Here there be Shadows [open]
For the first time since he'd arrived on this ship, Dustin found an empty Sensorium pod.
He'd been rather apprehensive about visiting them once he knew and understood what these devices were; a room that takes the mental images of the controller and manifests them into physical environments already seemed like a rather shifty concept, although surely it could be moderated by the controller in question, and with Stacy's built-in safety protocol it proved less of a problem than Dustin could otherwise discern.
Then again, Dustin's mind was very different from the minds of other crewmembers. Thus he remained apprehensive.
It was difficult to pinpoint why, exactly, he'd chosen now to settle into one of the pods--perhaps with all of the bomb scares, the off-planet chaos, his newfound job, just this whole situation in general--he needed to get his mind in order. Yes, that was it; with such an expansive subconscious, full of ideas and concepts and memories, one does find it necessary to sort through the mess every once in a while, if only to keep the eventual mania at bay. And though Dustin was capable of doing this without the help of artificial matter, he was still curious as to see how the Sensoriums would handle his mess of a brain.
Dustin at once found himself inside the blank walls of an unoccupied pod. It remained so as he closed the door behind him, glanced about, walked to the center of the room. It was all very quiet and surreal, in a sense that anything to him could be surreal at all, but you get the idea.
A tangent of thought flickered out of the corner of his eye. Dustin turned around to face it, but already it had disappeared.
Before he realized what was happening--and especially once he had--resulting thoughts flitted forth into the space, multiplying as he pondered over each one, spinning around the room like phantom strings of angel hair pasta, molding into theories, clumped and uncompleted, wherein they spawned pictures and memories for reference that, once used, danced into the background and slithered upon the floor, snatched by the next concept that required them. Soon the room was black with strands of content, most of it incomprehensible to the normal mind; views of colors and depth that should not exist, fourth and fifth-dimensional shapes that molded time at their whimsy, fleeting glances of infinity, nothingness, an infinity of nothingness. Disused memories reared and spat upon him images of blood and specters, phobias and emotions scattered the sea of textures and lunged at insecurities, hopes. The tangled masses of indefinable junk became dreams.
Overwhelmed, Dustin grabbed handfuls of his hair and, in a display of his famous maturity, angrily stamped his foot.
"ENOUGH!"
The whirlwind halted in a splash of violent colors, then crashed to the floor.
New commentaries were already beginning to spring up, but Dustin was prepared, silencing them before they spawned a new storm. It was like defragmenting a computer drive, he'd found; it would take quite a bit of concentration and time, but the end results would far outweigh the next few hours he spent essentially meditating, thinking of nothing other than what was in front of him and where to place it. Having the physical manifestations in front of him helped immensely in case of distractions--should any occur-and it helped to get a general sense of just how much crap was floating around in his head. Mountains of unsorted, twitching calculations were waiting with much impatience all around.
Dustin sighed and sat cross-legged in the center. This would take a while.
He'd been rather apprehensive about visiting them once he knew and understood what these devices were; a room that takes the mental images of the controller and manifests them into physical environments already seemed like a rather shifty concept, although surely it could be moderated by the controller in question, and with Stacy's built-in safety protocol it proved less of a problem than Dustin could otherwise discern.
Then again, Dustin's mind was very different from the minds of other crewmembers. Thus he remained apprehensive.
It was difficult to pinpoint why, exactly, he'd chosen now to settle into one of the pods--perhaps with all of the bomb scares, the off-planet chaos, his newfound job, just this whole situation in general--he needed to get his mind in order. Yes, that was it; with such an expansive subconscious, full of ideas and concepts and memories, one does find it necessary to sort through the mess every once in a while, if only to keep the eventual mania at bay. And though Dustin was capable of doing this without the help of artificial matter, he was still curious as to see how the Sensoriums would handle his mess of a brain.
Dustin at once found himself inside the blank walls of an unoccupied pod. It remained so as he closed the door behind him, glanced about, walked to the center of the room. It was all very quiet and surreal, in a sense that anything to him could be surreal at all, but you get the idea.
A tangent of thought flickered out of the corner of his eye. Dustin turned around to face it, but already it had disappeared.
Before he realized what was happening--and especially once he had--resulting thoughts flitted forth into the space, multiplying as he pondered over each one, spinning around the room like phantom strings of angel hair pasta, molding into theories, clumped and uncompleted, wherein they spawned pictures and memories for reference that, once used, danced into the background and slithered upon the floor, snatched by the next concept that required them. Soon the room was black with strands of content, most of it incomprehensible to the normal mind; views of colors and depth that should not exist, fourth and fifth-dimensional shapes that molded time at their whimsy, fleeting glances of infinity, nothingness, an infinity of nothingness. Disused memories reared and spat upon him images of blood and specters, phobias and emotions scattered the sea of textures and lunged at insecurities, hopes. The tangled masses of indefinable junk became dreams.
Overwhelmed, Dustin grabbed handfuls of his hair and, in a display of his famous maturity, angrily stamped his foot.
"ENOUGH!"
The whirlwind halted in a splash of violent colors, then crashed to the floor.
New commentaries were already beginning to spring up, but Dustin was prepared, silencing them before they spawned a new storm. It was like defragmenting a computer drive, he'd found; it would take quite a bit of concentration and time, but the end results would far outweigh the next few hours he spent essentially meditating, thinking of nothing other than what was in front of him and where to place it. Having the physical manifestations in front of him helped immensely in case of distractions--should any occur-and it helped to get a general sense of just how much crap was floating around in his head. Mountains of unsorted, twitching calculations were waiting with much impatience all around.
Dustin sighed and sat cross-legged in the center. This would take a while.