The semester ended the other night. I stayed an extra day, so I could change rooms. Anything to escape my horrible roommate. Seriously, he's almost literally the Roommate from Hell. Some nights he comes in smelling of alcohol and brimstone and he leaves singed footprints on the tile of our dorm room (and those take forever to wash out of the floor). That aside, the night was rather quiet as I was one of the seven students remaining on a campus which normally houses 5000+. It was really lonely, too. So, as usual, I sought refuge from the loneliness at my favored hearth, Taco Bell.
I was making my usual round about the outside of the building (it helps prevent anyone unwanted from following you) when I saw her by the drive-thru order mic. She was wearing a red dress reminiscent of the one Marilyn Monroe wore, except of course that it was red and ended just above her knees. Her days-long legs ended in a pair of red pumps Long flowing blonde hair fell about the sides of her head and she was leaning over to the passenger side as though whispering something in the window. She was rather shapely and quite easy on the eyes, except that she didn't have a face.
I don't know where she comes from or what she is, but I'm starting to wonder if it's more than a coincidence. They don't act like noppera-bo so I'm kind of at a loss as to what they are, but I can't help but wonder if they're showing themselves to me for a reason. They kind of remind me of dream-things which some dream-psychologists refer to as "supernumeraries". They're like the extras that your brain doesn't flesh out in dreams. They're far too detailed to be those.
Also, I'll be gone for a few days. I've got some surgery tomorrow and I won't be coherent for a few days. My wards at home are strong. I'll probably be okay.
Let's hope.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
Lost Time and The Unseelie Court
I woke up this morning and, per routine, checked my phone. This can't be right, I thought. It said 6:30 AM December 14, 2009 and then immediately ran out of juice. After putting it back on the charger, I set called a gentleman I had gone to see the night before. His preferred moniker is "Mr. Pocketwatch". After a brief conversation and some words I won't repeat here, I learned that I've been gone for just under a week. If I had gone to the meeting last Tuesday and I came back today, which is next Monday, then it's been nearly a week.
Crap. Finals Week.
"But it's okay!" he replied, "We left a fetch for you! He took your tests for you and we made sure he got good grades."
So missing the point, Pocketwatch. But perhaps I should explain what I was doing "last night."
It's taken a while, but I finally managed to shmooze my way into the local Fae's confidence and last night they took me to be properly presented at the Unseelie Court, which is in power this time of year. About 4:45 PM, near sunset, I left campus to meet my contact, the aforementioned Mr. Pocketwatch. He led me through a twisting series of streets I didn't think such a small town was capable of until somehow, we found ourselves standing in front of a palatial manor with so many floors there's no way I wouldn't have noticed it in town before. He flashed a plastic card to two men who appeared to be carved from living granite and they let us into the house.
As large as it was on the outside, the inside was literally infinitely bigger. Upon entry, the first thing I noticed (kind of impossible not to notice, really) was what looked like the unobstructed brilliant night sky surrounding on all sides save for a small door through which we had entered. The ground underneath was an endless grassy meadow stretching off into the infinite distance. Shortly ahead of us was a large gathering of Fae, neatly arranged with most of them on the ground and several low seats surrounding a throne. I can't remember exactly but it looked to be made of clear plastic (or something clear, anyway) and rigid Autumn leaves. Lots of other adornment, too. Some strange slinky Fae were dancing with scarves that looked like they were woven from Van Gogh's "Starry Night" in the midst of the gathering. Mr. Pocketwatch stepped into the circle and I followed.
Things get a little fuzzy after that. I remember bowing courteously to the really thin lady in the throne (I do remember that her crown was made of golden wheat). Then there was a blur of eating and dancing and as some point I remember Pocketwatch announcing my name with something that sounded like triumph. And then applause and shouting. And then I woke up this morning with legs sorer than I've ever had them and a mild disorientation. Don't get me wrong, having a fetch to deal with my tests and my horrible roommate is quite a(n unsettling) benefit. It's just annoying that the meeting took a week.
A little warning would have been nice.
Crap. Finals Week.
"But it's okay!" he replied, "We left a fetch for you! He took your tests for you and we made sure he got good grades."
So missing the point, Pocketwatch. But perhaps I should explain what I was doing "last night."
It's taken a while, but I finally managed to shmooze my way into the local Fae's confidence and last night they took me to be properly presented at the Unseelie Court, which is in power this time of year. About 4:45 PM, near sunset, I left campus to meet my contact, the aforementioned Mr. Pocketwatch. He led me through a twisting series of streets I didn't think such a small town was capable of until somehow, we found ourselves standing in front of a palatial manor with so many floors there's no way I wouldn't have noticed it in town before. He flashed a plastic card to two men who appeared to be carved from living granite and they let us into the house.
