(no subject)
The long walk home again, half-glimpsed afterimages of the graphs and diagrams he'd overstudied flashing in his eyes, disturbing his vision ever so mildly as he made his way along the streets. Didn't matter. He could hear people as well as he could see them, hear the faltering in each footstep, hear the tension hidden deep within the voice. They never hid it as well as they'd thought. This isn't a familiar place, but I want to have sex with the girl next to me as soon as possible so I'll fake it. I'm scared enough of being made a fool of that I'll start something if you bump into me. And through it, himself, a child in a giant, trudging embarassedly through it, trying to organise his mind. He'd given up trying to hide the truth of himself long ago. Never managed to conceal the reality anyway, no matter what he tried. I don't want to hurt you too. Don't bother me.
Twelve weeks of study, compressed into roughly two days. Not everything, but enough. Too much brainwork, probably, all of which would be released in days. That was okay, he only needed it for a day. SPECT, BAER, other acronyms, each eliciting another barrage of symbols, pictures upon his mind. But it was in there, that was what mattered.
He wondered, sometimes, how the normal people that surrounded him handled it. By going to class, probably, something he kept intending to do until the morning of whichever lecture he'd meant to go to. Too early to bother with. Hadn't been, until he'd stayed up till 2 the past night. Must fix that in the coming semester. Just like he'd intended to fix it in every semester, before it happened. But definitely next semester.
Hungry. Normally, he'd've stopped in for a snack at the supermarket, the fast food joints, one of the cafes. There was no shortage of sugar if he could afford it. But not today, the pills had cost too much. Hello, young barrel. My, your base is smooth today. Let me scratch at it again, old friend?
He could afford to get something on the way home and starve before the Big Start, or eat when it mattered and show some self restraint.
Unusually, he showed some self restraint.
More pills in his backpack. Didn't fix anything, but they made it tolerable. Itch-B-Gone. One a day, and the rest of the redness can be hidden by long sleeves and a manic grin.
Could be anxiety, could be diabetes, could be a whole new form of virus as yet unseen by humanity. Could find out, if he could afford a dermatologist. But that wouldn't happen any time soon. Manic grin, as per, and a silent prayer for absolution from it soon. Made a hell of an icebreaker, anyway. Hi, scratch my back. It's not communicable.
Worry over the shortlings, each for their own reason. One following in his footsteps, and he knew the darkness of that path. Another skipping along the road towards either Zappa or greyness, depending on the strength of his will and the girdability of his loins. A third, closer than ever but still beyond reach, and even then he'd have to overcome two sets of sanity and a couple of years of rationalisation to fulfill his distorted desires. It could still happen, screams one tiny part of me from behind the brick wall that surrounds it.
Let go, it won't. It has to. It can't. It must. It won't, and you know it.
I do.
Guilt and shame, the perfect accompaniment to romanticism, a barbed-wire fence against which to be thrown by the thought police when taking the hounds of love for a walk. Didn't we tell you to keep them kenneled after the last incident, sir? And you seemed so acquiescent...
Damn you, Kate Bush. Although you do deserve a compliment for just knowing something good was gonna happen. Can't wait to see what.
ABR, SQUID - his favourite acronym of all - and EOG. Two days, but it would suffice.
He hoped.
After, or perhaps before, he could go and get the payslip. Money spent, but he needed the amount for more. Hippos went hungry, his mother and Osho could work through their tarot together, but he still needed to eat. For all the good it did his physique.
And, again, the grandiosity began. Defer, work, move, fly away. Except deferring meant no free money, work meant killing off everything left, moving needed thousands more than he could hold on to, and flying away needed something, anything for him to fly to.
He'd done from. It wasn't as much fun after the first decade.
And there, ooming before him, was home, and all the thoughts that lay within him subsided as he got back into character. People around now, have to seem human.
Or close.
Twelve weeks of study, compressed into roughly two days. Not everything, but enough. Too much brainwork, probably, all of which would be released in days. That was okay, he only needed it for a day. SPECT, BAER, other acronyms, each eliciting another barrage of symbols, pictures upon his mind. But it was in there, that was what mattered.
He wondered, sometimes, how the normal people that surrounded him handled it. By going to class, probably, something he kept intending to do until the morning of whichever lecture he'd meant to go to. Too early to bother with. Hadn't been, until he'd stayed up till 2 the past night. Must fix that in the coming semester. Just like he'd intended to fix it in every semester, before it happened. But definitely next semester.
Hungry. Normally, he'd've stopped in for a snack at the supermarket, the fast food joints, one of the cafes. There was no shortage of sugar if he could afford it. But not today, the pills had cost too much. Hello, young barrel. My, your base is smooth today. Let me scratch at it again, old friend?
He could afford to get something on the way home and starve before the Big Start, or eat when it mattered and show some self restraint.
Unusually, he showed some self restraint.
More pills in his backpack. Didn't fix anything, but they made it tolerable. Itch-B-Gone. One a day, and the rest of the redness can be hidden by long sleeves and a manic grin.
Could be anxiety, could be diabetes, could be a whole new form of virus as yet unseen by humanity. Could find out, if he could afford a dermatologist. But that wouldn't happen any time soon. Manic grin, as per, and a silent prayer for absolution from it soon. Made a hell of an icebreaker, anyway. Hi, scratch my back. It's not communicable.
Worry over the shortlings, each for their own reason. One following in his footsteps, and he knew the darkness of that path. Another skipping along the road towards either Zappa or greyness, depending on the strength of his will and the girdability of his loins. A third, closer than ever but still beyond reach, and even then he'd have to overcome two sets of sanity and a couple of years of rationalisation to fulfill his distorted desires. It could still happen, screams one tiny part of me from behind the brick wall that surrounds it.
Let go, it won't. It has to. It can't. It must. It won't, and you know it.
I do.
Guilt and shame, the perfect accompaniment to romanticism, a barbed-wire fence against which to be thrown by the thought police when taking the hounds of love for a walk. Didn't we tell you to keep them kenneled after the last incident, sir? And you seemed so acquiescent...
Damn you, Kate Bush. Although you do deserve a compliment for just knowing something good was gonna happen. Can't wait to see what.
ABR, SQUID - his favourite acronym of all - and EOG. Two days, but it would suffice.
He hoped.
After, or perhaps before, he could go and get the payslip. Money spent, but he needed the amount for more. Hippos went hungry, his mother and Osho could work through their tarot together, but he still needed to eat. For all the good it did his physique.
And, again, the grandiosity began. Defer, work, move, fly away. Except deferring meant no free money, work meant killing off everything left, moving needed thousands more than he could hold on to, and flying away needed something, anything for him to fly to.
He'd done from. It wasn't as much fun after the first decade.
And there, ooming before him, was home, and all the thoughts that lay within him subsided as he got back into character. People around now, have to seem human.
Or close.