I just wanted to get into the Intro to Robotics course. The first day of the class, I showed up as a wait-listed student should and talked to the professor after the class to see how likely squeezing into the roster was.
"Well, do you have a final project in mind?"
"Excuse me?"
"Everyone's got to have a project. If you don't start with one in mind, you're going to start behind."
"I - it didn't say anything in the course description, but I'm sure I can come up with something."
"Now."
"Uh - I'd...like...to make a, uh, platform for remotely syncing any computers near one another to function as a single system." The fact that such a project has more to do with computer science than robotics did not really bother me at the time. I was just relieved that the professor seemed to accept the project proposal. Then, he told me the rest of the course requirements...
"Was I supposed to write up the personal narrative before or after I roller bladed to campus?" I asked my fellow wait-list squatter as I failed to stop beside him.
"Before. Do you even have normal shoes with you?" He neglected to offer me a hand, smirking instead.
"Crap. Okay, it'll be fine. I'll just skate back to my room and pick them up."
"No time. We've got to get ready for the evil genius party. Don't worry though, they're providing the costumes."
He finally deigned to help me to the meeting place for other wait-listed students. We went to our respective dressing rooms, got into black robes, mine coming with a Lisa Simpson wig, and made our way to the evil genius party located several blocks away. However, the get up was not enough to gain entry. You had to prove your worth to go through the gates of "hell", also known as the party entrance. My friend earned admittance quickly enough by declaring that he liked offering to help people study for subjects he knew nothing about and feed them misinformation. I suspect his trademark smirk helped him through. I, however, apparently did not have enough crazy in my eyes when I told the bouncer that I murdered children.
While trying to come up with a new line to get in, a bulky masked man trying to prove their evil approached me and threatened "If you want to live through the night, you'll have to do all my bidding, and I have some pretty unpleasant bidding to be done."
"Okay, listen up. I'm going to tell you the story of the last man who tried to pull anything with me. And it's even a rhyme! Gerald wanted to act tough. He started to be scary. I rammed a knife inside his butt, and that was the end of Jerry."
"Okay, you're in," the bouncer announced as the masked man backed away from me slowly.
Surprised, I slipped through the red painted doorway. I had expected more red and fake flames inside. Instead, I found myself standing in the most blindingly white room I had ever seen. People dressed in solid colored shifts sat around marble tables. The professor beckoned for me to join him at his table. Hesitantly, I took a seat between my friend and some red headed girl in a blue shift, whom I did not know.
"Now, is the time of thanksgiving and vision," the professor explained to me, "I'd like to show you newcomers something. Leah," he turned to the red head, "would you please cover your eyes and join with the greater spirit?" With a flourish, Leah pressed her palms to her eyes and swayed back and forth while the professor placed a series of photos in front of her. "Leah is one of our most talented mediums."
"Oh, I feel a place of avarice," she sighed. The photo on the top of the stack was a bank. The professor flipped to the next picture. I tried to hide my surprise. "Now, ah, it is steeped in mystery." The picture showed a house plant. So much for being impressed. The next few photos were equally vague and unconvincing
"You know," the professor tried to clarify, "sometimes the greater spirit is difficult to reach when we're locked in ourselves." He flipped to a picture of a prison.
"I feel it! A penitentiary!" Leah exclaimed. I could barely suppress a snort. He had clearly prompted that answer from her. It seemed the demonstration was over, and the time had come for everyone to make contact with the greater spirit. Anxiety started to build in me. As soon as they closed their eyes to make contact, I slipped out of my seat and broke into a run. It did not take long for the professor to notice my absence. He and his minions took up the chase.
As I bolted, gravity decided to play tricks on me. One moment, my feet hit the ground solidly, the next, I could barely make enough contact to propel myself forward. "So that's how you want to play it, eh?" I though to the universe. "Fine, I'll make it out without your cooperation." By swimming through the air and bouncing off of walls, I managed to get out of the building. Outside, gravity returned to normal. However, the geography did not. Instead of finding myself in the middle of a city, I was lost in a maze of courtyards and gardens. Worse, one of the cult followers in a white shift appeared hard on my heals.
"Back off! I don't want anything to do with you people!"