As large as it was on the outside, the inside was literally infinitely bigger. Upon entry, the first thing I noticed (kind of impossible not to notice, really) was what looked like the unobstructed brilliant night sky surrounding on all sides save for a small door through which we had entered. The ground underneath was an endless grassy meadow stretching off into the infinite distance. Shortly ahead of us was a large gathering of Fae, neatly arranged with most of them on the ground and several low seats surrounding a throne. I can't remember exactly but it looked to be made of clear plastic (or something clear, anyway) and rigid Autumn leaves. Lots of other adornment, too. Some strange slinky Fae were dancing with scarves that looked like they were woven from Van Gogh's "Starry Night" in the midst of the gathering. Mr. Pocketwatch stepped into the circle and I followed.
Things get a little fuzzy after that. I remember bowing courteously to the really thin lady in the throne (I do remember that her crown was made of golden wheat). Then there was a blur of eating and dancing and as some point I remember Pocketwatch announcing my name with something that sounded like triumph. And then applause and shouting. And then I woke up this morning with legs sorer than I've ever had them and a mild disorientation. Don't get me wrong, having a fetch to deal with my tests and my horrible roommate is quite a(n unsettling) benefit. It's just annoying that the meeting took a week.
A little warning would have been nice.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
What's a Daydream?
It has occurred to me (finally) the that the title of this blog may be a bit confusing. The latter portion, "The Life and Times of a College-Aged Daydream," in particular. The explanation is twofold
First, it needs to be stated that the Buddhist concept that "reality is what comes out of the eyes rather that into them" is not far off. Our expectations shape reality. When people believe in the existence of something so fervently and for so long, it simply starts to be. Technically these things are imaginary, but just because it's imaginary doesn't mean it isn't real. This also doesn't mean that the things they believed in didn't already exist. There are many kinds of Fae creatures, some of which are imaginary and some which have always been real.
Second, many of these so-called impossible creatures were also thought to intermingle their own blood with that of men and women. Dhampir and Cambions are two examples which come from real creatures. The Daydream is another matter. They are a catch-all term for the blood descendants of the imaginary things. Most of the time, this doesn't manifest in any significant way. Usually they may be a bit more lucky that the average person or display certain aptitudes or personality quirks often displayed by their progenitor. Sometimes, though, they'll be significantly like whatever they descended from.
I am of the latter sort although I don't know what I come from or what sort of strangeness that entails. Except that I see through whatever illusion keeps the rest of mankind blissfully ignorant. My guess is that it comes from my dad considering the incident with the Gremlins on Thanksgiving. I should really ask when I go home for Christmas. Wow this sounds like some creepy otherkin self-explanation. Relax, I'm not some delusional "dragon with gold eyes who breathes rainbows trapped in a human body."
As far as I know.
First, it needs to be stated that the Buddhist concept that "reality is what comes out of the eyes rather that into them" is not far off. Our expectations shape reality. When people believe in the existence of something so fervently and for so long, it simply starts to be. Technically these things are imaginary, but just because it's imaginary doesn't mean it isn't real. This also doesn't mean that the things they believed in didn't already exist. There are many kinds of Fae creatures, some of which are imaginary and some which have always been real.
Second, many of these so-called impossible creatures were also thought to intermingle their own blood with that of men and women. Dhampir and Cambions are two examples which come from real creatures. The Daydream is another matter. They are a catch-all term for the blood descendants of the imaginary things. Most of the time, this doesn't manifest in any significant way. Usually they may be a bit more lucky that the average person or display certain aptitudes or personality quirks often displayed by their progenitor. Sometimes, though, they'll be significantly like whatever they descended from.
I am of the latter sort although I don't know what I come from or what sort of strangeness that entails. Except that I see through whatever illusion keeps the rest of mankind blissfully ignorant. My guess is that it comes from my dad considering the incident with the Gremlins on Thanksgiving. I should really ask when I go home for Christmas. Wow this sounds like some creepy otherkin self-explanation. Relax, I'm not some delusional "dragon with gold eyes who breathes rainbows trapped in a human body."
As far as I know.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Drunken Revels and Swan Maidens (again)
One of my friends had his birthday over the weekend. When asked what he wanted, he replied "capture the flag!" So they held a campout in which to play. I couldn't go since I had to finish a paper for finals. Anyway, it turns out that their party was a lot less "capture the flag!" and a lot more "get drunk and see how big we can make our fire". It's pretty standard when you know my friends, so yeah...
