when they found out it was the first time I'd been there. And it wasn't the skeevy sort of friendly that guys at the bar put on when they're trying to get me to go home with them either - I don't think most of the people I met had any ulterior motives besides making sure that I was having a good time.
5.3.07
The Lady Vanishes (Mage)
"So where are we going again?"
Median gave me a lopsided grin over his hamburger.
"Black Rock City, Nevada."
"Yeah, but it's not on the road map..."
"That's because it's only there sometimes. When the stars are right..."
The weedy black guy called Phenex snickered, then tried to cover it up with a theatrical show of choking on a french fry. Inri, a classic hippie type with long blonde hair and a huge duffel bag full of floaty tie-dyed clothes, smiled absently and looked out the window.
"Seriously, though - it'll be fun. And it's not like you had any other plans, right?"
"Well, no -"
Inri's gaze snapped back to me, pinning me to the sticky vinyl seat.
"I'd like to hear more about how you came to be on the highway in such a state. I know; you said you're running away from your dad, but there's more, isn't there? I mean, you don't even have another change of clothes with you. What, specifically, happened to make you leave?"
And for some reason I told them. Everything I could remember, anyway - even the stuff that seemed like a bizarre nightmare. And they just sat there, not even touching their food, and nobody laughed or interrupted or said I was crazy. At the end, Phenex swore under his breath and drained his now-cold cup of coffee. Inri nodded slowly and reached across the table to rest her hand on my arm.
"Rosemary... has your father behaved strangely before this? Have he or his deacons ever harrassed people for no reason or committed other violent acts?"
"Well, he beat up this one guy in Lubbock because he said the guy had some sort of mark on him. I thought maybe it was a Satanic tattoo or something, but he'd never done anything like that before Mom left..."
"What kind of mark was it? Do you remember exactly what he said?"
"Some kind of tower... an iron tower?"
Median looked at Inri, and I got the impression that they wanted me to leave, so I went to the ladies' room for a few minutes and read the graffiti on the walls.
* * * * * * * *
"We're fucked," Median mutters.
"Not necessarily," Phenex replies. "The van's warded, so her trail will have gone cold where we picked her up."
"And by the sounds of it, his little cabal is fairly isolated. They're dangerous in their own territory, but beyond that they probably don't have contact with other, more organized Banisher groups. From what Rosemary told us, it sounds like he's an Obrimos, which means that unless he's figured out how to cultivate other arcana, he doesn't have access to anything that might lead him to her. Or us." Inri smiles at him reassuringly.
Median pulls out his calculator and starts punching in numbers furiously. There's a faint, high-pitched whine that could be mistaken by a casual observer for some mechanical problem with the air conditioner. After a few moments, he relaxes, his shoulders dropping.
"Okay. Okay - you're right. The odds are - I won't say infinitesimal, but acceptably low that he'll be able to track her. And once we hit Black Rock, there's going to be so much background noise that she'd have to be broadcasting like a goddamn radio tower to attract any sort of attention at all. And even then, it's our kind of people there."
"We're cool then?"
"Yeah, we're cool."
"I'd better go fetch her from the bathroom then."
Median gave me a lopsided grin over his hamburger.
"Black Rock City, Nevada."
"Yeah, but it's not on the road map..."
"That's because it's only there sometimes. When the stars are right..."
The weedy black guy called Phenex snickered, then tried to cover it up with a theatrical show of choking on a french fry. Inri, a classic hippie type with long blonde hair and a huge duffel bag full of floaty tie-dyed clothes, smiled absently and looked out the window.
"Seriously, though - it'll be fun. And it's not like you had any other plans, right?"
"Well, no -"
Inri's gaze snapped back to me, pinning me to the sticky vinyl seat.
"I'd like to hear more about how you came to be on the highway in such a state. I know; you said you're running away from your dad, but there's more, isn't there? I mean, you don't even have another change of clothes with you. What, specifically, happened to make you leave?"
And for some reason I told them. Everything I could remember, anyway - even the stuff that seemed like a bizarre nightmare. And they just sat there, not even touching their food, and nobody laughed or interrupted or said I was crazy. At the end, Phenex swore under his breath and drained his now-cold cup of coffee. Inri nodded slowly and reached across the table to rest her hand on my arm.
"Rosemary... has your father behaved strangely before this? Have he or his deacons ever harrassed people for no reason or committed other violent acts?"
"Well, he beat up this one guy in Lubbock because he said the guy had some sort of mark on him. I thought maybe it was a Satanic tattoo or something, but he'd never done anything like that before Mom left..."
"What kind of mark was it? Do you remember exactly what he said?"
"Some kind of tower... an iron tower?"
Median looked at Inri, and I got the impression that they wanted me to leave, so I went to the ladies' room for a few minutes and read the graffiti on the walls.
* * * * * * * *
"We're fucked," Median mutters.
"Not necessarily," Phenex replies. "The van's warded, so her trail will have gone cold where we picked her up."
"And by the sounds of it, his little cabal is fairly isolated. They're dangerous in their own territory, but beyond that they probably don't have contact with other, more organized Banisher groups. From what Rosemary told us, it sounds like he's an Obrimos, which means that unless he's figured out how to cultivate other arcana, he doesn't have access to anything that might lead him to her. Or us." Inri smiles at him reassuringly.
Median pulls out his calculator and starts punching in numbers furiously. There's a faint, high-pitched whine that could be mistaken by a casual observer for some mechanical problem with the air conditioner. After a few moments, he relaxes, his shoulders dropping.
"Okay. Okay - you're right. The odds are - I won't say infinitesimal, but acceptably low that he'll be able to track her. And once we hit Black Rock, there's going to be so much background noise that she'd have to be broadcasting like a goddamn radio tower to attract any sort of attention at all. And even then, it's our kind of people there."
"We're cool then?"
"Yeah, we're cool."
"I'd better go fetch her from the bathroom then."
27.2.07
Let's Drive Into the Brave New World... (Mage)
Dustin McTavish (a.k.a. Median) has the worst hangover of his entire life, which is saying something, considering the sort of crowd he hangs with. It might have been all right if he'd been able to sleep in this morning, but they'd agreed to get on the road by 9:00 in order to make the most of the day. And did the sun have to be so godawful bright and... sunny? He aims a reproachful look at Inri, lounging across most of the other side of the booth in the full sunlight like a big hippie cat. Not that she's to blame for the sunshine, or his hangover. That's entirely his fault, so he puts on his darkest shades, knocks back a couple of ibuprofen with the biggest glass of OJ the pancake house can provide, and decides to be a man and suck it up. Chalk it up to a "learning experience" - the lesson being to avoid volunteering for the first driving shift if he planned to get ripped the day before a road trip.
