Gah. The kitchen (and the leavetaking of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
time_shark and Anita, and the recursion of some relatives from last weekend) ate today. Also I read Federations (ed. John Joseph Adams, 2009) and was blown away by yhlee's "Swanwatch," but that was an hour well spent on the front steps in the cloud-tumbled sunshine, which I have missed for the last four days. There will be con report. There will also, I think, be an FAQ about next year's Readercon. In the meantime, I proffer all the sentences I collected on Friday, at Meet the Pros(e). I have not altered their order; that they make even the semblance of a narrative is a testament either to the power of coincidence or the mythopoeic abilities of the human mind.
Obsessives, doubters, workaholics: When the world ends, we will die, too.
And so, out of deaths, I know yours in particular.
"Are you familiar with the ducks'-rhymes, brown-cap Robin, at which the children above do sing and clap their little dear hands untaloned?"
I will never forget that sight, watching from the shadowed dunes while the Beast Men capered together and the Puma Woman stood, with her gun in her hand, the ammunition belt slung over her shoulder, at my side.
You can't imagine how much time we spent talking about ways to bilocate Craig, including pre-recorded video, live telephony, and a helm that would project him from Rhode Island to Burlington with weird science magic.
The twisted dwarf living in Harold's gilded heart had been laid bare.
Between the point at which I passed out at Rosslyn and two days later when I woke up in the Royal Infirmary, I spent nearly three months in the fourteenth century.
Traditionally we yeti are an unchurched species.
Had he been a superstitious man, Darger would not have wound up behind swallowed by a dragon.
Sifting through radio noise, looking for miraculous candidate signals.
Beating slowly UpRiver at a mere two knots, or eight Blocks per hour, mainly under sails bellying with a warm, maritime-perfumed wind, yet also employing two small supplemental engines, these impellers being the latest invention of Roger Kynard & Progeny, Ingeniators, running on a few hundred watts of beamed power from the Daysun, the Samuel Smallhorne, far from its home Slip of number 42 in the Borough of Stagwitz (Blocks 33,011,576 through 33,011,676 of the Linear City), pulled abreast of the Downtown border of the legendary Jungle Blocks of Vayavirunga at approximately ten AM on May the twelfth.
There are twirling, summersaulting women on the horses' backs, scantily clad after the fashion of Arabian harem girls, though, from the distance of only a few feet, it's difficult to tell whether these acrobats are mechanical or the real thing.
I am already aware of certain events surrounding my coming death—which, if I'm reading the signs correctly, is not that far off—as surely as if they'd already occurred and I am merely remembering them.
It is I, Le Clerc!
And especially, no tentacles.
Her heart was racing, and there seemed to be a low sound all around her, like the humming of a beehive in late summer, dripping and oozing with honey.
"The difference between a man and a beast," Mother said, "is a bar of soap."
One of those pigs with the ears all down its back walked by, snorting.
What has it got in its 'pocalypse?
No individual has all the archetypes constellated.
Our knowledge of false belief and our animism work hand in hand; the former prompts us to look beyond appearances to a hidden world of secret causes, while the latter reveals it as a world of powerful spirits, where mind matters and matter minds.
I really should have written down all their sources!
time_shark and Anita, and the recursion of some relatives from last weekend) ate today. Also I read Federations (ed. John Joseph Adams, 2009) and was blown away by yhlee's "Swanwatch," but that was an hour well spent on the front steps in the cloud-tumbled sunshine, which I have missed for the last four days. There will be con report. There will also, I think, be an FAQ about next year's Readercon. In the meantime, I proffer all the sentences I collected on Friday, at Meet the Pros(e). I have not altered their order; that they make even the semblance of a narrative is a testament either to the power of coincidence or the mythopoeic abilities of the human mind.Obsessives, doubters, workaholics: When the world ends, we will die, too.
And so, out of deaths, I know yours in particular.
"Are you familiar with the ducks'-rhymes, brown-cap Robin, at which the children above do sing and clap their little dear hands untaloned?"
I will never forget that sight, watching from the shadowed dunes while the Beast Men capered together and the Puma Woman stood, with her gun in her hand, the ammunition belt slung over her shoulder, at my side.
You can't imagine how much time we spent talking about ways to bilocate Craig, including pre-recorded video, live telephony, and a helm that would project him from Rhode Island to Burlington with weird science magic.
The twisted dwarf living in Harold's gilded heart had been laid bare.
Between the point at which I passed out at Rosslyn and two days later when I woke up in the Royal Infirmary, I spent nearly three months in the fourteenth century.
Traditionally we yeti are an unchurched species.
Had he been a superstitious man, Darger would not have wound up behind swallowed by a dragon.
Sifting through radio noise, looking for miraculous candidate signals.
Beating slowly UpRiver at a mere two knots, or eight Blocks per hour, mainly under sails bellying with a warm, maritime-perfumed wind, yet also employing two small supplemental engines, these impellers being the latest invention of Roger Kynard & Progeny, Ingeniators, running on a few hundred watts of beamed power from the Daysun, the Samuel Smallhorne, far from its home Slip of number 42 in the Borough of Stagwitz (Blocks 33,011,576 through 33,011,676 of the Linear City), pulled abreast of the Downtown border of the legendary Jungle Blocks of Vayavirunga at approximately ten AM on May the twelfth.
There are twirling, summersaulting women on the horses' backs, scantily clad after the fashion of Arabian harem girls, though, from the distance of only a few feet, it's difficult to tell whether these acrobats are mechanical or the real thing.
I am already aware of certain events surrounding my coming death—which, if I'm reading the signs correctly, is not that far off—as surely as if they'd already occurred and I am merely remembering them.
It is I, Le Clerc!
And especially, no tentacles.
Her heart was racing, and there seemed to be a low sound all around her, like the humming of a beehive in late summer, dripping and oozing with honey.
"The difference between a man and a beast," Mother said, "is a bar of soap."
One of those pigs with the ears all down its back walked by, snorting.
What has it got in its 'pocalypse?
No individual has all the archetypes constellated.
Our knowledge of false belief and our animism work hand in hand; the former prompts us to look beyond appearances to a hidden world of secret causes, while the latter reveals it as a world of powerful spirits, where mind matters and matter minds.
I really should have written down all their sources!
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