fiat_knox: silhouette of myself taken at sunrise (Shadow person)
Another dream post, peeps.

I dreamed of being in a large, old, echoing room. Again, there was some sort of a convention going on - I've no idea if it was the same convention from the previous dream whose GoH were Peter Jurasik and Stephen Furst, but there you are.

The hall was a long room, dimly lit, echoing, high ceiling, split into two levels, the upper level being an L shaped extension reaching along the left hand side to the far wall, then right. The upper level also had an extension to the left, but I didn't go down there. Access was on a square platform elevator with no railings that rose up from the empty lower floor.

The convention was taking place in the brightly lit rooms on the left: there were windows in the wall looking in, and a connecting door, but very few people in this room. At one point, I was alone. All around the upper level of this large, dimly lit, echoing hall were stacks of antique books, leather bound and exquisite looking.

I was just enjoying looking at these books, when a voice nearby started talking about old someone having discovered some old 1930s books, and putting them up for sale. These were originals, thought to be lost. I realised that the voice belonged to a man on the far end of the raised level, and that he was talking to two men back on the platform - both of whom expressed clear enthusiasm for the discovery of such rare items.

Then one of the men turned to me and said "I know where there's a book on sale here. It's expensive, but it's right up your street." He led me down the platform elevator, out the door at the bottom of the hall, and across the outside corridor, where the rest of the convention was clearly in full swing.

He cut across the wood panelled corridor, opened a door, and we proceeded down some narrow stairs to where there was another pile of books, this time in the narrow space between two flights of stairs. The books were arranged on a pile on a small table, beneath a window through whichI could see sunlight. Beside this stall sat an old lady with grey hair in a bun, a heavy dress and a knitted shawl, who had to go to the toilet for a moment.

While she was away, I looked at the book the man was offering to me. It was a grimoire, filled with signs and magical seals, instructions for spells such as "To make a man or woman come to you" and "To make someone shed their clothes on command." The book was a reprint of a genuine grimoire; the spells were indeed powerful and real, and I knew that I could make them work; I could even read the words in my dream.

And then I saw the price, which was very specific and legible: exactly £81.25. The lady came back. I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the book was genuine, and that this woman was making the knowledge available to be for that specific price. I figured that I could manage it, but it'd be a tight squeeze on my budget, but what the hell, why not?

Then the woman explained that these books were flying off the shelves, despite the price. Which was good, because she needed the proceeds from the sale of these books to pay for her cancer treatment.

At that point, I noticed that a queue had formed behind me, all eager to buy the book even if I was reluctant to break my bank account to do so. I couldn't do any more at that point, because I woke up. I think I'd have continued that dream by actually going downstairs, out the door and heading for the bank for the money in my dream. The book was worth far more than £81.25 - in fact, for genuine spells, it was worth hundreds - but the amount was, in my dream, about the limit of what I had available.

I was, after all, already at a convention ...
fiat_knox: silhouette of myself taken at sunrise (Default)
... the title being a homage to my all time favourite Laurel & Hardy segment, the one with that piano ... and those stairs ...

I have been packing things up for transport all weekend long. Friday evening, the very evening of the day I got my flat, I had to sort out all of my books and assorted stuff from the old flat to take them up to the new place. It took mr a bit of time, but I got it all sorted.

Yesterday, I roped in some of my family to help me shift the boxes of things to the new flat. That took most of the day, and by the end of the evening, all the books and other stuff, all the valuable stuff, was safe in the new place.

Today, we had the hardest task to do.

Shifting the furniture.

Fortunately, all I have in the way of furniture, being a bachelor, is one sofa, one armchair, some small units including a side unit for my bedroom, a desk and, of course, the double bed.

We did that today. It took an hour.

Now all that's left for us to do, hopefully tomorrow, will be to go back to the old flat, clean her up a little, tidy up the back garden and pick up the last few scattered bits we couldn't fit in the back of the car or the van tonight.

And after that, I'll be having the time of my life arranging the furniture in my new flat to suit, as well as (of course) sorting out the paperwork with the Council, etc.

It's all going on ...

Oh, and one other thing. When we shifted the bed, we found some items which had fallen over the side, gotten wedged in between the bed and the wall.

