Watching some dramas and the way they are constructed is interesting – taking popular cultural figures and rolling them into a subculture that twists their significance and builds a mythology around them is intriguing.
It is always a risk taking someone’s name and rolling it around in the glitter of punnery and then letting it loose in a world where it is a punchline delivered with a straight face. Some creations I have loved for the flexibility this extra layer of meaning affords them, but some things fall flat.
It can’t all be glitter – it has to have soul, and if it doesn’t people will know pretty quickly.
when you produce a smile
when you produce a tear
when you reach in and touch a heart
then the words mean something
is someone thinking?
is something said?
then the words mean something
you did your job
Doll One skirts a fracture; springs, tucks and rolls, launched out into the arc of a journey that will end with pushed through a head and embedded in the wall. Run the environment and never lose sight of the target that was dropped in your head as a slotted image.
She goes signal dark half way into the run, and all the eyes that had been goggling her suddenly wake the hell up, launching into their own runs. There are feet pounding the pavement hard. Artificials sparking and trying to be as quiet as her as they skip tripwires and spydar webs trying to catch her before she completes her final task before shutdown.
How do they know that this is her final job? They rode a signal trace back to her remote programmer and hacked him for the plan. But knowing where something is going down and when it is going down does not necessarily mean that you are going to be able to stop it.
Jimmy on Surveillance Overpass gets a flickering heat signal, but they haven’t got a target yet for her, so they can’t wait for her at the end point of her journey. For a brief second something flares on his monitor, he hammers the triggers, and there she is, and twenty meters away a businessman who was not on their radar paints the wall with the insides of his head. As Jimmy’s bullets rip through her skin she is already a disintegration that will wipe any trace of her from existence.
He dropped the info-fluid into his eye, and Fellini’s 8 1/2 unspooled in his vision. He had been doing movies a little too much of late.
He had heard of people banging in War & Peace between their toes, and it would collapse your veins as badly as any other drug. You didn’t want to see a hard Kafka user ever.
Joli used to write scripts for experiential drugs, and they had been a thing for a long time, but now they were trailing off in their production. Legal entertainment had slid into a huge drug epidemic of glazed-eyed zombies.
Where do you go when you have flattened out the effects of Citizen Kane?
Joli had been talking about translating Proust for the longest time, and when they found him you could something different in his eyes. Wherever he went in his mind, he never came back.
When you write over and over about the same thing, it is because the subject matter is more than a little protean. How do you nail it down properly?
The love that you feel for something, or death, or the immensity of the universe. Sometimes they are all the same thing.
Sometimes you try and paint some huge picture, and sometimes all it boils down to is the love of a couple for their beautiful cat. I am contained in the last moments of my courageous cat’s life, and it may take me a second to move on from it; as it should be.
aftermath is a juddering cry
it is finding new laughter
it is finding the magic
remembering the magic
and seeing inestimable beauty that lived with you
and within you
all human stories are love stories
all stories are love stories
hands over big hearts
waiting for the expected silence
Decision branch and fall through into another universe. Timelines scatter before you, arranged in probability waves. He could see every single story moving out in front of him, and as he saw them he realised that he could take any of them and follow them though, and later rewind them.
He climbed to the top of the mountain and he could see the plain of existence laid out before him. What do you experience as you move from beginning, through middle, and to end? It seems that the story is a series of smaller reflections of the larger story. Nothing really ends. An episode finishes and it can be reexperienced. The people you loved are a book you can open and flip through.
How many names had he rattled through? He liked the name William. Life is a stage, many stages, stages in a rocket that keep you moving forward. He decided to sit down and write something, for the first time in ages: a Reality Engineering Guide.
All of his other works would be the best way to let people know that all those experiences and feelings were just side effects of living, and were not to be feared.