"I want to help you!" she cried after me. That got my attention. I paused to look her over. Sweat and fear beaded on her forehead. "I know how to get out of here, if you'll let me show you."
Without any other options presenting themselves, I let her lead the way. True to her word, we cleared the premises within minutes. However, a quick glance back gave me a lovely view of seven psychos sprinting. When it became clear that they would overtake us, I stopped fleeing and turned to face them. Leah sneered at us.
"You're wearing white. All whites are loners and cowards. No wonder you betrayed us, but neither of you can stand against seven strong colors," she hissed. At that point, I noticed for the first time that I had somehow gotten out of my black robes and into a technicolor dream dress, so to speak. I glossed over the question of how, when, and where I'd gotten it.
"Hey, Leah," I butted in, "I'm not wearing any one of your colors. I've got all of them. If you think packing yourself into one category is anywhere near as strong as embracing all aspects of life, then I can't wait to prove you wrong."
Unfortunately, the dream skipped right over the unquestionably spectacular battle that ensued and went straight to me climbing a tree for women's rights.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Dream Log 52: A Left Handed Noose
The inmate had to be transferred to a different ward for his execution. Somehow, schedules transpired that the one female cop in the area, Elliotte Thomson, had to assist. This was not lost on the inmate.
"What is a lovely lady like you doing in an abominable hole like this?" he inquired, all smiles and manners.
"Just ignore him," advised the lieutenant flanking the prisoner.
"Thank you," Elliotte snipped ,"I never would have come to that conclusion myself."
The lieutenant shrugged this off and turned to the inmate, "We're required to ask if you have any last requests."
"Well, I wouldn't object to a Steelers hat." This took the lieutenant off guard.
"Good man! For a murderous loony, that is. I'll see what I can do."
He somehow turned up a white hat with black and gold stitching and the Steelers' logo. Elliotte just snorted as the handcuffed man awkwardly slipped the merchandise on. They continued on their way until coming to the lobby, where the lieutenant had to slip off once again to sign the man out. He took the time to look Elliotte over.
"You're new, aren't you?"
"What makes you say that?"
"The way you carry yourself, tensed up and ready to go should anyone challenge your right to a badge. Really, you seem more hostile to your coworkers than to me."
"There's no point in hostility towards a dead man."
"Oh, my poor feelings," he smirked, "I wonder if a bomb threat would change your mind."
Elliotte turned pale, as did the lieutenant who had overheard the last remark. Then, her eyes locked onto his hat. It was no longer white but green. Without hesitation, she swept his feet from under him, pinned him face down to the ground and knocked his hat away. The lieutenant examined it, but found nothing.
"Oho! If you wanted to straddle me, you might have asked first."
Elliotte rammed the prisoner's face harder into the ground. "Talk! Where did you get the green hat, and where is the bomb, if you even have one." The murderer let out a sigh.
"A while back, the Steelers started a merchandising scheme to change colors every half time so that people would have to buy twice the number of products. The scheme fell through, but most hats are still made reversible with a green inside."
"What about the bomb?" the lieutenant demanded, casting the hat aside.
"Did I say there was a bomb? All I said was that I wondered how Officer Thomson here would react to one. And may I say, I am not disappointed."
Elliotte pushed herself back upright, trying to suppress a blush. The three of them continued on their way, exiting the main block and crossing over to the lethal injections building.
"Why did you kill all those people?" Elliotte demanded as the prison employees removed his chains.
"What can I say? When I walk down a hallway, and I know that to my left lie a sweet sleeping babe and its tender necked mother, and the world is screaming for me to turn right, I turn left. When the woman has finished struggling for breath, and the baby is crying at left and the door is to my right, I turn left. When I know that something precious is beneath my fingers, I cannot help but squeeze until there is nothing left."
"It sounds like you have an obsession with the sinister."
Surprise flashed across his face, then a twitch of the lips. Laughter bubbled out of him, genuine and unselfconscious. "Thank you," he finally gasped, "Thank you, Elliotte Thomson. Until we meet again."
The execution team led him into the back room. They did not lead him out.
"What is a lovely lady like you doing in an abominable hole like this?" he inquired, all smiles and manners.
"Just ignore him," advised the lieutenant flanking the prisoner.
