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Alice, child with dreaming eyes, Noting things that come to pass Turvey-wise in Wonderland Backwards through a Looking-Glass. ♠ Saki, The Westminster Alice ♣ |  |
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[ 100829 ] nocturne, King Pear – Who? Who? 02 Virgo 10 21:23 [ 100829 ] Me – You know that there's always someone reading 01 Virgo 10 07:34 [ 100428 ] nocturne – Alexandra Cabot reappeared in L&O: SVU, so I wiki'd >> Casey Novak >> Diane Neal, whose entry specifically states "She is a redhead." // Though I'm sure Amy was in my subconscious. 28 Aries 10 07:07 [ 100428 ] Ian, the Blue Berry Timothy – Did Amy trigger this? 28 Aries 10 06:47 [ 091026 ] andrew – thx 11 Aquarius 10 21:09 …more…  |
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Some words. I’ll be away for a few days, walking through Barabudur and pretending to be a monk soul brother. The last time I went away, to Angkor Wat, I came back with a bunch of words in my head and no computer to pour them into. This time, I am leaving with a bunch of words already in my head, and I might come back with less words, or more, or different ones; this makes me curious. In Thailand, I met Kinnaree, in Cambodia, Naga; in Indonesia, who knows? I’m thinking Garuda, but the pictures on wiki are all of Buddhas. It’s going to be interesting. The following is a shot, a doodle, a ditty. I’m divided on posting it; on the one hand, it is more the climax of a story than an actual story, and I hope to some day weave it into a more complete work. On the other, well, it’s something for you to read. I write these shots very quickly, usually in one sitting. Works like the Twos take weeks, and is very tiring. What I like about the shots are that they put an idea down. I write notes, but I have no idea what they mean when I read them again, because the words that made so much sense when I wrote them simply don’t anymore. So a shot is better than a note, but I don’t want to keep writing shots, or I’ll never get around to writing the longer, better stories. People have been telling me to write. If you want me to continue writing, here is what I find helpful. Get me readers, tell your friends, share on the social network. Give me comments. It’s hard to know if the work does what it is supposed to; I tend towards relatively elaborate structures, and I am never sure that I manage to pull it off. The rules of decorum make it difficult to tell the creator what you think of his work. Discard that, be as harsh as you can, tell me what you think in the way you’d talk about a movie or a book. Tell me what you like, what you don’t, how you feel at the end. I can’t get into the perspective of a reader, and that makes it impossible to tell if the journey has gone as planned. Besides True Love and Eternal Sunshine, all I want out of life is to write something that can make someone cry, or make someone literally utter to the computer screen, “Oh my God” or “What the fuck”. I truly want to write intricate beauty and the sweet torment of unattainable yearning, the deep depth of loss and the gratitude that springs from having had something to lose. I can’t do that yet, so I’ll settle for an OMGWTF. 木 Brown I: The Sleeping Forest250810 / The Depth of Loss 木 “Inorcism,” she says. 木 Lying on the bed in a hostel room, Red looks up at the ceiling, lit by a single light. “Long has paled that sunny sky,” she whispers, “Echoes fade and memories die.” The ceiling darkens, from white, to grey, to a deep blue, almost totally dark. “Autumn frosts have slain July,” says the smile of the little girl. Red’s eyes shift, slightly, to her right, where a pair of eyes fade in above the smile. “Lolli,” Alice says. Red sits up, pulling her legs in and turning around to sit cross-legged, facing the little girl. “Liz, how are you? Still playing chess?” Alice pouts, shakes her head, “No.” “Oh, I’m sorry. What happened?” “He met a girl.” “I see.” “Her name is Emily.” Red laughs, “Really?” “You mock me, Loll.” “Only slightly. Are you going to confront Lil, then?” “I already have.” “Was it?” Alice nods, and her voice is different as she mimics, “‘He needs a mortal lover, trust.’” Red laughs, “She has a point.” “Lil isn’t the one to preach about dating mortals. And, for that matter, neither are you. Your boyfriend is a lineage.” “What’re you talking about?” “It doesn’t matter; your love is sweet, in its way. Why do you dream of me?” “I need a favour.” “What can it be, I wonder.” “There’s this guy. He’s… kinda in a coma.” “Do tell.” “I’d like to play with him, a little bit more.” “That’s not like you. What did he do, I wonder.” “He broke someone of mine.” “Tsk.” “Indeed.” “It’s been a while since we’ve played together. Sounds fun.” Alice shifts upon the bed, to sit cross-legged as well. Their knees almost touch, the little girl, with her long hair pouring down, straight and dark, and the girl in the red hood. They hold their hands up and together, as in supplication. “Patty cake, patty cake, baker’s man,” begins Red, their hands clapping in the pattern of the game. “That I will, sister, as fast as I can,” continues Alice. “Prick it and prick it, and stab it with a pin.” “And the sinner will learn, what it means to dream.” Red sits up from the bed. “Oh my, you are angry,” Alice says. “I truly am,” Red replies, as she walks to the door. 