(no subject)
gayband is the best ever.
my conductor sent me a holiday card. it has a bunch of different dogs with antler headbands wrapped in christmas lights on the front. it's the dorkiest, gayest card i've ever received. it says, in part, "here's a wish that the year ahead fills your life with peace, love, and much joy," which i'm stealing, and passing along to you all here. <3
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and less important (to you), picked up two sci-fi books today, because my to-read stack isn't high enough already. Light, by M. John Harrison, and Hellstrom's Hive, by Frank Herbert. They both look really good. I started Light when I went out to dinner. It makes a favorable first impression by jumping straight into a serial killing, and then adding cats. As for Herbert, the man can do no wrong.
had a dream of warriors and vagabonds and desert flight last night. amazing how much of it fades, and the bits you retain. i remember a man's (the Fox) gory death and the mutilation of his body by a small brazillian man in black, a stagnant green pool in the center of a desert village and the woman walking to it with a pot on her head, the memory of the Fox's grandfather giving him his knife-like sword, my flight in a rickety contraption off the cliff where my friends' cave overlooked the valley, the passing of a helicopter with a tall, curly haired blond soldier with silver 70's sunglasses and a machine gun pointed at the sky, in it. he was a serious boy who was going to die. the Fox was spiked through with spears, rebar, long scraps of machine metal, an assortment of crude weapons, and tacked with the insignia of his deceased, captured, or tortured comrades. he was on a platform of rusty metal bars in the center of a possessed village by a dead river, on his back with his faced looking out, blue eyes clear, blood running from his nose, mouth, eyes into his short orange hair, and wisps of skin hanging like banners around him. he looked wise, sad, and unafraid, but unmistakably dead and gutted. the man in black was laughing like a maniac a way from the platform, next to a dry fountain, while some dark shapes crossed the sky and their shadows passed over him. i don't remember what they were, probably machines. there was general military hustle about the place, and a lot of care worn villagers being mistreated. i saw all this because i was using my flying machine to scout for those back in the cave, and could get away with it because the enemy was familiar with the locals who told them i was a harmless nutcase? and you can get away with a lot of strange things as long as you act like you're supposed to be doing them, which i did while i watched. there was more after that, my return to the cave, our attack that night, the village in flames, and a little boy running barefoot down the road, illuminated by the fire, passing a post he had been told never to go past, running from his burning mother and the only place he'd ever known....etc. etc.. the problem with this dream is that it lacked a reason for all this fighting, and important chunks are missing, like how the Fox died. it was not in the modern world, probably after everything had gone to hell, you know, all barbaric again because of some big catastrophe. i don't remember. lots of stuff. dream stuff is slippery.
my conductor sent me a holiday card. it has a bunch of different dogs with antler headbands wrapped in christmas lights on the front. it's the dorkiest, gayest card i've ever received. it says, in part, "here's a wish that the year ahead fills your life with peace, love, and much joy," which i'm stealing, and passing along to you all here. <3
***
and less important (to you), picked up two sci-fi books today, because my to-read stack isn't high enough already. Light, by M. John Harrison, and Hellstrom's Hive, by Frank Herbert. They both look really good. I started Light when I went out to dinner. It makes a favorable first impression by jumping straight into a serial killing, and then adding cats. As for Herbert, the man can do no wrong.
had a dream of warriors and vagabonds and desert flight last night. amazing how much of it fades, and the bits you retain. i remember a man's (the Fox) gory death and the mutilation of his body by a small brazillian man in black, a stagnant green pool in the center of a desert village and the woman walking to it with a pot on her head, the memory of the Fox's grandfather giving him his knife-like sword, my flight in a rickety contraption off the cliff where my friends' cave overlooked the valley, the passing of a helicopter with a tall, curly haired blond soldier with silver 70's sunglasses and a machine gun pointed at the sky, in it. he was a serious boy who was going to die. the Fox was spiked through with spears, rebar, long scraps of machine metal, an assortment of crude weapons, and tacked with the insignia of his deceased, captured, or tortured comrades. he was on a platform of rusty metal bars in the center of a possessed village by a dead river, on his back with his faced looking out, blue eyes clear, blood running from his nose, mouth, eyes into his short orange hair, and wisps of skin hanging like banners around him. he looked wise, sad, and unafraid, but unmistakably dead and gutted. the man in black was laughing like a maniac a way from the platform, next to a dry fountain, while some dark shapes crossed the sky and their shadows passed over him. i don't remember what they were, probably machines. there was general military hustle about the place, and a lot of care worn villagers being mistreated. i saw all this because i was using my flying machine to scout for those back in the cave, and could get away with it because the enemy was familiar with the locals who told them i was a harmless nutcase? and you can get away with a lot of strange things as long as you act like you're supposed to be doing them, which i did while i watched. there was more after that, my return to the cave, our attack that night, the village in flames, and a little boy running barefoot down the road, illuminated by the fire, passing a post he had been told never to go past, running from his burning mother and the only place he'd ever known....etc. etc.. the problem with this dream is that it lacked a reason for all this fighting, and important chunks are missing, like how the Fox died. it was not in the modern world, probably after everything had gone to hell, you know, all barbaric again because of some big catastrophe. i don't remember. lots of stuff. dream stuff is slippery.