"Thank you," Elliotte snipped ,"I never would have come to that conclusion myself."
The lieutenant shrugged this off and turned to the inmate, "We're required to ask if you have any last requests."
"Well, I wouldn't object to a Steelers hat." This took the lieutenant off guard.
"Good man! For a murderous loony, that is. I'll see what I can do."
He somehow turned up a white hat with black and gold stitching and the Steelers' logo. Elliotte just snorted as the handcuffed man awkwardly slipped the merchandise on. They continued on their way until coming to the lobby, where the lieutenant had to slip off once again to sign the man out. He took the time to look Elliotte over.
"You're new, aren't you?"
"What makes you say that?"
"The way you carry yourself, tensed up and ready to go should anyone challenge your right to a badge. Really, you seem more hostile to your coworkers than to me."
"There's no point in hostility towards a dead man."
"Oh, my poor feelings," he smirked, "I wonder if a bomb threat would change your mind."
Elliotte turned pale, as did the lieutenant who had overheard the last remark. Then, her eyes locked onto his hat. It was no longer white but green. Without hesitation, she swept his feet from under him, pinned him face down to the ground and knocked his hat away. The lieutenant examined it, but found nothing.
"Oho! If you wanted to straddle me, you might have asked first."
Elliotte rammed the prisoner's face harder into the ground. "Talk! Where did you get the green hat, and where is the bomb, if you even have one." The murderer let out a sigh.
"A while back, the Steelers started a merchandising scheme to change colors every half time so that people would have to buy twice the number of products. The scheme fell through, but most hats are still made reversible with a green inside."
"What about the bomb?" the lieutenant demanded, casting the hat aside.
"Did I say there was a bomb? All I said was that I wondered how Officer Thomson here would react to one. And may I say, I am not disappointed."
Elliotte pushed herself back upright, trying to suppress a blush. The three of them continued on their way, exiting the main block and crossing over to the lethal injections building.
"Why did you kill all those people?" Elliotte demanded as the prison employees removed his chains.
"What can I say? When I walk down a hallway, and I know that to my left lie a sweet sleeping babe and its tender necked mother, and the world is screaming for me to turn right, I turn left. When the woman has finished struggling for breath, and the baby is crying at left and the door is to my right, I turn left. When I know that something precious is beneath my fingers, I cannot help but squeeze until there is nothing left."
"It sounds like you have an obsession with the sinister."
Surprise flashed across his face, then a twitch of the lips. Laughter bubbled out of him, genuine and unselfconscious. "Thank you," he finally gasped, "Thank you, Elliotte Thomson. Until we meet again."
The execution team led him into the back room. They did not lead him out.
Monday, December 10, 2012
Loki's Lovesong
Come, my friend,
to the twilight hour,
to the crest of power,
to the end.
Do not regret,
though the world may die
and so may I,
my pet.
Come
though I can't say where to
Come
We have so much to do
Stay, my dear
til my final breath,
an immortal's death,
do not fear.
to the twilight hour,
to the crest of power,
to the end.
Do not regret,
though the world may die
and so may I,
my pet.
Come
though I can't say where to
Come
We have so much to do
Stay, my dear
til my final breath,
an immortal's death,
do not fear.
Friday, November 30, 2012
Dream Log 51: Friendship is Magic
For reasons transparent only to my subconscious mind, my college had a dorm room on top of a train. The poor students assigned there had to live in drywall and plywood boxes that constantly circled the city on the subway lines. Not surprisingly, these flimsy structures were frequently damaged. My dream began while the college was in the process of reconstructing them, as well as the subway tracks.
Some friends and I decided to ride a still roofless dorm room over to our apartment building. Since the subways were not running due to construction, the dorm room had to toddle along on a remote controlled train base. Eventually, the tracks led up to the surface, where we ran into a slight problem. When the college said "reconstructing tracks" they apparently meant creating a 100ft deep gulf where the rails used to be and bridging them with precariously placed stones. A worker laying the stones greeted us as we slowed to a halt.
"Hey, worker man," I yelled, "how can we get across?"
"Well, you could rent one of these $300 per hour lifters and lay some stones." He gestured to a hand powered fork-lift.