They included some money I'd dropped, a Clow card (apparently, the Libra card - don't ask!), the photos of my exes and, of all things, a book.

Anaïs Nin's Delta of Venus.

I'd have hated to seen the looks on the new tenants' faces. "So who was here last?" "Dunno, but he left his porn behind."

Anyhows, it's late, I'm back at the folks' place, the next door neighbours have thrown a party for their little one who's just two years old today. I came in late for the barbecue, but stuck around for the cleanup, and gave the happy parents of the child a card.

Ah, well. Like I said, it's getting late. I have things to be doing tomorrow, including shifting some of the books here down to the new place.

I don't think nyghtshayde's online. I came on a short while ago, and I'll be here until I time out (about 10pm my time), so let's see what happens.

And if not, T, I'll see you Tuesday night.
fiat_knox: silhouette of myself taken at sunrise (Default)
I just realised something these past few days.

All the movies I ever watched, all the music I grew up with, are now kind of ... ancient.

I was talking to a friend of mine, who reminded me that her tenth wedding anniversary was this year - it was held a short while ago. I asked her what big movie was playing at the time of the wedding.

Her reply: Francis Ford Coppola's Bram Stoker's Dracula.

You know, the one with that Keanu Reeves chap. (H'mm. Wonder what happened to him)?

I was watching some of those Star Trek movies - you know, the pre-Picard ones. The first one was made in 1979, if I recall correctly.

That makes it more than 25 years old this year.

Looking at all of the things I have considered culturally important, I am perhaps a little apprehensive to realise just how old many of them are nowadays.

For example ...

22 years ago, in 1982, Philip K Dick passed away. His short story, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, however, made it onto the big screens twenty years ago this year, in the form of the seminal cyberpunk movie Blade Runner - a movie which made bankable stars out of Rutger Hauer and Harrison Ford.

In 1994, not only did we get to see Dracula, but also this was the year The Lion King made it into the cinemas.

I found myself listening to Face to Face by Siousxie and The Banshees recently - a song track which was released around the time of the movie Batman Returns. This makes it twelve years old - and the original Batman, released in 1989, 15 years old.

And it's not just movies and soundtracks which have undergone the test of time.

I was looking at the modest library of roleplaying games I've amassed over the years. I found myself looking at three White Wolf games, all set in the (original) World of Darkness - a grim, noiresque reflection of our own world.

I recall how 1993 saw the release of a game I would fall in love with - a game whose tenth anniversary I celebrated around August last year, and whose eleventh anniversary is marked by the game line's ending: Mage: the Ascension.

This year, 2004, was meant to be the tenth anniversary of Wraith: the Oblivion, the fourth game in White Wolf's WoD series. Sadly, W:tO barely lasted five years.

What happened? The Reckoning happened, now five years ago. This huge metaplot event turned the WoD on its head, set in motion cataclysmic events which led to this year's Time of Judgment and the ending of all the old game lines.

Five years ago, in addition, a new game came to town - a game I took to like a shot, a game featuring the most ordinary people thrust into the most extraordinary situations.

I am, of course, referring to Hunter: the Reckoning, the game of the common, ordinary man forced to see the Truth about the WoD.

Five years old this year. Happy Birthday.

15 years ago, in 1989, I suffered a crippling setback when a story I wrote got rejected. It was the first of many rejections, and the old story's now lingering in some back drawer: but at the time, I felt the world was coming down around my ears. I felt that I might never write again.

And now, I'm starting all over again. I've been using the Hunter game to hone my writing abilities, to give myself confidence, to show the world that I can write.

Recently, I entered a writing competition launched by the BBC. I submitted a story outline for a short tale I've already written, but which I'd need to convert to a screenplay if I ever got shortlisted.

Last year, a competition entry I submitted to a magazine came fourth, just bubbling under: the editor returned the tale with a letter telling me it was a fine story, and regretting that it had been a difficult choice to choose someone else's short story over mine in the end.

But looking back at these films and shows, these books and games, I realise something. They've stood the test of time for me, so well written were they.

And now it's my turn to write the books and stuff that will stand the test of time to come.
fiat_knox: silhouette of myself taken at sunrise (Photo of me)
Gacked from nematoddity, who gacked it in turn from fanficauthor, who notes she gacked it from pepperjackcandy.

