copy/pasted from http://scaper.deviantart.com 21 January, 2006
Posted by silentpyjamas in blather and claptrap.1 comment so far
“The material universe and the physical body that we experience through our five physical senses, in the time span of physical life, are only one small aspect of reality. Insights into the larger picture of reality are graphed within the laws of quantum physics.
All material objects within the entire world are made up of atoms. Atoms are composed of sub-atomic particles moving at lightning speeds through huge empty spaces. Sub-atomic particles are not material things, but fluctuations of energy and information in a huge void. Our physical bodies and all the materials in the physical universe are both proportionately as void as intergalactic space. Our material body and that of the solid appearing universe is composed not of material or solids, but of sub-atomic energy particles that flicker in and out of existence at the speed of light. Our nervous system cannot process these quantum events at the speed at which they are really happening, so it decodes the energy and information into the experience of solid and three-dimensional material bodies. Not only does this decision to observe create our experience of the physical world, but also it creates our awareness of our self. All physical reality that we experience is, in this sense, self created. We are the creator of it, the process of creating it, and that which is created. Our view of space, time and the entire material world is self fabricated. We realize that what we focus on becomes reality.
Upon taking responsibility for this, we must focus on the reality we want to experience in order to create it.”
from david mack in “kabuki”
snippet – reach 21 January, 2006
Posted by silentpyjamas in blather and claptrap, little fictions.add a comment
There is a bridge that stretches beneath the oft-traversed rivers of men. At the height of its stateliness it was still no more than a small arch connecting two paths opposite one another across one of the many chasms that lie beneath the rivers. Standing in the perfect center of the bridge, one can look up and see the world of men from below. Rain and road, footsteps and football field, where those above see only the ground beneath their feet, a person on the bridge can see the name of their shoe, the tread of their tire, the whorl on the pad of their toe. Below, there is sky interrupted only by the rivers, and through the bottom anything can be seen from the center of a bridge. The river need not be water, only a flow.
There is always the temptation to touch. It’s impossible to dissuade everyone from doing something. A few cannot resist. For whatever reason they usually go out alone. Perhaps it’s the thought of feeling foolish in front of an audience, realizing one cannot reach after all. The bridges themselves are built to discourage reaching upward. There are no rails. They are not, however, fearsome. Do not be deceived. Wide at the ends and tapering to a gentle stitch in the middle, the bridges are quite benign. The chasms have no wind. Of those who go to touch the soles of mankind, most return. The few who do not are assumed to have fallen. Always, there is speculation that some do reach.
It’s common knowledge that the bottom of the river is smooth and cool, almost damp. One person said he looked at his fingers and ran his thumb across them expecting to feel moisture. They were dry and he put them back up to the river bottom. “I believed there was water flowing past my fingers.” He had pushed at the bottom to find it unyielding. He pushed again, harder, and found his footing on the bridge lacking.
His story was never questioned. There will always be people who must try. He was respected in his community and this gave his account gravity. He had, he described, slipped and nearly fallen into the chasm. Less than half his body was off the bridge but the manner in which he had fallen left his head and one arm dangling precariously for some long moments.
After a testimony like that one, many a soul doubtless dreamt of their safety in the world beneath the rivers. The next daring band of would-be reachers was preparing to make an attempt, though no member was aware of any other. Those heads were awash nights with their imagined moment of reaching: the interminable seconds of black excitement when they break through the river and get caught up in the slipstream of time.
Echidna, with her fair hair, fair skin, fair eyes, and lips that seemed painted pink with the dust of water-flowers. Echidna. Rowan repeated the name to himself again and again. Surely there could never be another like his beloved. He stood by the log where they had sat by the pond and talked about their future. Where the light had shone through her flaxen hair and danced in her eyes, and he had wanted to kiss her that instant. In a moment of strange clarity, he thought I’ve never seen water flowers above the rivers. It was then that his vision blurred and in a moment flocks of brightly colored birds flew, scattering away from the great wrenching sobs.
Echidna had gone by then. Hours earlier she had made her way to the footbridge beneath one of the rivers. Since she was a child she’d wanted to reach, right there. She could see the almost arabesque coils of the symbol of the tavernkeeper. It hung on a flag within view from the bridge. She craned her neck to see if there was anyone coming. She’d studied this bridge for many years, she knew the ebb and flow of traffic, but there was always a chance some pair of lovers might take a late stroll to the statue. She didn’t see anyone. With a trembling belly Echidna made her way to the center of the bridge. It was narrow, but not dangerously so. Being a tall girl she had an advantage. She barely had to stand on her tiptoes to touch the bottom of the river. SHe gasped and withdrew her hand quickly, touching her fingertips to her lips. Dry, but cool. This is what she’d kept hearing.
Her anxiety increased. Suddenly she was acutely aware of what she was doing. Here she was, on a narrow footbridge, trying to reach. Reaching might not even be real. She could fall off the bridge. Nobody would ever know what happened to her. And the thing that frightened her the most: everyone knew that once you reached you couldn’t come back.
In. Out. In. Out. Echidna breathed. Pushed. The bottom held firm. She pushed harder. Harder. Her muscles tensed, then burned, then screamed. Her hands felt they might be crushed and she suddenly became desperately afraid she would fall. Suddenly she felt something give and she thought it was a bone in her hand. Before she had time to pull her hands away they went through the bottom of the river. She’d thought it would be like breaking glass or punching a hole or…something. Instead it was as if her hands had passed throughthe bottom of the river and were in the flow. It was cold, freezing. There was a sort of negative pressure on her hands and she began to pull them back when she was wrenched upward.