After a couple of hours on the road, the thumping in his head has relocated to the stereo, where it blends nicely into Phenex's Underworld remix he's been working on all week. Reptile boy's joined Inri in the back of the Machina Mysterium where, by the sound of things, they're both cheerfully sleeping off the aftereffects of the party. Damned if he knows how a skinny-ass guy like Phenex can snore like that.
He's just thinking how fragging dull most of Texas outside of Austin is when he narrowly misses running down the girl standing halfway off the shoulder. She doesn't stick out her thumb or anything, but he stops about 50 feet ahead of her and backs up anyway. She's still standing there when Dustin walks up to her. She doesn't look injured, but she doesn't react until he's standing right in front of her, his shadow falling across her vacant, unseeing eyes.
* * * * * * * *
I started walking. Managed to make the coffee last until it started to get light, then started in on the donuts, stopping briefly at another gas station to use the bathroom, buy a bottle of water, and wash up. By the time the sun was completely up, I had blisters on both feet and was wishing I'd bought two bottles. Or maybe some sunscreen.
I thought about trying to hitch a ride, but Mom had told me to be careful. I'd heard just enough urban legends and cautionary tales to know that girls who hitchhiked were just asking for whatever horrible fate ended up befalling them in the stories. There were all kinds of godless perverts and murderers out there, and...
About then it finally sunk in that my father and his deacons had probably killed Wayne. My dad was a murderer. And I didn't even know how or why he did it. It was starting to get hazy - I just remembered him reading the Bible and blood dripping down Wayne's face, but the rest of it... I started to wonder if I'd just had a bad dream, sleeping in front of the TV at Vivian's house. Maybe I was still dreaming.
And suddenly, it got dark, and I felt hands on my shoulders, shaking me slightly.
"Hey... hey kid, are you okay?"
He didn't look much like a godless pervert or serial killer, especially not once he took off the dark sunglasses. As soon as I looked up at him he let go of my shoulders and stepped back carefully, giving me a small, unthreatening smile.
"You look like you could do with a bit of shade and a more efficient means of transport. Want a lift? We can take you as far as Frisco if you don't mind spending a couple of weeks in Nevada first. Swear to gods we're not freaky UFO hunters..."
And for a moment everything got really quiet, like the whole world was holding its breath, waiting to see what I'd do. It was kind of scary, and when I opened my mouth to take a deep breath I breathed in some road dust and started coughing so hard I nearly fell over. His pale grey eyes narrowed in concern and he started thumping my back until I finally recovered.
"That sounds like a better idea than anything I've come up with all night," I finally wheezed out, and he grinned and helped me into the back of the van.
After a couple of hours on the road, the thumping in his head has relocated to the stereo, where it blends nicely into Phenex's Underworld remix he's been working on all week. Reptile boy's joined Inri in the back of the Machina Mysterium where, by the sound of things, they're both cheerfully sleeping off the aftereffects of the party. Damned if he knows how a skinny-ass guy like Phenex can snore like that.
He's just thinking how fragging dull most of Texas outside of Austin is when he narrowly misses running down the girl standing halfway off the shoulder. She doesn't stick out her thumb or anything, but he stops about 50 feet ahead of her and backs up anyway. She's still standing there when Dustin walks up to her. She doesn't look injured, but she doesn't react until he's standing right in front of her, his shadow falling across her vacant, unseeing eyes.
* * * * * * * *
I started walking. Managed to make the coffee last until it started to get light, then started in on the donuts, stopping briefly at another gas station to use the bathroom, buy a bottle of water, and wash up. By the time the sun was completely up, I had blisters on both feet and was wishing I'd bought two bottles. Or maybe some sunscreen.
I thought about trying to hitch a ride, but Mom had told me to be careful. I'd heard just enough urban legends and cautionary tales to know that girls who hitchhiked were just asking for whatever horrible fate ended up befalling them in the stories. There were all kinds of godless perverts and murderers out there, and...
About then it finally sunk in that my father and his deacons had probably killed Wayne. My dad was a murderer. And I didn't even know how or why he did it. It was starting to get hazy - I just remembered him reading the Bible and blood dripping down Wayne's face, but the rest of it... I started to wonder if I'd just had a bad dream, sleeping in front of the TV at Vivian's house. Maybe I was still dreaming.
And suddenly, it got dark, and I felt hands on my shoulders, shaking me slightly.
"Hey... hey kid, are you okay?"
He didn't look much like a godless pervert or serial killer, especially not once he took off the dark sunglasses. As soon as I looked up at him he let go of my shoulders and stepped back carefully, giving me a small, unthreatening smile.
"You look like you could do with a bit of shade and a more efficient means of transport. Want a lift? We can take you as far as Frisco if you don't mind spending a couple of weeks in Nevada first. Swear to gods we're not freaky UFO hunters..."
And for a moment everything got really quiet, like the whole world was holding its breath, waiting to see what I'd do. It was kind of scary, and when I opened my mouth to take a deep breath I breathed in some road dust and started coughing so hard I nearly fell over. His pale grey eyes narrowed in concern and he started thumping my back until I finally recovered.
"That sounds like a better idea than anything I've come up with all night," I finally wheezed out, and he grinned and helped me into the back of the van.
26.2.07
They Were All in Love With Dying (Mage)
I saw flames without heat, and animals that swirled and passed through each other like smoke, and blood creeping along the concrete floor towards the door. I heard howls and snarls and above it my father's voice, chanting passages from the Bible and something else in a language I didn't recognize, in a voice that shook the ground under my feet like thunder. There was the smell of smoke, and dead skunk, and something sharp like air scorched by lightning. The hair stood up on the back of my neck and along my arms, prickling through my t-shirt.
I think he saw me. Not my dad - Wayne. He looked up and sort of smiled, even with the blood running down his face from his nose and the corners of his mouth.
That's when I started running. Ran to the car and turned the key and drove off without the faintest idea where I was going other than away. Drove until fatigue started edging into the fear, pulled into a truck stop, bought coffee and food and a packet of caffeine pills, and was about to leave again when I realized that if I had his car, he could find me. That, and I still didn't know where I was going, but I couldn't go back after that. I still don't know if anyone in town found out what had happened. Even the Coombes. Maybe Vivian and her parents woke up the next morning and forgot they even had a brother or a son. Or if they did, maybe Dad would have just said that the demon left Wayne, but the process of driving it out killed him. I really didn't know.