The really interesting thing is that one of my friends this morning told me about two "really bitchy girls" who showed up about 2 AM in their campsite. He also remembered that they were really, really attractive and somehow the line of group reasoning turned shortly to a "birthday present" for our birthday friend. In the morning, they were gone and nobody remembered a thing about what happened, but his sleeping bag was covered with white down feathers. Which gets me thinking...
Swan Maidens. We've already been here once. I get the feeling I know what went on. Might as well call them werewhores. The thing I want to know is, why do they keep finding my group of friends and what they want (apart from the obvious)? Side note: Why do people not notice or remember the preternatural things going on about them? Is there something in normal people that just shades it from their minds?
Time to put on my detective pants.
The really interesting thing is that one of my friends this morning told me about two "really bitchy girls" who showed up about 2 AM in their campsite. He also remembered that they were really, really attractive and somehow the line of group reasoning turned shortly to a "birthday present" for our birthday friend. In the morning, they were gone and nobody remembered a thing about what happened, but his sleeping bag was covered with white down feathers. Which gets me thinking...
Swan Maidens. We've already been here once. I get the feeling I know what went on. Might as well call them werewhores. The thing I want to know is, why do they keep finding my group of friends and what they want (apart from the obvious)? Side note: Why do people not notice or remember the preternatural things going on about them? Is there something in normal people that just shades it from their minds?
Time to put on my detective pants.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Glens and Hearths
There are strange places, overlooked by many, that don't seem encumbered by the outside world. Where the atmosphere can simply be described as "positive" and any internal negativity flows away quickly. Seemingly mundane locations unencumbered by the sometimes crushing banality of the outside world. Hot or cold, they're never intolerable. The light is bright but never glaring. Or sometimes dim, but not dark. Some of these places don't actually exist in this world, rather extending into an "Otherworld" or taking space in the conceptual. Some of these are very real and some especially unexpected.
They used to be called Glens. They were wild places thought to be the meeting ground of the Fae. They were right, to a degree. The imaginary variation (and just because it's imaginary doesn't mean it isn't real, more on that another day) would hold great revels in these places because the disbelief of the outside world was less powerful there. As time pass and more lands were settled and developed, the Glens were built upon. Many became Hearths, pubs and restaurants which displayed the same nature. Inevitably, these places would attract a clientele which simply liked "the vibe". Imaginary things still enjoyed these places, albeit in a more location appropriate way (often drunken parties).
I've got a Hearth I like to frequent. It's a Taco Bell.
They used to be called Glens. They were wild places thought to be the meeting ground of the Fae. They were right, to a degree. The imaginary variation (and just because it's imaginary doesn't mean it isn't real, more on that another day) would hold great revels in these places because the disbelief of the outside world was less powerful there. As time pass and more lands were settled and developed, the Glens were built upon. Many became Hearths, pubs and restaurants which displayed the same nature. Inevitably, these places would attract a clientele which simply liked "the vibe". Imaginary things still enjoyed these places, albeit in a more location appropriate way (often drunken parties).
I've got a Hearth I like to frequent. It's a Taco Bell.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Auric Phenomena
After auditions for our spring show the night before last, a couple of my friends and I went out for dinner. We hit a little mexican place a few blocks from campus. What we ordered or talked about is immaterial (though it was a rather enjoyable evening). When we walked in, I noticed a couple having a hushed conversation in the corner. Their eyes were locked and he reached over to take her hand. I like to think he was talking about their future together or something sweet like that. Anyway, once they touched their silverware rose a few inches off the table. Their forks and spoons actually floated upward a bit. It wasn't particularly noticeable if you aren't normally looking for the unusual, but that's kind of what I do. As soon as he pulled back so they could get up and pay their bill the silver fell but they just dismissed it as one of them bumping the table while rising. I love how people do that.
It was an auric reaction. Don't get me wrong. I don't buy all the new-agey aura of divine energy crap. But it's actually reasonably well established that most if not all living creatures have some kind of electromagnetic field or "aura" surrounding them. Normally they're not visible though their effects can be seen; like the reaction between the lovers' auras in the restaurant. Most people ignore them. We can photograph them now, using Kirlian photography. Under normal circumstances, they're not visible.