The speed was incredible. Echidna rocketed through the river, her body swirling in the frigid…waters? thoughts? events? She could barely think, everything was rushing past her. For long moments she thought she might be sick. The ascent seemed neverending and the pain was incredible. It felt as if the force of the river were going to tear her body to pieces and she would have screamed except she couldn’t breathe. The black cold seeped into her skin and she curled into the fetal position to try to keep warm. She became aware of a sensation similar to a room spinning, and then of something closing in around her head. She didn’t know how long this lasted, falling upward through the river of time from the bridge.
She had blacked out. When she awoke a man was standing over her, murmuring something in a language she didn’t understand. A woman hurried over, knelt down. She brushed Echidna’s hair from her face and peered at her. The woman’s own eyes were deep and faintly sad. She said in Echidna’s own tongue “you will finish your days here, child.”
thievery 15 January, 2006
Posted by silentpyjamas in blather and claptrap.1 comment so far
what’s the best way to protect your valuable jewelry?
never wear it. keep it locked tight in a safe.
the best way to protect your carpets?
make sure nobody ever walks on them in their shoes.
the best way to keep a secret document?
hide it. password it. encode it. never tell anyone it exists.
so it is with all things. to keep it safe, keep it away from everyone.
just keep it away.
recurring stalker dream 12 January, 2006
Posted by silentpyjamas in blather and claptrap.1 comment so far
i lived in some pleasant neighborhood with alex. for some reason, in these dreams it’s always me and alex. i must worry about her a lot.
anyway, i had a stalker. i knew this because he would leave me notes. once i ws in the mall with alex, in a pizza place. when we came out of there, there was a note on the bench outside of it, addressed to me. he was going to kill me, it said. i ran back in, hysterical, and somehow got one of those pizza cuttwrs. i ran about waving it around, crying that someone was going to kill me. someone called the cops and they grabbed me, yes i got in trouble. yes n front of alex. i don’t know what i was thinking. but they saw the note, and they realized who i was and why i was so crazy. nobody could say who put the note on the bench. nobody saw anything.
they searched all over, and there was a guy, a sort of creepy looking guy. he was a suspect, but nothing ever panned out. there was a note on the tree outside of my house. he was going to kill me, it said. i called the police again.
my neighborhood with its sturdy nondescript houses and tree-lined lanes, where it was so beautiful and quiet, became a place of terror for me. nights, i would bring alex home and rush into the house from the driveway, cautiously reminding alex not to talk to anyone she didn’t know. finally it got to be too much. the police told me to move.
i moved.
the day everything was settled in, all we had to do was unpack, the police lounged around our new house with the split-level livingroom. at the lower level there was a huge window, and a weeping willow tree outside. the fronds sometimes caressed the glass in the wind. i had decided to move there the moment i saw that tree, and finally i was there. i knew alex would love the tree the way i love weeping willow trees.
let me try to describe this to you. if you walked into the front door, to the left was a small office or something and to thee right was just wall. maybe on the left was the closet. continuing down the shiny marble (apricot with black flecks) floored hall, you reach a dining area. this is on the right. to the left are 3 carpeted steps (white carpet, oh, HA!) down into the lower level of the livingroom. going back up and to the left, you find yourself on a path between the dining area on the right and the railing for the raised area on the left. If you go down just a bit further, to the right is a seating area with a fireplace, next to the dining area,
and to the left is a set of steps, also leading into the lower level of the livingroom. there are about oh, 7, 8 steps. they’re low steps, but long. there’s a railing to the left of them, the right is just the wall.
and if the seating area is to the left of the dining area, facing it, to the right of the dining area and back is another small seating area next to the patio doors. it was an amazing place, and i knew alex would love it.
anyway, our first day there the cops were inspecting the place, they declared it safe and clean and all that stuff, then they departed. alex trailed behind me as i walked the police to the door, thanking them profusely for keeping me and alex safe. i turned around and we began walking toward the bedrooms, i was chattering excitedly with alex about what we were going to do in her room. we went in, talked some, then i turned and headed into the main area of the house again. i stopped dead in my tracks.
there was a man on the couch. not a bad-looking man, dark hair, blue eyes, dressed in some kind of dark suit. he was just sitting there, gazing at the willow tree out the window until he turned to look at me. i’d seen this man before. he grinned some kind of crooked smile at me, it made him look devilishly handsome. when he smiled, i felt a sick feeling in my gut. this was the stalker, this was the man who was going to kill me. i was a little dismayed somewhere in the back of my mind, that such a cute guy had it in for me.
at the same time alex came up behind me. she startled me and i went to push her back but she slipped past me and started walking down the long steps. she didn’t even see the man. he stood up and began walking toward the steps and when he did alex finally saw him and was startled. she slipped and i could see she was going to fell.
the really weird thing is, in this dream i knew that chances were, this guy was totally going to kill me. i didn’t know if he planned to kill alex or not but i had already become aware of this sort of blooming in my chest. i had suddenly, the heart of a lion. i leapt from my place at the top of the stairs and grabbed her. i landed on my back, on the steps, she was safe on top of me. i thought it was sort of ironic that right then, when we were about to die, i was saving her from hurting herself.
the rotten guy, of course found this amusing. he mocked me “aww you love the baby.” i sent alex back up the stairs and to her room. she didn’t really go, but she went up the steps. i managed to stand up and i asked the man, “why do you want to kill me?” “what have i done to make you want to do this to me?” i was really upset and crying. what would happen to alex? then i remember after some time of crying and begging, i looked up at him and asked him “will you make sure alex is safe and gets somewhere safe?” he said yes, and that was it. i woke up then.
man i hate when i have cycles of creepy ass dreams.