I think he saw me. Not my dad - Wayne. He looked up and sort of smiled, even with the blood running down his face from his nose and the corners of his mouth.
That's when I started running. Ran to the car and turned the key and drove off without the faintest idea where I was going other than away. Drove until fatigue started edging into the fear, pulled into a truck stop, bought coffee and food and a packet of caffeine pills, and was about to leave again when I realized that if I had his car, he could find me. That, and I still didn't know where I was going, but I couldn't go back after that. I still don't know if anyone in town found out what had happened. Even the Coombes. Maybe Vivian and her parents woke up the next morning and forgot they even had a brother or a son. Or if they did, maybe Dad would have just said that the demon left Wayne, but the process of driving it out killed him. I really didn't know.
21.2.07
Black, White, Red
I think I had someone else's dreams last night. Nobody I recognized was in them, and the general thematic content, while sharing a few features with my usual fare, (there's almost always a war or revolution going on, for example) was sufficiently different that it just felt like I was along for the ride instead of being an active participant.
1. Setting: The dream starts run-down loft apartment in a large, anonymous city, or possibly The City, near some elevated train tracks. The main room is long, but not particularly wide, with floor-to-ceiling windows along the longest wall, streaked with grime, soot, and a fair amount of pigeon shit. There are pizza boxes and half-empty pop bottles littering the floor and the dumpster-grade furniture. There is a table in the middle of the room consisting of a door laid across stacked-up milk crates - on the table are a couple of overflowing ashtrays, a ziploc baggie full of dried mushrooms, and, incongruously, an opened velvet pouch with rubies spilling out onto the table.
Features: The reason I know they're rubies is that everything else is in black and white, but the stones are blood red. I don't know what I look like, as there are no mirrors and the windows aren't reflecting enough light to see myself in them. I seem to be a fair bit taller though. As this is not a lucid dream, it doesn't occur to me to look at my hands.
Events: There is a young man here. I don't recognize him. At first he's got darkish skin and a severe buzz-cut, but then he sort of reaches up to peel off his face and it's a guy with blond hair and trendy sunglasses. He gives me this knowing smirk and says something, but I can't hear him over the train and the rising sound of shouting, gunfire, and breaking glass from the street below. I get the impression that we need to leave relatively quickly though. His sister is in the other room, so I go to get her.
This is where it gets significantly creepier. The room's a lot bigger than you'd expect from the layout of the apartment, but what really ices the cake is the fact that the room is full of dead, dying, or panicked livestock of various species. The sister is sitting on the back of a large cow that she's just stabbed in the neck with a scalpel. She's covered in blood (again, the only colour in the scene) and so is the floor. She's wearing a long, old-fashioned white nightgown and her hair is all frizzy and wild like she just got out of bed. She looks crazy, and I don't know how I'm going to get her out of here without her taking a swipe at me with the scalpel. That, and I think I'm going to be sick from the noise and the smell, not to mention the sight of all these animals. She hasn't been doing a particularly good job killing them, so they're mostly just slowly bleeding to death.
[CUTS TO]
2. Setting: It's late at night in the countryside - fields and a windbreak of trees on the other side of a ditch. There's a wrecked car in the ditch with an emergency crew clustered around it. I'm approaching another car which looks relatively unharmed. There's a girl huddled in the back seat (not the sister in the first scene).
Features: I appear to be a cop in this one, or at least I just got out of a police car and have on a uniform and an assortment of standard police accoutrements hanging from my belt. I have no idea what the hell is going on or why I'm here though.
Events: When I open the back door of the car, the girl screams that she's been abducted. For a second the point of view changes so that I'm her, and I know I'm lying, but not why. Then the perspective switches back and I help her out of the car and over to an ambulance, where the paramedics are waiting with a blanket and a styrofoam cup of coffee. She's wearing a baggy blue jumpsuit, which almost looks like standard convict wear. She doesn't have any shoes, and that and the fact that the jumpsuit is way too big for her makes me think she's probably telling the truth.
[CUT TO]
Damn it. I've forgotten most of the rest. I remember the third part took place in an old-fashioned prison, almost like what I suspect the inside of the Tower of London probably looked like when it was still being used as a prison. I was locked up with a bunch of other people, apparently indefinitely as we were considered some manner of threat to society. The girl from the second part was supposed to be helping to break us out, but I'm not sure what the plan was. Damn.
1. Setting: The dream starts run-down loft apartment in a large, anonymous city, or possibly The City, near some elevated train tracks. The main room is long, but not particularly wide, with floor-to-ceiling windows along the longest wall, streaked with grime, soot, and a fair amount of pigeon shit. There are pizza boxes and half-empty pop bottles littering the floor and the dumpster-grade furniture. There is a table in the middle of the room consisting of a door laid across stacked-up milk crates - on the table are a couple of overflowing ashtrays, a ziploc baggie full of dried mushrooms, and, incongruously, an opened velvet pouch with rubies spilling out onto the table.
Features: The reason I know they're rubies is that everything else is in black and white, but the stones are blood red. I don't know what I look like, as there are no mirrors and the windows aren't reflecting enough light to see myself in them. I seem to be a fair bit taller though. As this is not a lucid dream, it doesn't occur to me to look at my hands.
Events: There is a young man here. I don't recognize him. At first he's got darkish skin and a severe buzz-cut, but then he sort of reaches up to peel off his face and it's a guy with blond hair and trendy sunglasses. He gives me this knowing smirk and says something, but I can't hear him over the train and the rising sound of shouting, gunfire, and breaking glass from the street below. I get the impression that we need to leave relatively quickly though. His sister is in the other room, so I go to get her.
This is where it gets significantly creepier. The room's a lot bigger than you'd expect from the layout of the apartment, but what really ices the cake is the fact that the room is full of dead, dying, or panicked livestock of various species. The sister is sitting on the back of a large cow that she's just stabbed in the neck with a scalpel. She's covered in blood (again, the only colour in the scene) and so is the floor. She's wearing a long, old-fashioned white nightgown and her hair is all frizzy and wild like she just got out of bed. She looks crazy, and I don't know how I'm going to get her out of here without her taking a swipe at me with the scalpel. That, and I think I'm going to be sick from the noise and the smell, not to mention the sight of all these animals. She hasn't been doing a particularly good job killing them, so they're mostly just slowly bleeding to death.