Grab the nearest book. Find the 5th sentence on page 23. Append it to the paragraph below. Append your name to the list below of people who have contributed to the paragraph. Post the result to your LJ.

"They also talk of our being guilty of injustice, and their being the victims of an unjustifiable war. Brandy, and Tom got increasingly close-mouthed and sour. Although a certain sense of tripartite society survived down to Christian times, the three classes described in the Eddic poem "Rigdthula" bear little resemblance to Dumezil's three. It is often argued, and still oftener thought, that none but bad men would desire to weaken these salutary beliefs; and there can be nothing wrong, it is thought, in restraining bad men, and prohibiting what only such men would wish to practice. At its nearest point the wall was little more than one league from the City, and that was south-eastward. When he saw Jack Hare jump towards the fire, and the Practical Man brandishing the toasting-fork, Sir Isaac grabbed the strings of gravitational force that bound Jack to his destiny and PULLED--- That's a seventy-four gun privateer, besides. To honour a group of British nobles, treacherously slain at a conference by Hengist's guards, Aurelius decides to erect a great monument near Amesbury. That being so, he did not chortle when he went upstairs. Let stand. This ensures that when the garbage collector runs, it has complete access to the memory in the heap and can perform its tasks safely without the threat of being preempted by another thread. And then you may begin to laugh. The data are stored in Column 1 and renamed "Age." Pull your hand back. I don't remember that any secrets were revealed to me, nor do I remember any avid curiosity on my part to learn something I wasn't supposed to--perhaps I was too young to know what to listen for. Placing the fleece in an open mesh bag for washing allows the suds to work their way in and the dirt to work its way out. He added, "Their mother, having twelve children, was a little too busy to bother about such fine points." Similarily, a child born during a storm may be given a name as imposing as Shappa ("red thunder") or as whimiscal as Lokni ("rain coming through a small hole in the roof"). The mana cost for Poison Dagger is almost insignificant, so as long as you have a dagger handy (which is mandatory for this skill), you'll be able to inflict plenty of damage on your enemies after landing only one hit. The easiest mistake to make in such a story is overkill. This standard answer is equivalent to the English non-committal /I am fine, thank you./ But what if they leave it in their shopping basket for a fortnight - can you promise them it's still in stock when they return? I had hardly enough funds to find lodging here, and the hotel repelled me the moment I saw it in passing - with its leaning porch, the peeling bricks of the walls, and the decayed old men who stood in front of the porch and seemed to stare mindlessly at something beyond me as I drove by. And:. The holovespa itself was a natural substance, a kind of royal jelly manufactured internally by the Holovespa Wasp Queen - intended solely for her larvae. In the fifth procedure, the sword is held horizontally to your right side. It is not always clear why we continue with behaviours that are not apparently beneficial or make no sense to us. So they are probably innate, though there are cultural rules about when one is supposed to laugh or cry. Unless clearly defined at the outset, an ill-defined scope is one of the areas likely to cause trouble during the course of the project. "You will both be in quarantine there for an unlimited time, until we can learn more about the nature of this disease." It may seem artificial to separate lateral thinking and try to teach it on its own when it is so much a part of thinking. "Thanks," said the bomb. The worker didn't have to think: he or she just had to be controlled. Probably satin, thought Mrs Leebody, but she hesitated to risk the years of friendship on a guess. "A long time ago." Emotional oratory, as has already been pointed out, has its legitimate place. Games of the same name may be played in a huge variety of ways in different locations. They often appear selfless. Others intentionally make false claims. Ayant promis de veiller a ce que tout soit pret pour le depart, Charles se rend de lendemain matin au bureau d'une agence touristique et, apres quelques minutes d'attente, il s'approache d'un employe. Mokuyobi wa Nigastsu no jugonichi desu. Six in the fourth place means: Entangled folly brings humiliation. Of course, by 1945 the Technocrats already had nuclear weapons under wraps for a generation. But physics and biology were totally observational just a few centuries ago. "Is that so!" I'll put them here, beside your chair, where you can see them." A few days later, the Indian was again in agony, but he could not get the ring off. Positive.

I just couldn't resist adding and adding and adding. My library has a lot of books ...

August 2017

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