"Not going to happen. You're already working. How long til it's done?" He did not seem to appreciate my tone, and I did not seem to care. We bickered for a while, and I may have made insulted the dorm-train system a few times, but eventually, we came to understand one another. Through cooperation, he, my friends and I managed to construct a temporary ramp and drive our impractical vehicle across. Once safely on the ground, I leaped out of the room and grabbed the worker.
"Oh my gosh, do you know what this is like?"
"Um." He tried to pry me off of him to no avail.
"It's like...the first episode...of My Little Ponies."
"Okay, you seriously need to let go of me."
"No, listen! We had a problem, and the only way to overcome it...was through friendship." I had started to slur my words and lose my balance, so apparently friendship is a type of alcohol in this dream. My cohorts dragged me away and I forgot about the whole affair until a week or two later.
"Hey," my academic adviser greeted me as I passed her on the way to class, "Did you ever finish the application for an iPad?"
"What?"
"Don't you read your emails? Every month, we reward people exhibiting a different character trait. They have to be nominated to apply, and you got a nomination for your dorm-train affair."
"Really? But I was the most obnoxious person in the group. How did you even hear about it?"
"The worker didn't find you obnoxious. He went out of his way to tell us about you."
I blushed but then promised to check my email. This entailed, for reasons I cannot fathom, going to a minivan in the middle of an empty parking lot. Inside the van, I found a bed. This did not surprise me. What did surprise me was that the bed had been made with a fuzzy blue blanket and silver sheets.
"Ah, this is an elaborate email," I thought to myself as I opened the "email" by pulling down the covers. Tucked between the sheets, I found a pamphlet with all the relevant information on how to apply for the chance to win an iPad. The name of the contest was The Brave and the Bros: Courage and Friendship in Troubling Times. The main part of the application was an essay explaining the experience for which one had been nominated.
All I could think about this was "Crap, more work."
Some friends and I decided to ride a still roofless dorm room over to our apartment building. Since the subways were not running due to construction, the dorm room had to toddle along on a remote controlled train base. Eventually, the tracks led up to the surface, where we ran into a slight problem. When the college said "reconstructing tracks" they apparently meant creating a 100ft deep gulf where the rails used to be and bridging them with precariously placed stones. A worker laying the stones greeted us as we slowed to a halt.
"Hey, worker man," I yelled, "how can we get across?"
"Well, you could rent one of these $300 per hour lifters and lay some stones." He gestured to a hand powered fork-lift.
"Not going to happen. You're already working. How long til it's done?" He did not seem to appreciate my tone, and I did not seem to care. We bickered for a while, and I may have made insulted the dorm-train system a few times, but eventually, we came to understand one another. Through cooperation, he, my friends and I managed to construct a temporary ramp and drive our impractical vehicle across. Once safely on the ground, I leaped out of the room and grabbed the worker.
"Oh my gosh, do you know what this is like?"
"Um." He tried to pry me off of him to no avail.
"It's like...the first episode...of My Little Ponies."
"Okay, you seriously need to let go of me."
"No, listen! We had a problem, and the only way to overcome it...was through friendship." I had started to slur my words and lose my balance, so apparently friendship is a type of alcohol in this dream. My cohorts dragged me away and I forgot about the whole affair until a week or two later.
"Hey," my academic adviser greeted me as I passed her on the way to class, "Did you ever finish the application for an iPad?"
"What?"
"Don't you read your emails? Every month, we reward people exhibiting a different character trait. They have to be nominated to apply, and you got a nomination for your dorm-train affair."
"Really? But I was the most obnoxious person in the group. How did you even hear about it?"
"The worker didn't find you obnoxious. He went out of his way to tell us about you."
I blushed but then promised to check my email. This entailed, for reasons I cannot fathom, going to a minivan in the middle of an empty parking lot. Inside the van, I found a bed. This did not surprise me. What did surprise me was that the bed had been made with a fuzzy blue blanket and silver sheets.
"Ah, this is an elaborate email," I thought to myself as I opened the "email" by pulling down the covers. Tucked between the sheets, I found a pamphlet with all the relevant information on how to apply for the chance to win an iPad. The name of the contest was The Brave and the Bros: Courage and Friendship in Troubling Times. The main part of the application was an essay explaining the experience for which one had been nominated.