[CUTS TO]
2. Setting: It's late at night in the countryside - fields and a windbreak of trees on the other side of a ditch. There's a wrecked car in the ditch with an emergency crew clustered around it. I'm approaching another car which looks relatively unharmed. There's a girl huddled in the back seat (not the sister in the first scene).
Features: I appear to be a cop in this one, or at least I just got out of a police car and have on a uniform and an assortment of standard police accoutrements hanging from my belt. I have no idea what the hell is going on or why I'm here though.
Events: When I open the back door of the car, the girl screams that she's been abducted. For a second the point of view changes so that I'm her, and I know I'm lying, but not why. Then the perspective switches back and I help her out of the car and over to an ambulance, where the paramedics are waiting with a blanket and a styrofoam cup of coffee. She's wearing a baggy blue jumpsuit, which almost looks like standard convict wear. She doesn't have any shoes, and that and the fact that the jumpsuit is way too big for her makes me think she's probably telling the truth.
[CUT TO]
Damn it. I've forgotten most of the rest. I remember the third part took place in an old-fashioned prison, almost like what I suspect the inside of the Tower of London probably looked like when it was still being used as a prison. I was locked up with a bunch of other people, apparently indefinitely as we were considered some manner of threat to society. The girl from the second part was supposed to be helping to break us out, but I'm not sure what the plan was. Damn.
20.2.07
Sad Eyes, Crooked Crosses (Mage)
The summer I turned 16, we moved to a no-account little town called Gerberville about an hour outside of Lubbock. Dad had been offered a job with an evangelical Christian show which broadcast out of a surprisingly sophisticated studio in an even more lavishly-appointed church which was the dominant feature (and primary employer) of the town. The steeple was visible from 30 miles away on a clear day, and at sunrise the glass roof shone like a sheet of holy fire, which I'm sure was the intended effect. Gold Key Ministries also ran Gerberville's only school and the town library, which effectively meant that my junior year science class was a complete waste of time.
Honestly, it was comfortable, and because GKM was focused on encouraging donations as well as saving souls, Dad had to tone down the threats of hell a fair bit for his live sermons. I could have easily just let the 24/7 indoctrination wash over me, gone to a community college to acquire the skills I'd need to be a suitable "helpmeet" for the nice Aryan seminary student I'd end up marrying and having a pile of children for. You think I'm being facetious, but I assure you that had the seriously bad shit not happened, that's exactly what I'd have done, and probably been completely content doing it, in a not-thinking-about-it-much, cowlike sort of way.
A few weeks before I was due to start senior year, one of the local parishoners called and asked Dad to come out to do a "healing". Mr. Coombe was a well-regarded member of the community and a generous contributor to the ministry, so of course Dad agreed to pay a visit. I went along because I was friends (in that superficial way that high-school kids in a Stepford-esque community are friends) with their daughter, Vivian. When we arrived, though, it was pretty obvious that this wasn't just Mrs. Coombe's arthritis acting up. Mr. Coombe looked like he hadn't slept, and Mrs. Coombe and Viv both had red, puffy eyes like they'd been crying for a long time.
I didn't even know Viv had a brother, but I guess Wayne was going to school at U of T in Austin and had just come home for the weekend. He was acting really weird and scary when he came back, so Mr. Coombe thought he had a demon. Honestly, I don't believe in demons - I figured he was probably on drugs or something. But when Dad went into Wayne's bedroom, he was making these weird animal noises, and it smelled like the time we went on vacation to Yellowstone and Dad accidentally hit a skunk with the camper. He was only in there for a few minutes with Wayne, and when he came out he wouldn't say anything to the Coombes; he just went downstairs and made a few calls, and about half an hour later a bunch of the deacons from Gold Key showed up, looking all grim and severe. Dad asked Mr. Coombe if they could use the garage because he didn't know how long the healing would take, and he didn't want to keep people awake.
The Coombes invited me to stay with them for dinner, and I don't think anyone said more than a dozen words for the next couple of hours. Mrs. Coombe took some sleeping pills and went to bed, and Viv and I stayed up watching TV while her dad pretended to read the Bible, even though he never turned a page from the time he opened it until he went to bed. Then Vivian said she was going to bed, and I was left just sitting by myself in front of the TV. I thought it was kind of strange that none of them acted like they even wanted to go out to the garage to see how things were going, but then maybe they figured that Dad needed privacy to do the Lord's work. Curiosity was just eating me up though, so I turned off all the lights and snuck over to the garage to look in the window.
Honestly, it was comfortable, and because GKM was focused on encouraging donations as well as saving souls, Dad had to tone down the threats of hell a fair bit for his live sermons. I could have easily just let the 24/7 indoctrination wash over me, gone to a community college to acquire the skills I'd need to be a suitable "helpmeet" for the nice Aryan seminary student I'd end up marrying and having a pile of children for. You think I'm being facetious, but I assure you that had the seriously bad shit not happened, that's exactly what I'd have done, and probably been completely content doing it, in a not-thinking-about-it-much, cowlike sort of way.
A few weeks before I was due to start senior year, one of the local parishoners called and asked Dad to come out to do a "healing". Mr. Coombe was a well-regarded member of the community and a generous contributor to the ministry, so of course Dad agreed to pay a visit. I went along because I was friends (in that superficial way that high-school kids in a Stepford-esque community are friends) with their daughter, Vivian. When we arrived, though, it was pretty obvious that this wasn't just Mrs. Coombe's arthritis acting up. Mr. Coombe looked like he hadn't slept, and Mrs. Coombe and Viv both had red, puffy eyes like they'd been crying for a long time.
I didn't even know Viv had a brother, but I guess Wayne was going to school at U of T in Austin and had just come home for the weekend. He was acting really weird and scary when he came back, so Mr. Coombe thought he had a demon. Honestly, I don't believe in demons - I figured he was probably on drugs or something. But when Dad went into Wayne's bedroom, he was making these weird animal noises, and it smelled like the time we went on vacation to Yellowstone and Dad accidentally hit a skunk with the camper. He was only in there for a few minutes with Wayne, and when he came out he wouldn't say anything to the Coombes; he just went downstairs and made a few calls, and about half an hour later a bunch of the deacons from Gold Key showed up, looking all grim and severe. Dad asked Mr. Coombe if they could use the garage because he didn't know how long the healing would take, and he didn't want to keep people awake.