林 She closes a door, she opens a window. She pulls a chair to the window, and sits down upon it. Without, there is another building, across the street. Through a window in that building, she can clearly see, in a dimly lit room, a man in a bed, hooked up to a machine, a blanket pulled over him, his arms upon the blanket, tubes connected to his arms. “Now I lay me down to sleep,” she whispers, her eyes fixed upon him, “I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If you should die before I wake, I prey upon your soul to take.” In the space between one window and another, there is a flash of red. The man on the bed takes a deep breath, a gasp for air. He opens his eyes, and is shocked to see a face inches from his own; half a face, for the eyes are covered in shadow, and all he can see is a mouth, smiling, and full of teeth. “Good morning, my darling,” she says. He is running. Through the corridors of the hospital, he runs, down a stairwell, out through the main door. There is no one else around. He finds himself on the street, and he runs. The ground under him shakes, a little tremor. He turns and sees, in the harsh light of the hospital, a tiny flash of red. He runs harder. The tremors come more often now, as if the panic in his heart is spreading out from him. He runs pass the open doors of many a building, and he feels he should run inside one of them, a deep rooted instinct telling him that he should hide, stay hidden, wait for it to pass. Then he recalls, with horrific clarity, the one time he had hidden from her. He runs harder. The floor is cracking underneath him, and there is a low rumble. He runs. Around him, through the cracked asphalt, the cracked concrete, little green spikes are coming forth. He turns around, and he sees, in the distance behind him, that the green spikes are brown trees, growing quickly, spreading their branches and unfolding their leaves. He runs. Around him, the trees are growing faster now. To avoid them, he runs onto the road, where their growth is slower, and there is space for him to run. Ahead of him, there is a loud rumble as a building collapses, throwing out a cloud of dust. He runs through the woods, ignoring the cars and bricks amongst the trees, pieces of paper, crystals of shattered glass, rubbish and remnant of a reality which he is no longer a part of. There is almost no place to go, so thick is the debris and the growing wood, but the way before him is clear enough, as if he is on a path, a broken road of asphalt and white line markings. He turns around, ever so often, but there is nothing behind him but the path he had come by, and the forest, with the sounds of moving wood and collapsing stone. And the path in front of him splits, two distinct roads through the woods. His chest hurts, and he pants, as he tries to decide which is the better path. “Hello, my darling,” the girl says, her voice resonating with an echo, “Do you like it?” He takes a deep breath, and he turns around. She is standing there, on the path, a small girl, in a red coat. Her coat is a deep red, its hood lined with white fur. The hood is pulled low over her face, framing her shadowed face with white and red. He stands, stunned and uncertain. She reaches up and pulls her hood back, her long hair pouring down, straight and dark. She looks up at him, her hair framing her face, and she smiles. “We like it very much. We call it Nemuri no Mori.” Her smile is a happy smile, a giddy smile, bright and shiny. “The Sleeping Forest,” says the Red Alice. 林 They watch as he runs down one of the paths. “Is that Needles or Pins?” they ask. “It doesn’t matter,” they reply with another voice. “I wonder.” “Pins.” “Liar.” “Chase.” “Overtake.” “Why not both?” “Why not, I wonder?” They reach up, and unzip their red coat. They straighten their arms, shakes them, and the coat slides off, and they grab it with their left hand. Laughing, the little girl runs towards one path, their arm stretched out behind them, the coat flying. As they pick up speed, they toss the coat toward the other path, and it flies through the air, and keeps on flying. 森 He runs down the path, and turns to look behind him, and he sees a flash of red. He runs harder. The path opens up before him, and he sees the little girl, sitting on the hood of a car, its windscreen shattered. She is swinging her legs. He turns around, and starts to run back, when he sees the flash of red. And he runs, past the girl on the broken car, down a path. He runs until he falls onto his knees, simply unable to stand up any more. “You know how when a person is possessed,” they muse, as they walk over to him, “the person becomes a demon? “What happens, I wonder, if a demon got possessed? Have you ever thought about that?” He looks up, at the girl in the red coat, her long hair pouring down, straight and dark. They tilt their head to a side, as they look at him. They hold up their hands, and spread their fingers. “Why are you running?” they ask, “We are just a little girl. What is there to fear? Pray tell.” He is trembling, his eyes wide. And they walk up to him, stand over him. “Do you like it? Our Sleeping Forest?” they ask, “Our Nemuri no Mori, your memento mori.” He sees in their hands a pair of long pins. “Do you know what ‘memento mori’ means?” they ask. “It is our promise to you,” they smile. 森 The man on the bed takes a deep breath, a gasp for air. He opens his eyes, and is shocked to see a face inches from his own. “Good morning, my darling,” they say, and they giggle. “‘Memento mori’ means ‘’Remember that you’re going to die.’” The face is smiling, full of teeth. Its eyes are wide and open, shining in the light; one red and one green. 森
 1861 words / 2187
To those who cling to power through corruption and deceit and the silencing of dissent, know that you are on the wrong side of history, but that we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist.
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Things that fall contrariwise, Difficult to understand Darkly through a Looking-Glass Turvey-wise in Wonderland ♠ Saki, The Westminster Alice ♣ | |