All I could think about this was "Crap, more work."
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Dream Log 50: Can you believe this is the short version?
Some high school friends and I got together just to hang out and have fun. As we were changing to get ready for bed, one of us noticed that the most modest girl of the bunch was wearing rather peculiar underwear. Instead of normal fabric, it had the padded, silky look of a bra. The girl tried to defend her choice in undergarments, saying "Well, underwear is just a bra for your butt, isn't it?" We contemplated this concept for a moment. Without a word, my high school roommate bent down until she was on level with the braderwear...and poked it.
"It's squishy!"
"Hey, that's my butt!"
"Yes, and it's extra squishy!"
Underwear exchanges may or may not have ensued. The next thing I knew, I was sprawled out on the ground in a tangle of friendly limbs, and someone was offering me an orange. Unfortunately, I had to run off to work a shift as tech-support for the CAD program SolidWorks. The point of view shifted at this point to a woman at a payphone, twisting and worrying the phone's cord as she waited for someone to answer her.
"Good afternon" my voice came through.
"Are you a SolidWorks assistant?"
"Ma'am, you're speaking to the founder." I knew the moment I said it that it was true.
"I need some counseling. My wife is pregnant, and I need help choosing elementary school teachers for when the baby's old enough."
Apparently CAD in this dream stood for Counseling for Adolescents and Descendants or something because this request fell perfectly into the range of questions I was qualified to answer.
"Who are you currently considering?" I asked.
"There's this one teacher, Bicham. Do you know anything about her?"
I shift in my seat in the sports car to face the woman more directly. How I transported from my office to a sports car, I have no idea.
"Oh, she's wonderful. You don't have to worry about unappreciated talent with her. If you show brilliance, she recognizes it."
"Speaking from experience, oh brilliant one?" she derides.
"Well, yes, I mean...not that I think I'm...there's a difference between...just drive!"
We arrived at last at some sort of community center to meet her wife. During the ride, I had transformed into an aging Jewish man with a crippled arm. This is completely normal in every way. After weaving our way through the labyrinthine building a few minutes, we came to a nursery where her wife had holed herself up. I introduced myself, shaking hands leftie style because I could not properly lift my right. We got down to business, but I received the impression that she had a few screws that wanted tightening. Whereas her partner considered my advice soberly and contributed thoughts and concerns of her own to the conversation, the pregnant woman twitched at every word and spoke only in curt burst when directly asked. When I suggested "Solomon" as a boy's name, she snapped.
"You don't get to decide that!" she exclaimed, leaping out of her seat. She snatched up a box of baby clothes and clutched it to her chest as though it were a baby itself.
"It was just a sug-"
"NO! You can't tell me how to treat my child! It's my child! I'll have it how I want it. Get out!"
"Love," her wife began.
"Take him out of here!"
"It's all right, I should leave" I sighed to the wild woman's doubtful wife, "I do need your help getting out of this building though."
She led me back the way we came. Somewhere along the way, I turned back into myself. She prattled apologies, and I waved them off. At a doorway, we passed two teenagers entering the building. The boy had silvery-blond hair and sunglasses. The girl's hair was a black tangle, and she had candy-corn colored ram-horns on her head. Both wore red costumes with a gear on the front. We kept walking, they kept walking. My brain decided that Dave and Aradia from the comic Homestuck were far more interesting than me and followed them.
"I've gotta be honest here. I feel kind of weird," Dave muttered.
"Of course you do! You're dead!" Aradia sparkled.
"Wait, when? I usually remember this sort of thing"
"I drowned. Someone knocked me out and threw me into a lake on accident."
"Yeah, totally accidental right there. Like, 'hey man. I'm just going to put your unconscious body on this nice grass. Oh wait, it's a lake. My bad.'"
"Not like that! They punched me so hard I went unconscious and got knocked into the water."
"How do you even know that if you were unconscious?"
"Same way I know that you dove in after me and drowned because you forgot you never learned to swim. Our voices told me ahead of time! hehe!"
"Really? I'm that stupid."
"It was adorable."
"'Kay, so why aren't we in a dream bubble?"
"I don't know! But we probably won't be here long. Take your shades off and look at your arm." Dave glanced down, lifting his shades out of the way. Through his limb, he had a disturbingly clear view of the flood.