The Coombes invited me to stay with them for dinner, and I don't think anyone said more than a dozen words for the next couple of hours. Mrs. Coombe took some sleeping pills and went to bed, and Viv and I stayed up watching TV while her dad pretended to read the Bible, even though he never turned a page from the time he opened it until he went to bed. Then Vivian said she was going to bed, and I was left just sitting by myself in front of the TV. I thought it was kind of strange that none of them acted like they even wanted to go out to the garage to see how things were going, but then maybe they figured that Dad needed privacy to do the Lord's work. Curiosity was just eating me up though, so I turned off all the lights and snuck over to the garage to look in the window.
7.2.07
Sleeping is Giving In (Mage)
Dear Diary,
I've decided to dispense with the fiction that I'm talking to anyone other than myself. If I'm going crazy anyway, I'm not going to sweat the minor detail of pretending that this is of interest or concern to anyone else, but... honestly, this shit is affecting my work. And I've got to think that's bad, because it's not like this job really requires much in the way of brainpower or even really paying attention. Hell, I've been smiling and pretending everything is just... swell for as long as I can remember, so it's almost second nature by now. Or you'd think so.
The last thing she said to me as I left for school that day was, "Be careful." Maybe I took it a little too much to heart. Maybe I think too much. He always said, "Idle hands are the Devil's playground," and with the smile I always thought it was another homily for the straying members of the flock. But he could have been serious, and maybe the problem isn't the idle hands, but the active mind that tends to start spinning its wheels when it isn't focused on the hands.
After she left... Matt became a caricature of himself. He lettered in three sports, maintained a respectable B average, became one of the high-school elite. He got into trouble, but it was appropriate trouble, like cruising around with his football buddies and knocking over mailboxes, or stealing a chunk of sodium from the chemistry lab and dropping it into one of the toilets in the boys' washroom. Boys-will-be-boys sort of shit. We barely spoke, and when we did it was about trivial things - small talk and gossip.
Dad just started acting... freaky. Like, he didn't get upset or seem to miss her, but sometimes I'd see him in his car after I got off school, watching me and my friends when we were at the mall or hanging around Starbucks. At home it would be this bizarre Norman Rockwell scene for a couple of hours, but late at night I'd come downstairs for a snack if I was studying for a test and he'd be standing in the kitchen with the lights off, staring out the window at something in the yard. And his sermons at church started to get really weird - he'd talk about angels hunting down sinners and evildoers. He started getting obsessed with witches and "devil worshippers", and he got arrested for getting out of his car at a red light one time and beating the hell out of some poor clueless yuppie walking down the sidewalk because he said he could see "the mark of the Iron Tower" on him.
I've decided to dispense with the fiction that I'm talking to anyone other than myself. If I'm going crazy anyway, I'm not going to sweat the minor detail of pretending that this is of interest or concern to anyone else, but... honestly, this shit is affecting my work. And I've got to think that's bad, because it's not like this job really requires much in the way of brainpower or even really paying attention. Hell, I've been smiling and pretending everything is just... swell for as long as I can remember, so it's almost second nature by now. Or you'd think so.
The last thing she said to me as I left for school that day was, "Be careful." Maybe I took it a little too much to heart. Maybe I think too much. He always said, "Idle hands are the Devil's playground," and with the smile I always thought it was another homily for the straying members of the flock. But he could have been serious, and maybe the problem isn't the idle hands, but the active mind that tends to start spinning its wheels when it isn't focused on the hands.
After she left... Matt became a caricature of himself. He lettered in three sports, maintained a respectable B average, became one of the high-school elite. He got into trouble, but it was appropriate trouble, like cruising around with his football buddies and knocking over mailboxes, or stealing a chunk of sodium from the chemistry lab and dropping it into one of the toilets in the boys' washroom. Boys-will-be-boys sort of shit. We barely spoke, and when we did it was about trivial things - small talk and gossip.
Dad just started acting... freaky. Like, he didn't get upset or seem to miss her, but sometimes I'd see him in his car after I got off school, watching me and my friends when we were at the mall or hanging around Starbucks. At home it would be this bizarre Norman Rockwell scene for a couple of hours, but late at night I'd come downstairs for a snack if I was studying for a test and he'd be standing in the kitchen with the lights off, staring out the window at something in the yard. And his sermons at church started to get really weird - he'd talk about angels hunting down sinners and evildoers. He started getting obsessed with witches and "devil worshippers", and he got arrested for getting out of his car at a red light one time and beating the hell out of some poor clueless yuppie walking down the sidewalk because he said he could see "the mark of the Iron Tower" on him.
5.2.07
In God's Country (Mage)
Dear Diary,
The one question I know you're dying to ask, because it's the same question most people ask me within five minutes of meeting me, is what a nice girl like me is doing in a place like this. "This" referring to Japan in general, or the bar or this shitty little closet of an apartment in particular. So I'm going to tell you, because whatever answer I formulate for the idly curious or the fatuously flirtatious is generally nothing more than the first glib response that pops into my head. Can't tell people the truth here, after all. That's the first thing I learned, and I'm eternally grateful to the person who told me that, because if I hadn't learned that one thing, I'd be in a damn sight more trouble than I already might be. If I'm not just crazy, anyways.
Since I bought you at a stationery shop here, you've never been to Lubbock. You aren't missing much - it's (if you'll forgive my crudeness) kind of the asshole of Texas. Too small to be interesting, too big to be picturesque, and home to Lubbock Christian University. That's where my father works, and that's why I'm here (Japan, that is), which is about as far away as you can get physically and culturally and still get pizza delivered.
I'm not saying I had a bad childhood or anything, but... Okay. No - you know what? It was pretty bad; I just didn't realize it until after the fact. My dad was a preacher. When I tell people that, a lot of them assume that I'm a total slut, but I was the stereotypical "good little girl". Until I was fourteen, I really believed that my dad talked to God on a regular basis, and he always told me that his sermons full of brimstone and the wages of sin were for the people in the congregation - the sinful ones who would not serve a God they didn't fear. People like us - our family - were already in a state of grace and needed no goad of hellfire or promise of reward to do the Lord's work.
My mother left when I was fourteen. We - my father and brother and I - never discussed it. She was there, quiet and patient and deferential, and then... gone. At first I thought she'd just had enough of always putting his wishes, his life, before hers. And maybe she had, but with what I know now I'm not sure she just up and left. Anyway, that was when things started to get weird.
