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27 Jul 2006 11:00 pmI love those nights where you panic at the amount of work you have to do, and resort to self-sabotage in the form of freeze-frame procrastination! Don't you love those nights? Of course you do.
Let's see. I started Big Love, and was feeling really sorry for Nicki with her spending addiction until she turned out to be a WHORECOW. And I am a little in love with Margene. And I like it well enough, as a show, but it hasn't really grabbed me.
I spent an alarming amount of time reading Bruno, which is more like a disjointed novel than a webcomic, and features an emotionally repressed bisexual writer who has trouble reconciling her belief in logic and rationalism with her love of Tennyson. (I don't really have to do say anything here, do I?)
And I'm writing! 1400 words on my BSG Character Death Ficathon project. I am distressed by (but resigned to) the lack of pilots therein.
~
There is a copy of the Scrolls lying on a wooden chest. You remember her face, tired and relieved, and the gentle slide of her fingers along the Arrow of Apollo. Your memories are largely devoid of the customary human gaps and decay, all your experiences crystallized into a perfectly readable frame.
This has happened before and will happen again: this is her future, coming to a sudden sharp point of illusory cessation. Nothing really stops. Time and space and memory and the will of God, spread out flat like a scroll. You have almost forgotten what it was like to be blind to such things.
“Can’t you see the future?” you ask the empty air. Your breath makes mist.
Busy silence. You take it for assent.
Let's see. I started Big Love, and was feeling really sorry for Nicki with her spending addiction until she turned out to be a WHORECOW. And I am a little in love with Margene. And I like it well enough, as a show, but it hasn't really grabbed me.
I spent an alarming amount of time reading Bruno, which is more like a disjointed novel than a webcomic, and features an emotionally repressed bisexual writer who has trouble reconciling her belief in logic and rationalism with her love of Tennyson. (I don't really have to do say anything here, do I?)
And I'm writing! 1400 words on my BSG Character Death Ficathon project. I am distressed by (but resigned to) the lack of pilots therein.
~
There is a copy of the Scrolls lying on a wooden chest. You remember her face, tired and relieved, and the gentle slide of her fingers along the Arrow of Apollo. Your memories are largely devoid of the customary human gaps and decay, all your experiences crystallized into a perfectly readable frame.
This has happened before and will happen again: this is her future, coming to a sudden sharp point of illusory cessation. Nothing really stops. Time and space and memory and the will of God, spread out flat like a scroll. You have almost forgotten what it was like to be blind to such things.
“Can’t you see the future?” you ask the empty air. Your breath makes mist.
Busy silence. You take it for assent.