"Well crap. I'm disappearing. You too, come to think of it."
"Yup! But we aren't ghosts. Trust me, I know ghosts. I think there's some sort of trick to this."
"Well, if anyone can figure it out, I'm betting it's two God Tier time players. We're basically the best there is, hands down, no questions. You even try to put a hand up, we've already gone and stopped you from ever doing it because the alpha timeline ain't got no patience for questioning our coolness."
"Yes! Let's go trick death!"
They proceeded to have fantastic and awe-inspiring adventures. I, however, did not get to dream of them. Instead, I switched over to the rest of the trolls chilling in normal dream bubbles. Eridan tried to hit on Tavros, but ran off when Gamzee loped over towards them and had quite a tender conversation with Tavros in which they marveled at the miracle of each others' existence. Karkat, Rose, Equius and Jade all sat together on a patch of grass. The former two comforted the latter over the inexplicable absence of their loved ones in the afterlife.
Then, two forms passed, one sauntering and one skipping. They wore unbearably cheerful pastels plastered in hearts and candy decorations. "Dave?" Jade gasped.
"Sorry girl, can't stop. These digs make me invisible, says so on the label. I can't stop and mess with that. We trickster Tiers gotta go make some mischief transpire."
The trickster Dave and Aradia continued on. The remaining trolls sat in stupefied silence for a few moments.
"Rose, do drowned people come back as cutesy pastel God Tiers?"
"...Even I cannot shed any light on that question."
"Karkat, did you see Dave and Aradia walk past looking all--"
"NOPE!"
"Me neither."
"It's squishy!"
"Hey, that's my butt!"
"Yes, and it's extra squishy!"
Underwear exchanges may or may not have ensued. The next thing I knew, I was sprawled out on the ground in a tangle of friendly limbs, and someone was offering me an orange. Unfortunately, I had to run off to work a shift as tech-support for the CAD program SolidWorks. The point of view shifted at this point to a woman at a payphone, twisting and worrying the phone's cord as she waited for someone to answer her.
"Good afternon" my voice came through.
"Are you a SolidWorks assistant?"
"Ma'am, you're speaking to the founder." I knew the moment I said it that it was true.
"I need some counseling. My wife is pregnant, and I need help choosing elementary school teachers for when the baby's old enough."
Apparently CAD in this dream stood for Counseling for Adolescents and Descendants or something because this request fell perfectly into the range of questions I was qualified to answer.
"Who are you currently considering?" I asked.
"There's this one teacher, Bicham. Do you know anything about her?"
I shift in my seat in the sports car to face the woman more directly. How I transported from my office to a sports car, I have no idea.
"Oh, she's wonderful. You don't have to worry about unappreciated talent with her. If you show brilliance, she recognizes it."
"Speaking from experience, oh brilliant one?" she derides.
"Well, yes, I mean...not that I think I'm...there's a difference between...just drive!"
We arrived at last at some sort of community center to meet her wife. During the ride, I had transformed into an aging Jewish man with a crippled arm. This is completely normal in every way. After weaving our way through the labyrinthine building a few minutes, we came to a nursery where her wife had holed herself up. I introduced myself, shaking hands leftie style because I could not properly lift my right. We got down to business, but I received the impression that she had a few screws that wanted tightening. Whereas her partner considered my advice soberly and contributed thoughts and concerns of her own to the conversation, the pregnant woman twitched at every word and spoke only in curt burst when directly asked. When I suggested "Solomon" as a boy's name, she snapped.
"You don't get to decide that!" she exclaimed, leaping out of her seat. She snatched up a box of baby clothes and clutched it to her chest as though it were a baby itself.
"It was just a sug-"
"NO! You can't tell me how to treat my child! It's my child! I'll have it how I want it. Get out!"
"Love," her wife began.
"Take him out of here!"
"It's all right, I should leave" I sighed to the wild woman's doubtful wife, "I do need your help getting out of this building though."
She led me back the way we came. Somewhere along the way, I turned back into myself. She prattled apologies, and I waved them off. At a doorway, we passed two teenagers entering the building. The boy had silvery-blond hair and sunglasses. The girl's hair was a black tangle, and she had candy-corn colored ram-horns on her head. Both wore red costumes with a gear on the front. We kept walking, they kept walking. My brain decided that Dave and Aradia from the comic Homestuck were far more interesting than me and followed them.