The one question I know you're dying to ask, because it's the same question most people ask me within five minutes of meeting me, is what a nice girl like me is doing in a place like this. "This" referring to Japan in general, or the bar or this shitty little closet of an apartment in particular. So I'm going to tell you, because whatever answer I formulate for the idly curious or the fatuously flirtatious is generally nothing more than the first glib response that pops into my head. Can't tell people the truth here, after all. That's the first thing I learned, and I'm eternally grateful to the person who told me that, because if I hadn't learned that one thing, I'd be in a damn sight more trouble than I already might be. If I'm not just crazy, anyways.
Since I bought you at a stationery shop here, you've never been to Lubbock. You aren't missing much - it's (if you'll forgive my crudeness) kind of the asshole of Texas. Too small to be interesting, too big to be picturesque, and home to Lubbock Christian University. That's where my father works, and that's why I'm here (Japan, that is), which is about as far away as you can get physically and culturally and still get pizza delivered.
I'm not saying I had a bad childhood or anything, but... Okay. No - you know what? It was pretty bad; I just didn't realize it until after the fact. My dad was a preacher. When I tell people that, a lot of them assume that I'm a total slut, but I was the stereotypical "good little girl". Until I was fourteen, I really believed that my dad talked to God on a regular basis, and he always told me that his sermons full of brimstone and the wages of sin were for the people in the congregation - the sinful ones who would not serve a God they didn't fear. People like us - our family - were already in a state of grace and needed no goad of hellfire or promise of reward to do the Lord's work.
My mother left when I was fourteen. We - my father and brother and I - never discussed it. She was there, quiet and patient and deferential, and then... gone. At first I thought she'd just had enough of always putting his wishes, his life, before hers. And maybe she had, but with what I know now I'm not sure she just up and left. Anyway, that was when things started to get weird.
1.2.07
And Her Hallway Moves (Felicity)
She spends a lot of time motionless. It creeps most people out - even elders, who eat atrocities for what passes for breakfast at their age, are a little... bothered by the girl who sits behind and slightly to the right of the prince, supported by the yellowing lace confection of an ancient wedding dress, staring at them with kryptonite eyes. She really could not care less what they think though, because she's brushed across the same thoughts too many times to count in the last hundred-odd years.
It's just that every time she moves the susurration of a million sleepwalking minds abrades her own consciousness to the point where the more she moves, the less she can think. She feels like the wall of a sea-cliff, slowly wearing away under the constant thoughtless pressure of inside voices. And sometimes a chunk of the wall just collapses. The results, while spectacular, are never pleasant for anyone in the immediate vicinity when it happens.
Far easier to let Richard command her movements, shuddering with marionette gracelessness as she follows him from the hushed oak-panelled chamber. Never mind that she can feel his own walls crumbling under a different kind of force when he speaks to her. It's not really her place to mention it, and Richard has a nasty habit of confusing the message with the messenger.
Sometimes, when she's looking at a petitioner or a new arrival or a possible spy, she'll let a little of what she's experiencing through. Sometimes people look into her eyes and drop to their knees, gasping for air they no longer breathe. It feels as though they're drowning.
It's just that every time she moves the susurration of a million sleepwalking minds abrades her own consciousness to the point where the more she moves, the less she can think. She feels like the wall of a sea-cliff, slowly wearing away under the constant thoughtless pressure of inside voices. And sometimes a chunk of the wall just collapses. The results, while spectacular, are never pleasant for anyone in the immediate vicinity when it happens.
Far easier to let Richard command her movements, shuddering with marionette gracelessness as she follows him from the hushed oak-panelled chamber. Never mind that she can feel his own walls crumbling under a different kind of force when he speaks to her. It's not really her place to mention it, and Richard has a nasty habit of confusing the message with the messenger.
Sometimes, when she's looking at a petitioner or a new arrival or a possible spy, she'll let a little of what she's experiencing through. Sometimes people look into her eyes and drop to their knees, gasping for air they no longer breathe. It feels as though they're drowning.
24.1.07
Too Much Contact, No More Feeling (Alex)
September 1989
He saunters into Manhattan Project at about quarter to midnight, just ahead of the crowds spilling out of the bars across the river. As he approaches his usual table, a gaggle of suspiciously young-looking girls in identical Goth-face makeup shriek "Alex!" He smirks in greeting, tossing his creaking-new black leather jacket over the back of the booth before sliding in next to... Annabelle? Anaconda? Whatever the hell her name is. The waitress deposits a snakebite and black in front of him moments later, and he gives her a more sincerely appreciative smile. It's been a long week - since Parliament has been in session, he's actually been expected to do some *work* at the office, which has been seriously eating into his sleep time as a result. He might actually go home before Manhattan closes tonight.
In the meantime though, the DJ's just put on The Sisters, and the entire bar surges towards the dancefloor like an oilslick wave. The bass thunders through the floor, jacked up almost to the point of overloading the speakers, but not quite. Alex loses the tie and takes a drag off Julia's (Jocasta?) clove cigarette, letting the alcohol and the noise numb his senses.
Although maybe that's not quite what he's looking for tonight.
He shakes his head angrily and shrugs off a black-taloned hand, heading for the bathroom. A thin boy with a shock of lime-green hair is bent over the counter, inhaling lines. He notices Alex watching.
"Want some?"
Alex thinks about it, his mind shying away from the image of his mother with bloodshot eyes and a smear of white under her nose.
"How much?"
"Ten a line?"
"Is it good shit?"
The kid laughs shakily.
"Yeah, I'd say so."
"Okay."
He hands over a twenty, then rolls up another as the kid arranges two lines on the counter with practiced ease despite the trembling in his hands.
* * * * * * * *
Five minutes later Alex is back on the dancefloor, feeling like God almighty. Instead of feeling numb, his senses are heightened to an almost painful degree. Colours are brighter, shadows are darker, and even with feedback and ambient noise, he can hear each note in the harsh industrial track and appreciate the way they fail to harmonize. It's almost too much - he retreats to the table and impresses the girls with tales of Montreal and hobnobbing with foreign diplomats. It's mostly complete bullshit, of course, but he's always had a talent for bullshit.
* * * * * * * *
The DJ's just put on the new Nine Inch Nails track when there's a buzz of conversation audible even over the wash of bass. Through the darkened (and rather grubby) front window he can see the outline of a white stretch limousine. Then the door opens and a guy in a long, white leather coat comes sweeping in like he owns the place, followed by an entourage of about seven or eight people, all of whom are dressed in such a way that makes everyone else in the club look like preschool kids playing dress-up.