Under metanormal circumstances on the other hand, they are. In particular, when someone us actively using magic their aura becomes a luminescent nimbus around their body. The color is individual to each person though different people can have different or even same-colored auras. Auras also include an olfactory component. This is individual, often requiring a rarified sense of smell to distinguish. They're even perceptible when the aura isn't visible as the person's "natural scent". For instance, my aura manifests as a deep forest green accompanied by the scent of woodsmoke. If one knows how to distinguish however, they'll find it smells like burning cedar.
So y'know that really smelly guy in you pass by every day? Just be glad he isn't a magic user.
It was an auric reaction. Don't get me wrong. I don't buy all the new-agey aura of divine energy crap. But it's actually reasonably well established that most if not all living creatures have some kind of electromagnetic field or "aura" surrounding them. Normally they're not visible though their effects can be seen; like the reaction between the lovers' auras in the restaurant. Most people ignore them. We can photograph them now, using Kirlian photography. Under normal circumstances, they're not visible.
Under metanormal circumstances on the other hand, they are. In particular, when someone us actively using magic their aura becomes a luminescent nimbus around their body. The color is individual to each person though different people can have different or even same-colored auras. Auras also include an olfactory component. This is individual, often requiring a rarified sense of smell to distinguish. They're even perceptible when the aura isn't visible as the person's "natural scent". For instance, my aura manifests as a deep forest green accompanied by the scent of woodsmoke. If one knows how to distinguish however, they'll find it smells like burning cedar.
So y'know that really smelly guy in you pass by every day? Just be glad he isn't a magic user.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Desperate Incubi
There's a gentleman in his thirties who has integrated himself into my social group. He's a graduate student and shows up at most of the parties held by theatre people. And come 3 AM (the Witching Hour, incidentally), whether he's drunk or not, he tries to get into someone's pants. Including mine (and I'm just not interested in men). In fact, he's been going about it while sober lately, too.
The funny thing is that he also reacts to religious symbols with a perceptible aversion, not even acknowledging the bearer. Not only that, but he appears to sustain contact burns from silver and can't cross a line of salt (as was evidenced by my paranoid actions at a friend's house party). The likely cause: He's an Incubus. While I shy from calling him a demon per se, Incubus is as good a title as any. He likes sex. A lot. And he responds to supernatural stimuli like the namesake. So he's either one or a supernaturally resonant nymphomaniac.
And if he's hitting on me, he must be pretty desperate.
The funny thing is that he also reacts to religious symbols with a perceptible aversion, not even acknowledging the bearer. Not only that, but he appears to sustain contact burns from silver and can't cross a line of salt (as was evidenced by my paranoid actions at a friend's house party). The likely cause: He's an Incubus. While I shy from calling him a demon per se, Incubus is as good a title as any. He likes sex. A lot. And he responds to supernatural stimuli like the namesake. So he's either one or a supernaturally resonant nymphomaniac.
And if he's hitting on me, he must be pretty desperate.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Machine Elves and a Thought About Zombies
First, thankfully the Machine Elves have stopped screaming. They quit about 2 AM this morning. I really hope there wasn't too much damage.
The other thing. I was just wondering why people assume that if zombies appear or (heaven forbid) there is a "zombie apocalypse", it will be some kind of disease. I'm not a biology major, but I was kind of working under the assumption that when a disease kills its host, it dies too. So how would a disease reanimate a formerly (debatably) intelligent creature into a rabid cannibalistic undead monster? I can see brain damage reducing them to that state, but the reanimation itself is just too far fetched. Heck, if the blood isn't flowing they shouldn't even be able to move! It's called "rigor". Human+Virus+Death=Alive because Screw you biology!
Now necromancy, that I know of. I have seen on more than one occasion corpses raised to do the bidding of necromancers. They prove delightfully vulnerable to fire and that is indeed the only way to actually kill them. Of course since they're just puppets, you also don't have to deal with that "I'm rabid and I hunger for the flesh of the living" thing. With magic it's possible.
So, regarding this rant anyway, "Magic good, biology bad."
The other thing. I was just wondering why people assume that if zombies appear or (heaven forbid) there is a "zombie apocalypse", it will be some kind of disease. I'm not a biology major, but I was kind of working under the assumption that when a disease kills its host, it dies too. So how would a disease reanimate a formerly (debatably) intelligent creature into a rabid cannibalistic undead monster? I can see brain damage reducing them to that state, but the reanimation itself is just too far fetched. Heck, if the blood isn't flowing they shouldn't even be able to move! It's called "rigor". Human+Virus+Death=Alive because Screw you biology!
Now necromancy, that I know of. I have seen on more than one occasion corpses raised to do the bidding of necromancers. They prove delightfully vulnerable to fire and that is indeed the only way to actually kill them. Of course since they're just puppets, you also don't have to deal with that "I'm rabid and I hunger for the flesh of the living" thing. With magic it's possible.