"I've gotta be honest here. I feel kind of weird," Dave muttered.
"Of course you do! You're dead!" Aradia sparkled.
"Wait, when? I usually remember this sort of thing"
"I drowned. Someone knocked me out and threw me into a lake on accident."
"Yeah, totally accidental right there. Like, 'hey man. I'm just going to put your unconscious body on this nice grass. Oh wait, it's a lake. My bad.'"
"Not like that! They punched me so hard I went unconscious and got knocked into the water."
"How do you even know that if you were unconscious?"
"Same way I know that you dove in after me and drowned because you forgot you never learned to swim. Our voices told me ahead of time! hehe!"
"Really? I'm that stupid."
"It was adorable."
"'Kay, so why aren't we in a dream bubble?"
"I don't know! But we probably won't be here long. Take your shades off and look at your arm." Dave glanced down, lifting his shades out of the way. Through his limb, he had a disturbingly clear view of the flood.
"Well crap. I'm disappearing. You too, come to think of it."
"Yup! But we aren't ghosts. Trust me, I know ghosts. I think there's some sort of trick to this."
"Well, if anyone can figure it out, I'm betting it's two God Tier time players. We're basically the best there is, hands down, no questions. You even try to put a hand up, we've already gone and stopped you from ever doing it because the alpha timeline ain't got no patience for questioning our coolness."
"Yes! Let's go trick death!"
They proceeded to have fantastic and awe-inspiring adventures. I, however, did not get to dream of them. Instead, I switched over to the rest of the trolls chilling in normal dream bubbles. Eridan tried to hit on Tavros, but ran off when Gamzee loped over towards them and had quite a tender conversation with Tavros in which they marveled at the miracle of each others' existence. Karkat, Rose, Equius and Jade all sat together on a patch of grass. The former two comforted the latter over the inexplicable absence of their loved ones in the afterlife.
Then, two forms passed, one sauntering and one skipping. They wore unbearably cheerful pastels plastered in hearts and candy decorations. "Dave?" Jade gasped.
"Sorry girl, can't stop. These digs make me invisible, says so on the label. I can't stop and mess with that. We trickster Tiers gotta go make some mischief transpire."
The trickster Dave and Aradia continued on. The remaining trolls sat in stupefied silence for a few moments.
"Rose, do drowned people come back as cutesy pastel God Tiers?"
"...Even I cannot shed any light on that question."
"Karkat, did you see Dave and Aradia walk past looking all--"
"NOPE!"
"Me neither."
Friday, November 9, 2012
To Germany
Remember, remember the 9th of November,
the republic, the hate crimes, the fall;
Who here would say that this bittersweet day
should be forgotten at all?
the republic, the hate crimes, the fall;
Who here would say that this bittersweet day
should be forgotten at all?
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Dream Log 49: In Which I Am Very Creeped Out
It started off with the guy who plays Will Riker in Star Trek TNG going about his daily life. He was a sailor who happened to be at port. He and everyone else from the ship had noticed some strange things, like objects moving on their own or feeling as though someone was watching them when they were alone. As Riker walked from a cabin he'd been staying in to a meeting with the captain, he ran into an old flame. The woman had a face mask on. Ignoring the mask, Riker warned the woman about the strange events.
"Oh, I know. Isn't it lovely? Every once and a while, I'll feel a sweet brush on the cheek, a neck massage, it's so comforting." As she spoke, a part of her mask was rubbed off. She smiled at the phantom touch. Riker, who was not completely unhinged like this chick appeared to be, made a grab at the area that the ghost appeared to be. He hit something solid but was then hit by something solid in return, knocking him back and forcing him to lose his grip. The invisible being disappeared.
Riker continued to his meeting. It turned out, the meeting was for all the officers in order to decide what to do about these phantasmagorical events. Arguing ensued, tempers flared, and as one of the proponents for an all out ghost hunt brandished a glass bottle in the air, something took the bottle from his hand. All eyes were glued to the glass as it hovered. Suddenly, the glass plunged forward and into the chest of its former owner. It cracked through the ribs, and blood gurgled as it squirted out of him. On the up side, the blood stained whatever had been holding the bottle until the outline of a man's arm was clearly visible. However, even with the blood marking the ghost/invisible man, it managed to escape the sailors.