"Who the fuck is that?"
He thought he'd said it to himself, but Cleo (Christine?) says, "That's Omar. Haven't you ever seen him before? They go to a different bar every night - I don't know what he does for a living, but he must be super rich..."
Alex's sense of tact disappeared after the third snakebite. He blurts out, "But he's so old - he must be at least forty!"
... just as the song fades and there's a sudden inconvenient lull in the conversation. Omar looks over sharply, takes in his rumpled work clothes and smudged eyeliner, and smiles beatifically at him. Feeling like a complete asshole now, Alex quickly knocks back the rest of his drink and lurches unsteadily to his feet. A hand rests lightly on his forearm, holding him steady. One of the girls from Omar's crew is standing there with a flute glass full of something milky green.
"Mr. Ravenhurst wishes to know if you would care to join him at his table."
He saunters into Manhattan Project at about quarter to midnight, just ahead of the crowds spilling out of the bars across the river. As he approaches his usual table, a gaggle of suspiciously young-looking girls in identical Goth-face makeup shriek "Alex!" He smirks in greeting, tossing his creaking-new black leather jacket over the back of the booth before sliding in next to... Annabelle? Anaconda? Whatever the hell her name is. The waitress deposits a snakebite and black in front of him moments later, and he gives her a more sincerely appreciative smile. It's been a long week - since Parliament has been in session, he's actually been expected to do some *work* at the office, which has been seriously eating into his sleep time as a result. He might actually go home before Manhattan closes tonight.
In the meantime though, the DJ's just put on The Sisters, and the entire bar surges towards the dancefloor like an oilslick wave. The bass thunders through the floor, jacked up almost to the point of overloading the speakers, but not quite. Alex loses the tie and takes a drag off Julia's (Jocasta?) clove cigarette, letting the alcohol and the noise numb his senses.
Although maybe that's not quite what he's looking for tonight.
He shakes his head angrily and shrugs off a black-taloned hand, heading for the bathroom. A thin boy with a shock of lime-green hair is bent over the counter, inhaling lines. He notices Alex watching.
"Want some?"
Alex thinks about it, his mind shying away from the image of his mother with bloodshot eyes and a smear of white under her nose.
"How much?"
"Ten a line?"
"Is it good shit?"
The kid laughs shakily.
"Yeah, I'd say so."
"Okay."
He hands over a twenty, then rolls up another as the kid arranges two lines on the counter with practiced ease despite the trembling in his hands.
* * * * * * * *
Five minutes later Alex is back on the dancefloor, feeling like God almighty. Instead of feeling numb, his senses are heightened to an almost painful degree. Colours are brighter, shadows are darker, and even with feedback and ambient noise, he can hear each note in the harsh industrial track and appreciate the way they fail to harmonize. It's almost too much - he retreats to the table and impresses the girls with tales of Montreal and hobnobbing with foreign diplomats. It's mostly complete bullshit, of course, but he's always had a talent for bullshit.
* * * * * * * *
The DJ's just put on the new Nine Inch Nails track when there's a buzz of conversation audible even over the wash of bass. Through the darkened (and rather grubby) front window he can see the outline of a white stretch limousine. Then the door opens and a guy in a long, white leather coat comes sweeping in like he owns the place, followed by an entourage of about seven or eight people, all of whom are dressed in such a way that makes everyone else in the club look like preschool kids playing dress-up.
"Who the fuck is that?"
He thought he'd said it to himself, but Cleo (Christine?) says, "That's Omar. Haven't you ever seen him before? They go to a different bar every night - I don't know what he does for a living, but he must be super rich..."
Alex's sense of tact disappeared after the third snakebite. He blurts out, "But he's so old - he must be at least forty!"
... just as the song fades and there's a sudden inconvenient lull in the conversation. Omar looks over sharply, takes in his rumpled work clothes and smudged eyeliner, and smiles beatifically at him. Feeling like a complete asshole now, Alex quickly knocks back the rest of his drink and lurches unsteadily to his feet. A hand rests lightly on his forearm, holding him steady. One of the girls from Omar's crew is standing there with a flute glass full of something milky green.
"Mr. Ravenhurst wishes to know if you would care to join him at his table."
17.1.07
More Research
So C. is starting up his _Mage_ campaign again, and by way of research I've dug out all the vaguely Japanese-related literature I've got and have also checked out Murasaki Shikibu's _The Tale of Genji_ from the university library. I found it pretty heavy slogging the last time I took a run at it - for someone who has to see someone a good half-dozen times before I remember their name (unless they do or say something particularly awe- or outrage-inspiring), a thousand-page novel with several dozen characters, each with four or five poetic sobriquets or official titles on top of their regular name - well, you can certainly understand my confusion. Fortunately, the library also had a study guide available - sort of like a more erudite version of _Coles' Notes_.
[Honestly, I'd really like to see the people at Coles take a run at summarizing the _Tale of Genji_. Although given how fragging lazy the average student is, it'd still probably be too long for some people. It leads to the interesting question of just how much you can dumb something down before it becomes a reductio ad absurdum: "The _Tale of Genji_ is about a Japanese guy named Genji who writes a lot of poetry and has sex with a lot of women. He dies about halfway through the book though, so the title really isn't all that accurate."]
Anyway, I ploughed through most of the study guide last night, and so far the thing that's got me the most intrigued is the fact that the entire story takes place before what most Westerners consider classical Japanese culture, what with the katanas and the Zen buddhism and the samurai bushido ethic and so forth. Honestly, imperial court life in Heian Japan sounds, on first reading, a lot like the French aristocracy centred around Versailles in the 16th and 17th centuries. The courtiers at Heian-Kyo, much like those at Versailles, spent most of their time and energy trying to outdo each other in sartorial splendour, gossiping, seducing people related to or favoured by the Emperor, and various other games of one-upmanship.
I've got the oldest English translation of the text, done by Arthur Waley between 1921 and 1933. Apparently it's less of a direct translation and more of a paraphrase, although having had a look at the first couple of chapters it's certainly very accessible. Two later translations, one from 1976 and one from 2002 are supposed to be more accurate, so perhaps I'll check out one or both of them just to see how pronounced the differences are.