So, regarding this rant anyway, "Magic good, biology bad."
Monday, November 30, 2009
Cyber Monday
Today's Cyber Monday, the busiest shopping day of the year for online retailers in the US. Traffic is heavy today. Really, really heavy. People are trying to take advantage of deals they couldn't get ahold of on Black Friday. And the Machine Elves are screaming.
It's kind of hard to explain just what a Machine Elf is. They're like a consciousness that exists inside machines. I don't normally have much dealing with them, myself, so the best description can be found here on Wikipedia. All this traffic must be like having an interstate highway coming through your bedroom. And some of them are probably getting hit. I wish I could do something for them. The screams hurt to hear.
I just really hope there isn't too much damage when today's over.
It's kind of hard to explain just what a Machine Elf is. They're like a consciousness that exists inside machines. I don't normally have much dealing with them, myself, so the best description can be found here on Wikipedia. All this traffic must be like having an interstate highway coming through your bedroom. And some of them are probably getting hit. I wish I could do something for them. The screams hurt to hear.
I just really hope there isn't too much damage when today's over.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Fairy Tales
I was going through some of my old storybooks this morning while packing up to head back to school. I found lots of old stories with surprisingly harrowing events. (My parents had good taste in picking books of legends and fairy tales.) I know the Victorian Age and later Disney really sanitized the way we look at these things, but really they're incredibly dark. And they taught us valuable lessons. If you go looking for fear, it'll find you. (The Boy Who Found Fear At Last) Don't trust strangers and don't get in bed with strange people. They'll eat you. (Little Red Riding Hood) I suppose that darkness makes sense, though. These stories were meant to protect us. And not just in mundane ways as I said in an earlier rant.
I don't want a fairytale wedding.
I don't want a fairytale wedding.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Black Friday
Went out with my mom today to take advantage of some of the Black Friday deals. We managed to get out at about 6 AM and really didn't have too deal badly with crowds. We actually found most of the stuff on her list. (I'm ultrabroke, so my list is moot.) Still, I had a bit of fun with the other shoppers. Sprinkle discrete lines of salt at the edges of aisles. Hide little bits of iron under objects. It's really amusing to see supernatural beings (who are passing for humans) and metanormal people suddenly unable to go further or compelled out of nowhere to go another direction. I really had the urge to set up a rube goldberg of people, though I never had the time at any one place.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Thanksgiving and Gremlins
Just once, can't I have a normal holiday?
I went home yesterday to spend Thanksgiving with my family. My own car is still in the shop after catastrophic failure of the transmission, so my Dad came and picked me up. The resultant conversation on the way home quickly reminded me of why I love coming home. But that's neither here nor there.
This year, we spent Thanksgiving at my aunt's. There aren't many of us since one of my brothers spent it with his in-laws and the extended relatives don't seem to know who we are anymore. Besides, my aunt's husband is a wonderful cook!
Anywhat, we were milling about their kitchen when I noticed two things that happened almost at the same time. First, the refrigerator shudders and stops humming. Then, the the oven's (which still contains the turkey) digital temperature display skyrockets to 750 degrees and stays there for a few minutes before shooting down to 200 degrees and finally settles back on 350. As soon as that's over, the fridge lurches back to life and nobody seems to have noticed a thing. About half an hour later, as we're setting out the food for a buffet, I hear scratching from the oven, followed by almost inaudible laughter (and none of that sanitized Victorian "tinkling of bells" crap). Again nobody noticed. Finally, we decide to serve dessert. I open the refrigerator to get my mom's eclair cake (which is surprisingly good for sugar-free) and catch a glimpse of a brown foot dodging behind the milk. I nonchalantly turn to put the dessert on the counter and immediately turn back to see the little foot dodging for the milk again. Reaching back behind the jug, I meet scratches and bite on a very tiny scale. I close my hand on it and pull it out.
Gremlin. A kind of fae creature dating from World War II. They lived to torment servicemen, pilots in particular, by sabotaging aircraft and other machines. They hit everyone without regard for side or affiliation so nobody ever thought to discourage them. After that war, there was less air combat and therefore less opportunities for their fun. So, they moved onto other targets when the pilots arrived home.
So I pull this little annoyance out and all the while he's spouting quiet profanities from his tiny mouth. I close the door and back up and step back. My dad is standing there with an amused smile on his face. Here I am with an offensive little person in my hand and he's not acting the least bit surprised.