Later that night, as the captain prepared for bed in front of an open window, something set him on edge. Cautiously, he began to close the window, but something resisted. Try as he might, he could not force it shut. He grabbed a nearby broom and poked it through the opening. It hit something, but as he pulled the handle back towards him for another shot, a reddish brown hand gripped the other end. It surged towards the captain, grabbed a hold of his shirt, pulled him partway through the window, and slammed the window down on his neck, snapping it.
Shortly thereafter, the sailors parted ways. The ghost appeared to fade off into nothing, and centuries passed. I heard the ghost story from a friend in passing who claimed that the ghost was trying to cure his invisibility through some strange murder ritual. I did not pay it much attention because I had been asked to play the part of Brunhilde in Wagner's Ring and was trying desperately to learn the lyrics as well as develop the ability to sing professionally. While I freaked out about that, an elderly gentleman took to watching me practice. I didn't have a clue why, and I felt more than a little disconcerted by it.
After a few hours of practicing, the same friend came back. He wanted to show me a picture related to the story. He claimed that someone else had been in the room when the captain was murdered and had taken a photo of it all. Big whoop, I thought, but I glanced at the picture anyway. At first, all I saw was a man in old-timey clothes with his head through a window. Then my friend pointed towards the glass of the other window next to one the captain had his head through. You could just make out a person yanking on the captain's collar. Although the face was contorted into a snarl, I could recognize it. It was none other than the elderly gentleman sitting outside the practice room, watching me.
"Oh, I know. Isn't it lovely? Every once and a while, I'll feel a sweet brush on the cheek, a neck massage, it's so comforting." As she spoke, a part of her mask was rubbed off. She smiled at the phantom touch. Riker, who was not completely unhinged like this chick appeared to be, made a grab at the area that the ghost appeared to be. He hit something solid but was then hit by something solid in return, knocking him back and forcing him to lose his grip. The invisible being disappeared.
Riker continued to his meeting. It turned out, the meeting was for all the officers in order to decide what to do about these phantasmagorical events. Arguing ensued, tempers flared, and as one of the proponents for an all out ghost hunt brandished a glass bottle in the air, something took the bottle from his hand. All eyes were glued to the glass as it hovered. Suddenly, the glass plunged forward and into the chest of its former owner. It cracked through the ribs, and blood gurgled as it squirted out of him. On the up side, the blood stained whatever had been holding the bottle until the outline of a man's arm was clearly visible. However, even with the blood marking the ghost/invisible man, it managed to escape the sailors.
Later that night, as the captain prepared for bed in front of an open window, something set him on edge. Cautiously, he began to close the window, but something resisted. Try as he might, he could not force it shut. He grabbed a nearby broom and poked it through the opening. It hit something, but as he pulled the handle back towards him for another shot, a reddish brown hand gripped the other end. It surged towards the captain, grabbed a hold of his shirt, pulled him partway through the window, and slammed the window down on his neck, snapping it.
Shortly thereafter, the sailors parted ways. The ghost appeared to fade off into nothing, and centuries passed. I heard the ghost story from a friend in passing who claimed that the ghost was trying to cure his invisibility through some strange murder ritual. I did not pay it much attention because I had been asked to play the part of Brunhilde in Wagner's Ring and was trying desperately to learn the lyrics as well as develop the ability to sing professionally. While I freaked out about that, an elderly gentleman took to watching me practice. I didn't have a clue why, and I felt more than a little disconcerted by it.
After a few hours of practicing, the same friend came back. He wanted to show me a picture related to the story. He claimed that someone else had been in the room when the captain was murdered and had taken a photo of it all. Big whoop, I thought, but I glanced at the picture anyway. At first, all I saw was a man in old-timey clothes with his head through a window. Then my friend pointed towards the glass of the other window next to one the captain had his head through. You could just make out a person yanking on the captain's collar. Although the face was contorted into a snarl, I could recognize it. It was none other than the elderly gentleman sitting outside the practice room, watching me.
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