Dreams
Had a really bizarre one a couple of days ago. Probably from mixing a bunch of anti-hayfever stuff together to find something - anything - that works for more than a few hours.
So yeah, the cast of Girl Genius having turned the Beast Wars characters into humans and everything erupting into a political war for control of an Inception-like version of Mechanicsburg, that was fairly normal as dreams go. It was later on, as stuff started arising from the pure id and back-alleys of thought-pattern which hadn't been trodden since I was four years old, that I found myself facing Things which had never even had bodies, sometimes much less names.
I recall being able to name The Finder before once more losing it below the blur of decades. One of the more advanced concepts amongst its fellows, enough so that it had its own name-equivalent, if no physical or visible form.
Awake, I could feel the meaning of it dribbling away even as I turned the spotlight of intellect in its direction. It was something only a four-year-old could know, intimately linked somehow to the front garden water tap in the house I grew up in.
It wasn't an emotion, or a conscious derivation. It just _was_, as much a part of the world as the lawn or the nearby tree. And now the tree is long gone, the lawn lies under chic brickwork, and the house is sold. Whatever The Finder was, it now only exists as a pale ghost-imprint in dusty back-room neurons. It may well wither there forevermore with its neurofossil bretheren, losing a little more substance every time some part of it is overwritten for more pressing matters - a shopping list, the name of some mid-level manager I'll forget ten minutes later, a map of how to get from here to a place five minutes away.
How many of them were there, once? How many fell to nothingness before the endless restlessness of seas of ego, of deserts of swirling self-contemplation, of the occasional avalanche of revelation? And how many survive as blind, frozen expressions in the tiny crannies and caves riddling my mindscape?
So yeah, the cast of Girl Genius having turned the Beast Wars characters into humans and everything erupting into a political war for control of an Inception-like version of Mechanicsburg, that was fairly normal as dreams go. It was later on, as stuff started arising from the pure id and back-alleys of thought-pattern which hadn't been trodden since I was four years old, that I found myself facing Things which had never even had bodies, sometimes much less names.
I recall being able to name The Finder before once more losing it below the blur of decades. One of the more advanced concepts amongst its fellows, enough so that it had its own name-equivalent, if no physical or visible form.
Awake, I could feel the meaning of it dribbling away even as I turned the spotlight of intellect in its direction. It was something only a four-year-old could know, intimately linked somehow to the front garden water tap in the house I grew up in.
It wasn't an emotion, or a conscious derivation. It just _was_, as much a part of the world as the lawn or the nearby tree. And now the tree is long gone, the lawn lies under chic brickwork, and the house is sold. Whatever The Finder was, it now only exists as a pale ghost-imprint in dusty back-room neurons. It may well wither there forevermore with its neurofossil bretheren, losing a little more substance every time some part of it is overwritten for more pressing matters - a shopping list, the name of some mid-level manager I'll forget ten minutes later, a map of how to get from here to a place five minutes away.
How many of them were there, once? How many fell to nothingness before the endless restlessness of seas of ego, of deserts of swirling self-contemplation, of the occasional avalanche of revelation? And how many survive as blind, frozen expressions in the tiny crannies and caves riddling my mindscape?