"Looks like you found the third one," he chuckles, gesturing at a mason jar in his left hand. It contains two others, "I found these buggers in the oven. Gremlins. Pain in the butt, huh?"
He takes the last critter from me and put it in the jar. All the while I'm thinking Wait, when did my dad start noticing these things? And almost like he's reading my mind he replies, "What? You thought you were the only one who saw things? I'm gonna go hide this with our coats." And then he left, leaving me in a dumbfounded silence.
Some days I love being part of my family.
I went home yesterday to spend Thanksgiving with my family. My own car is still in the shop after catastrophic failure of the transmission, so my Dad came and picked me up. The resultant conversation on the way home quickly reminded me of why I love coming home. But that's neither here nor there.
This year, we spent Thanksgiving at my aunt's. There aren't many of us since one of my brothers spent it with his in-laws and the extended relatives don't seem to know who we are anymore. Besides, my aunt's husband is a wonderful cook!
Anywhat, we were milling about their kitchen when I noticed two things that happened almost at the same time. First, the refrigerator shudders and stops humming. Then, the the oven's (which still contains the turkey) digital temperature display skyrockets to 750 degrees and stays there for a few minutes before shooting down to 200 degrees and finally settles back on 350. As soon as that's over, the fridge lurches back to life and nobody seems to have noticed a thing. About half an hour later, as we're setting out the food for a buffet, I hear scratching from the oven, followed by almost inaudible laughter (and none of that sanitized Victorian "tinkling of bells" crap). Again nobody noticed. Finally, we decide to serve dessert. I open the refrigerator to get my mom's eclair cake (which is surprisingly good for sugar-free) and catch a glimpse of a brown foot dodging behind the milk. I nonchalantly turn to put the dessert on the counter and immediately turn back to see the little foot dodging for the milk again. Reaching back behind the jug, I meet scratches and bite on a very tiny scale. I close my hand on it and pull it out.
Gremlin. A kind of fae creature dating from World War II. They lived to torment servicemen, pilots in particular, by sabotaging aircraft and other machines. They hit everyone without regard for side or affiliation so nobody ever thought to discourage them. After that war, there was less air combat and therefore less opportunities for their fun. So, they moved onto other targets when the pilots arrived home.
So I pull this little annoyance out and all the while he's spouting quiet profanities from his tiny mouth. I close the door and back up and step back. My dad is standing there with an amused smile on his face. Here I am with an offensive little person in my hand and he's not acting the least bit surprised.
"Looks like you found the third one," he chuckles, gesturing at a mason jar in his left hand. It contains two others, "I found these buggers in the oven. Gremlins. Pain in the butt, huh?"
He takes the last critter from me and put it in the jar. All the while I'm thinking Wait, when did my dad start noticing these things? And almost like he's reading my mind he replies, "What? You thought you were the only one who saw things? I'm gonna go hide this with our coats." And then he left, leaving me in a dumbfounded silence.
Some days I love being part of my family.
Gremlins. Not this cute, twice this destructive.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
On the Nature of Santa Claus
Thanksgiving's coming up this week and I'm heading home tomorrow to spend it with my family. On campus, though, I'm already seeing trees and lights and other trappings of that second most wonderful of holidays that is Christmas. It seems a lovely time to share a bit of exposition on the nature of the Jolly Old Elf himself, Santa Claus.
I had the pleasure of meeting the (currently not so) Big Guy two years ago shortly after I found myself where I hang my hat today. It was the standard "You're asleep and dreaming. Ignore me and go back to bed." situation at first. Unfortunately for him, I had already learned the first two rules of life such as it is for me: 1) Rarely is anything as it seems. and 2) SALT, SALT, SALT!.) What can I say? By the age of 18, most of us have been fed the grand truth (read: DAMN LIE! (Thank you, Mr. Twain)) that there is no such thing as Santa Claus. To me, he just looked like an opportunistic burglar.
Several impossibly large packages and a circle of salt later, we reached an impasse. I had thought he was mundane until I saw the bag work and then I guess my paranoia kicked in. Blah blah blah, "State your name and business." To his credit, he was very polite and patient with me.
Santa told me that he had been born Nicolas López Fernández in a small town in Cuba and was currently 32 years old. Contrary to the commonly told stories, he actually lived in the southern Florida Keys most of the year. "You see," he told me, "The mantle of the one you call 'Santa Claus' is actually passed down every two hundred years or so. I haven't been on the job for more than a few years."
