Of Icarus and Dementia

It has been hard to get back on here.  I keep vowing to post something, anything, but every time I get on my computer anymore, I end up completely stupefied on what to write, as evidenced by my writing about my lack of things to write about.  I haven't even looked at the other blogs on here.  I don't think I could.

These last several months have been spent just sightseeing.  Mostly in flight.  The world seems to distant from the clouds.  So carefree.  Even the time spent typing here seems so oppressive.  I think I'll go flying now.

Musical Tide

Music takes on a whole new definition when you hear it like I do.  Every note, every chord, every phrase becomes a shivering rush of sound as the tone warbles up and down, and every instrument's beam intermixes with each other to make a rhythm as each meets their high end and their low end.  Music within music.  I heard a piece yesterday that was an intriguing mixture of violin and bass guitar, and the violin section's beats formed an almost addictive rhythm, with neither form nor meter, but wonderful all the same.  It has been too long since I have been to a live performance, because I devoted so much time to my attempts at killing that monster, but now, I don't think I could listen to music any other way than this.

I really do think I should leave this place soon.  I'd feel guilty if I brought a certain Phantom to the Sydney Opera House...

Some kind of lines in the crossway

Watching people is interesting when they're moving so slow.

You can see every small move they make as they approach you, intrigued by your appearance.

You can listen to them for minutes on end as they try to ask why you're just standing there.

You can watch as they lose patience and pass you by.

And all the time, you cannot move, lest you give away your supernatural speed.

Right now, this girl, no older than 15, wearing a black faux fur vest, orange striped long sleeve shirt, faded blue jeans, and cowboy boots, is looking across the street as I type, trying to see what I am staring at.

In truth, I've been watching the current of the wind as it swirls above a spot in the road in front of me, carrying leaves in a graceful dance that inevitably ends in each leaf breaking away to continue its journey along the road, only to be interrupted by a car or a first grader attempting to catch it.

Of course, she doesn't notice it, and is now turning back to me, surely wondering why I'm wasting my time staring at the plain road.  But of course, she can't see things as I do.  I will need to stop typing for a few minutes.

There, she has turned her attention away from me.  I think she commented that I seem like a stalker.

I think I'll move locations soon.  But for another day or so, I can stay here and watch the leaves.

Some kind of nostalgia

One day has never been this long for another one, and yet it already has been two months since I have left.

Yesterday I took some time to read my old posts, remember what I was like back then.  It's been too long.

I found something from the incident when I accidentally created an electric burst.

Too long...

A. Lucia Cat said...

...that's pretty fascinating. Do you do experiments like this often? Oh! Hello, Clark. Formal introduction-- I'm Lucia, the one who's been following you since the beginning. I'm coming off of....hiatus, and I'm running around making myself known to people who's stories I'm following. And yours is quite unique!

September 28, 2011 11:33 PM

Clark said...

Ah, so you're the mystery follower I could never account for. Blogger seems to have a flaw that prevents me from seeing who is following me. Yes, I am always doing experiments such as this, at least as much as my body will allow. Actually, I've been doing this long before I created this blog, and long before I met Ola'asu and Recurse, but this is the most progress I've ever made. I notice that you seem to be a fellow combatant, and I will be reading up on your blog after I've finished typing this. Might I ask, however, why you have the strange emphasis before the word "hiatus"? It seems rather ominous. I thank you for calling my story unique, but it is only what I have experienced, which I suppose means it must inherently be different. I am rambling, however, and I should stop now, I hope we can work together in the future.

September 28, 2011 11:45 PM 

The Start of Things

This was the email Zwei sent to Lucia on January first, with attached file:

22222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222222
> From: 222222222222222222222222222222222222222222@yahoo.com
> Date: Sun, 1 Jan 2012 00:00:00 -0500
> To: lucianna06@AOL.com
>
>

Of Headaches and Armaments

And this is why I hate unconsciousness.

On New Year's Day, at the stroke of the year, Lucia got an email from Zwei, which I will let her upload.  I don't feel like trying to poke into her email account.

At any rate, the email prompted me to go on a treasure hunt of sorts across the continent.  I'm lucky to have found it in time, honestly.  I'll wait until the email is posted before I go into detail, lest my explanation be anything.

That said, spending five days in constant output was bound to catch up to me.  And upon looking at what I missed, I can't help but feel that Zwei's email was as much to help as it was to get me out of the way.

It seems to be worth it.

And on a final note, so I'm not withholding all that I learned:

I saw the Recurse again, and it saw me.  It saw me when I found what Zwei directed me to.

This bodes ill.

The TAROT cards that CLARK gave me for CHRISTMAS are interesting.

Damn,,,

Clark's been comatose for a while.  I thought he was just sleeping out of matrix time, but I can't wake him...