Wednesday, May 19, 2004
Daybreak
Four am. He awakens to a murmuring stillness. A... susurration? (new word. The Wee Free Men. Knowledge +1)
There is a hushed sense of expectation from the world as a new dawn begins to creep across the sky. The air is filled with it. He almost expects to look across his bed and see a glimmering moongate materialising there to transport him to a medieval world in need of a champion...
He looks across the bed. Nothing happens. Outside, the sky continues to lighten imperceptibly.
Puzzled : he does not normally awaken from sleep. And yet now he is acutely aware of the silence around him. These are not the cotton eyed lids of the newly awakened.
He turns to the cryptic, first.
And wonders as he reads - as he often wonders - for whom this message is intended? Is he still the watcher, looking in from outside, or is he drawn into the circle. Or is there even a circle? Tales from the crypt. He decides to be self-centred.
Ah. There is a certain... ?fear? there.
Perhaps first sight fails the stranger as well, when it comes to herself. Perhaps the same insecurities generate the same arguments. (time to bang my head on the wall a bit methinks)
Street smart? Or blur like spineless undersea betentacled life.
"They wander around the city as She decides where to eat. Apparently her sense of direction is as arbitrary - and yet accurate - as His."
(from : unnamed source.)
Which counts more? reaching the destination through uncharted waters -- or treading the beaten path.
Spice - variety is. Of life.
Her differences are mundane to her (they don't count lol), she sensationalises the everyday with words. Third sight - watching herself, watch the world watching her.
Reawaken second sight, and then realise this stranger - is no stranger to words. And sometimes the choice of words is what sparkles, yes. What makes a person... the sparkly things he/she does, or the mysterious person within that he/she is when he/she goes to sleep? Which "counts"? Which are disqualified?
Perhaps they all count...
He reads the less cryptic - the open journal. (He always does, in this sequence. Why exactly, he doesn't know. It would make more sense the other way around.)
Ah.
Opposites attract, but similarities... bond?
And again, the tables turn. His turn to ponder the import of uncanny coincidences. Perhaps he is more... attuned... to. Hmm. Deja vu.
He wonders if somehow he is the fraud. Perhaps the words that chose him blundered blindly into the mousetrap of coincidence. Perhaps these words I spice my life with - electronic cumen and nutmeg -- perhaps these mislead her.
I did nothing. I chose nothing. The voices did it. Not I.
"Mirror, mirror on the wall, which one is the real thing, which one the illusion?
Do you ever wonder if the face looking back at you in the mirror is thinking the same thought too?"
"Never stand between two mirrors." (Pratchett, A Hatfull of Sky)
Too many sights.
Of course he does.
*****
Senses
Walking in the park with a friend, they pass a particularly fragrant patch where a random canine has answered the call of nature, and she crinkles her nose in disgust. Can we hurry on... this is why I will never be a country person.
He looks about him in silent... wonder? The trees brilliant shades of green, and cascading flowerfalls of white hanging suspended in mid air on their boughs en-route to their final resting place of the earth beneath three months later. At the hues of yellow, and red, and blue; and the gambolling golden browns of dogs, and their owners, and tops of children's heads...
... as they hurry away from the offending scent.
He points out an airline trail lancing red-gold across the clear dusk sky and she acknowledges it for a split second, before ranting at the noisy hordes around her...
He walks alone to dinner with his extravagent friend, and wonders if perhaps there are more smells in summer... or whether he lives winter with his eyes wide open and his nostrils frozen shut.
Perhaps it is not that we do not sense often enough.
Perhaps we are just unable to separate our senses, to savour one sense without it being overrun by another.
Sight, from smell.
Sight, from sound.
Smell, from sight.
Sense, from sound.
*****
Away, To sleep.
There is a hushed sense of expectation from the world as a new dawn begins to creep across the sky. The air is filled with it. He almost expects to look across his bed and see a glimmering moongate materialising there to transport him to a medieval world in need of a champion...
He looks across the bed. Nothing happens. Outside, the sky continues to lighten imperceptibly.
Puzzled : he does not normally awaken from sleep. And yet now he is acutely aware of the silence around him. These are not the cotton eyed lids of the newly awakened.
He turns to the cryptic, first.
And wonders as he reads - as he often wonders - for whom this message is intended? Is he still the watcher, looking in from outside, or is he drawn into the circle. Or is there even a circle? Tales from the crypt. He decides to be self-centred.
Ah. There is a certain... ?fear? there.
Perhaps first sight fails the stranger as well, when it comes to herself. Perhaps the same insecurities generate the same arguments. (time to bang my head on the wall a bit methinks)
Street smart? Or blur like spineless undersea betentacled life.
"They wander around the city as She decides where to eat. Apparently her sense of direction is as arbitrary - and yet accurate - as His."
(from : unnamed source.)
Which counts more? reaching the destination through uncharted waters -- or treading the beaten path.
Spice - variety is. Of life.
Her differences are mundane to her (they don't count lol), she sensationalises the everyday with words. Third sight - watching herself, watch the world watching her.
Reawaken second sight, and then realise this stranger - is no stranger to words. And sometimes the choice of words is what sparkles, yes. What makes a person... the sparkly things he/she does, or the mysterious person within that he/she is when he/she goes to sleep? Which "counts"? Which are disqualified?
Perhaps they all count...
He reads the less cryptic - the open journal. (He always does, in this sequence. Why exactly, he doesn't know. It would make more sense the other way around.)
Ah.
Opposites attract, but similarities... bond?
And again, the tables turn. His turn to ponder the import of uncanny coincidences. Perhaps he is more... attuned... to. Hmm. Deja vu.
He wonders if somehow he is the fraud. Perhaps the words that chose him blundered blindly into the mousetrap of coincidence. Perhaps these words I spice my life with - electronic cumen and nutmeg -- perhaps these mislead her.
I did nothing. I chose nothing. The voices did it. Not I.
"Mirror, mirror on the wall, which one is the real thing, which one the illusion?
Do you ever wonder if the face looking back at you in the mirror is thinking the same thought too?"
"Never stand between two mirrors." (Pratchett, A Hatfull of Sky)
Too many sights.
Of course he does.
*****
Senses
Walking in the park with a friend, they pass a particularly fragrant patch where a random canine has answered the call of nature, and she crinkles her nose in disgust. Can we hurry on... this is why I will never be a country person.
He looks about him in silent... wonder? The trees brilliant shades of green, and cascading flowerfalls of white hanging suspended in mid air on their boughs en-route to their final resting place of the earth beneath three months later. At the hues of yellow, and red, and blue; and the gambolling golden browns of dogs, and their owners, and tops of children's heads...
... as they hurry away from the offending scent.
He points out an airline trail lancing red-gold across the clear dusk sky and she acknowledges it for a split second, before ranting at the noisy hordes around her...
He walks alone to dinner with his extravagent friend, and wonders if perhaps there are more smells in summer... or whether he lives winter with his eyes wide open and his nostrils frozen shut.
Perhaps it is not that we do not sense often enough.
Perhaps we are just unable to separate our senses, to savour one sense without it being overrun by another.
Sight, from smell.
Sight, from sound.
Smell, from sight.
Sense, from sound.
*****
Away, To sleep.