The story begins long after the death of the historical St. Nicholas, instead with the life of an unknown Frenchman, Jacques de Sène in the 1200s. While he was rather poor, he actively spent what little free time performing what services he could for others without being asked or asking recompense. By the tradition of those holding the mantle, he was apparently visited by a manifestation of the original St. Nicholas who gifted with the ability to do good for others in all places. Jacques was a meek man in spite of his desire to help all peoples. He didn't want the attention. Therefore it was chosen that the night of Christmas would be his night to perform this service as it would be welcomed among the festivities held by many cultures around the Solstice. He would take on a new persona to indulge his meekness. The persona that would eventually become whom we understand to be Santa Claus.
After some time, the mantle was passed on to a well-to-do slavic gentleman who built the legend of Grandfather Frost (known in the US simply as Father Frost), who did his work with his grandaughter, Snow Maiden. Apparently, he had adopted the image of an old slavic god (the existence of which is as of yet unknown) and reverse the image from a cruel, child-stealing sorcerer to that of a kind gift-giver. After some time, he passed the mantle to a rarely benevolent east Russian vampire dream-eater (a strange variation of the vampiric curse that enables the creature to subsist on the dreams of children, much like the semitic breath-drinkers). He started the tradition of using enchanted reindeer perpetuated by Western storytellers. After a time, he passed it to a British gentleman who wasn't particularly good at doing the unseen do-gooder thing. His various sightings led to the common Western image of Santa Claus and provided the inspiration for the poem commonly referred to as "The Night Before Christmas". When his time was up in the early 1900's, he bestowed the title on an Alaskan dogsledder. He delivered gifts in the form of ice carvings which became the real thing, sparking more than one story. He eventually fell in love with a girl whom he had watched grow up and was granted release from his duties by passing them on to the current one.
The one whom I currently had trapped in a circle of salt in my family's living room and delayed for several hours telling me the tale of his order.
Crap.
After profuse apology on my part, he simply smiled and laughed the deep, jolly laugh so commonly attributed to his namesake and told me it was okay. Apparently the one thing all the logical arguments "disproving" the existence of Santa Claus were forgetting was the fact that the man is MAGIC. In all of this, no time had passed. In fact, it never does while he doesn't mean for it to. He laid his index finger against the side of his nose and I found myself standing next to him on the roof of my family's house. Attached to his large blue and green sledge were 12 particularly tiny key deer. (I really have to question the ethical concerns of enchanting and using for this purpose 12 of a threatened species...) With a chuckle he mounted the sleigh and took the reins, calling, "On Sunshine! On Rain! On Love! On Joy! On Pink! On Green! On Cindy and Bobby and Jan and Peter and Marcia and Greg! Now haul some ass!" And with that, they took a running start and took off from my roof for their next destination.
It didn't occur to me until after his departure that I had forgotten to ask about the elves.
I had the pleasure of meeting the (currently not so) Big Guy two years ago shortly after I found myself where I hang my hat today. It was the standard "You're asleep and dreaming. Ignore me and go back to bed." situation at first. Unfortunately for him, I had already learned the first two rules of life such as it is for me: 1) Rarely is anything as it seems. and 2) SALT, SALT, SALT!.) What can I say? By the age of 18, most of us have been fed the grand truth (read: DAMN LIE! (Thank you, Mr. Twain)) that there is no such thing as Santa Claus. To me, he just looked like an opportunistic burglar.
Several impossibly large packages and a circle of salt later, we reached an impasse. I had thought he was mundane until I saw the bag work and then I guess my paranoia kicked in. Blah blah blah, "State your name and business." To his credit, he was very polite and patient with me.
Santa told me that he had been born Nicolas López Fernández in a small town in Cuba and was currently 32 years old. Contrary to the commonly told stories, he actually lived in the southern Florida Keys most of the year. "You see," he told me, "The mantle of the one you call 'Santa Claus' is actually passed down every two hundred years or so. I haven't been on the job for more than a few years."
The story begins long after the death of the historical St. Nicholas, instead with the life of an unknown Frenchman, Jacques de Sène in the 1200s. While he was rather poor, he actively spent what little free time performing what services he could for others without being asked or asking recompense. By the tradition of those holding the mantle, he was apparently visited by a manifestation of the original St. Nicholas who gifted with the ability to do good for others in all places. Jacques was a meek man in spite of his desire to help all peoples. He didn't want the attention. Therefore it was chosen that the night of Christmas would be his night to perform this service as it would be welcomed among the festivities held by many cultures around the Solstice. He would take on a new persona to indulge his meekness. The persona that would eventually become whom we understand to be Santa Claus.