It's interesting comparing _Genji_ with _Hagakure: The Book of the Samurai_ by Yamamoto Tsunetomo, which admittedly is more of a primer for young samurai than a novel. Still, the difference in tone within the space of just a few centuries is striking, especially when Tsunetomo spends a fair bit of time in _Hagakure_ complaining about how decadent samurai have become since the rise of the Tokugawa shogunate and the end of a long period of civil war. I can only imagine what Tsunetomo might have thought of the poetry-writing, wisteria-viewing, romance-addicted aristocracy of the Heian court.
18/1/07 - Added a link to an online copy of _Genji_, if anyone's interested. (It's linked on the post title, because apparently with the latest system upgrade Blogger no longer automatically makes links a different colour.)
[Honestly, I'd really like to see the people at Coles take a run at summarizing the _Tale of Genji_. Although given how fragging lazy the average student is, it'd still probably be too long for some people. It leads to the interesting question of just how much you can dumb something down before it becomes a reductio ad absurdum: "The _Tale of Genji_ is about a Japanese guy named Genji who writes a lot of poetry and has sex with a lot of women. He dies about halfway through the book though, so the title really isn't all that accurate."]
Anyway, I ploughed through most of the study guide last night, and so far the thing that's got me the most intrigued is the fact that the entire story takes place before what most Westerners consider classical Japanese culture, what with the katanas and the Zen buddhism and the samurai bushido ethic and so forth. Honestly, imperial court life in Heian Japan sounds, on first reading, a lot like the French aristocracy centred around Versailles in the 16th and 17th centuries. The courtiers at Heian-Kyo, much like those at Versailles, spent most of their time and energy trying to outdo each other in sartorial splendour, gossiping, seducing people related to or favoured by the Emperor, and various other games of one-upmanship.
I've got the oldest English translation of the text, done by Arthur Waley between 1921 and 1933. Apparently it's less of a direct translation and more of a paraphrase, although having had a look at the first couple of chapters it's certainly very accessible. Two later translations, one from 1976 and one from 2002 are supposed to be more accurate, so perhaps I'll check out one or both of them just to see how pronounced the differences are.
It's interesting comparing _Genji_ with _Hagakure: The Book of the Samurai_ by Yamamoto Tsunetomo, which admittedly is more of a primer for young samurai than a novel. Still, the difference in tone within the space of just a few centuries is striking, especially when Tsunetomo spends a fair bit of time in _Hagakure_ complaining about how decadent samurai have become since the rise of the Tokugawa shogunate and the end of a long period of civil war. I can only imagine what Tsunetomo might have thought of the poetry-writing, wisteria-viewing, romance-addicted aristocracy of the Heian court.
18/1/07 - Added a link to an online copy of _Genji_, if anyone's interested. (It's linked on the post title, because apparently with the latest system upgrade Blogger no longer automatically makes links a different colour.)
2.1.07
AFK
Today is my first day back at work after Christmas holidays, and I'm probably feeling better today than I have since about the 20th of December. X. and I have both been wretchedly ill during the Yuletide season, a condition apparently shared by just about everyone we know. I don't know if it's the flu, but there does seem to be something extraordinarily nasty going around right now. Fortunately, X. is between jobs and I've had since the 22nd off, so at least we didn't have to haul our diseased carcasses in to work, but I suspect we've made up for it by infecting our respective families with the Damned Thing. Unfortunately, it's difficult to appreciate ten solid days of slack time when you're busy drowning in your own noxious secretions.
So here's what I've been up to, for anyone who's interested:
Dec. 22: Got to leave at noon. Watered office plants thoroughly, because dead houseplants make baby Jesus cry. Went to early Christmas Eve dinner at folks' place because my dear little sister and her beau were leaving for Spain on the 24th. Tried to avoid coughing on her, as I didn't want to spoil her holiday. Opened presents. Went home early at my mother's insistence.
Dec. 24: Christmas Eve at X.'s folks. Learned a great deal about the eating habits of various ruminant species from X.'s dad, who evidently misses lecturing. Opened more presents. Went home early due to hellacious stomach cramps.
Dec. 25: Christmas Day at my folks' with my aunt, uncle, and two of my three cousins. Wore a great deal of makeup to disguise sickly complexion for obligatory family photography session. Went home early after hacking germs all over extended family.
Dec. 26-7: Hacking, sniffling, and watching _Shogun_ on DVD.
Dec. 28: Birthday. X. was feeling a bit better, so he made me breakfast. Went to folks' place for dinner (chicken cordon bleu - my favourite) and profiteroles in lieu of cake. X. earned my undying gratitude for erasing the picture my mother insisted on taking to mark the momentous occasion of my turning 35. Like I really want to immortalize the moment when I look and feel as though I've been run over by the "Bust Loose" party bus
Dec. 30: More or less alive. Went with X. to a D&D session at TFG's apartment although only as a spectator.
Dec. 31: Went to a smallish soiree at Strixy and Franca's apartment and got rather drunk. Felt considerably better. Decided to consume more alcohol next time I get sick.
So here's what I've been up to, for anyone who's interested:
Dec. 22: Got to leave at noon. Watered office plants thoroughly, because dead houseplants make baby Jesus cry. Went to early Christmas Eve dinner at folks' place because my dear little sister and her beau were leaving for Spain on the 24th. Tried to avoid coughing on her, as I didn't want to spoil her holiday. Opened presents. Went home early at my mother's insistence.
Dec. 24: Christmas Eve at X.'s folks. Learned a great deal about the eating habits of various ruminant species from X.'s dad, who evidently misses lecturing. Opened more presents. Went home early due to hellacious stomach cramps.
Dec. 25: Christmas Day at my folks' with my aunt, uncle, and two of my three cousins. Wore a great deal of makeup to disguise sickly complexion for obligatory family photography session. Went home early after hacking germs all over extended family.
Dec. 26-7: Hacking, sniffling, and watching _Shogun_ on DVD.
Dec. 28: Birthday. X. was feeling a bit better, so he made me breakfast. Went to folks' place for dinner (chicken cordon bleu - my favourite) and profiteroles in lieu of cake. X. earned my undying gratitude for erasing the picture my mother insisted on taking to mark the momentous occasion of my turning 35. Like I really want to immortalize the moment when I look and feel as though I've been run over by the "Bust Loose" party bus
Dec. 30: More or less alive. Went with X. to a D&D session at TFG's apartment although only as a spectator.
Dec. 31: Went to a smallish soiree at Strixy and Franca's apartment and got rather drunk. Felt considerably better. Decided to consume more alcohol next time I get sick.
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