After some time, the mantle was passed on to a well-to-do slavic gentleman who built the legend of Grandfather Frost (known in the US simply as Father Frost), who did his work with his grandaughter, Snow Maiden. Apparently, he had adopted the image of an old slavic god (the existence of which is as of yet unknown) and reverse the image from a cruel, child-stealing sorcerer to that of a kind gift-giver. After some time, he passed the mantle to a rarely benevolent east Russian vampire dream-eater (a strange variation of the vampiric curse that enables the creature to subsist on the dreams of children, much like the semitic breath-drinkers). He started the tradition of using enchanted reindeer perpetuated by Western storytellers. After a time, he passed it to a British gentleman who wasn't particularly good at doing the unseen do-gooder thing. His various sightings led to the common Western image of Santa Claus and provided the inspiration for the poem commonly referred to as "The Night Before Christmas". When his time was up in the early 1900's, he bestowed the title on an Alaskan dogsledder. He delivered gifts in the form of ice carvings which became the real thing, sparking more than one story. He eventually fell in love with a girl whom he had watched grow up and was granted release from his duties by passing them on to the current one.
The one whom I currently had trapped in a circle of salt in my family's living room and delayed for several hours telling me the tale of his order.
Crap.
After profuse apology on my part, he simply smiled and laughed the deep, jolly laugh so commonly attributed to his namesake and told me it was okay. Apparently the one thing all the logical arguments "disproving" the existence of Santa Claus were forgetting was the fact that the man is MAGIC. In all of this, no time had passed. In fact, it never does while he doesn't mean for it to. He laid his index finger against the side of his nose and I found myself standing next to him on the roof of my family's house. Attached to his large blue and green sledge were 12 particularly tiny key deer. (I really have to question the ethical concerns of enchanting and using for this purpose 12 of a threatened species...) With a chuckle he mounted the sleigh and took the reins, calling, "On Sunshine! On Rain! On Love! On Joy! On Pink! On Green! On Cindy and Bobby and Jan and Peter and Marcia and Greg! Now haul some ass!" And with that, they took a running start and took off from my roof for their next destination.
It didn't occur to me until after his departure that I had forgotten to ask about the elves.
Monday, November 23, 2009
A Faceless Woman
Some nights, I'm walking back to campus from wherever I was and I'll be passing this taco place across from the school. Normally, it's just as empty and dead as everything else in this small town at midnight. Sometimes, though, I'll see a woman. She's normal looking enough. Except for the fact that she doesn't have a face.
I've seen her a total of five times, the latest being last night when I was walking home after dropping off a friend's movie in the Red Box by McDonald's. She was sitting there under the taco joint's sign, smoking a cigarette. That she has no face could easily be dismissed as a trick of the shadow, but she also has one other stranger characteristic about her. She's always smoking when I see her but the cigarettes' flames are always blue or green. No combustible plant material that I know of (that wouldn't kill the smoker) burns those colors. Something otherworldly is afoot. (Like that's never happened to me before...)
Honestly, my money's on noppera-bo or mujina, traditional faceless spirits from Japanese and Hawaiian myth respectively. That or some kind of fae being. They have, like, a million forms and even more numerous illusions of such. I really should go talk to her next time I see her.
Note to self: find a four-leaf clover between now and then.
I've seen her a total of five times, the latest being last night when I was walking home after dropping off a friend's movie in the Red Box by McDonald's. She was sitting there under the taco joint's sign, smoking a cigarette. That she has no face could easily be dismissed as a trick of the shadow, but she also has one other stranger characteristic about her. She's always smoking when I see her but the cigarettes' flames are always blue or green. No combustible plant material that I know of (that wouldn't kill the smoker) burns those colors. Something otherworldly is afoot. (Like that's never happened to me before...)
Honestly, my money's on noppera-bo or mujina, traditional faceless spirits from Japanese and Hawaiian myth respectively. That or some kind of fae being. They have, like, a million forms and even more numerous illusions of such. I really should go talk to her next time I see her.
Note to self: find a four-leaf clover between now and then.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Drunk People are Fun, Shapeshifters Aren't
I went to a friend's birthday party last night. Pajama theme. A lot of fun. Most of the guests were over 21 so there was quite a bit of drinking. Nothing wrong with that, but it's a lot of fun to be a prude in the middle of a bunch of drunk people. The party progresses. We dance. People get drunker and drunker. Clothing is shucked. It's really kind of funny to just sit back and watch it all.
Come 3 AM. The DJ is winding down, those who drank are entering incoherence, and I'm about to be asked to be some drunk person's last resort. Time to go. Lo and behold, two attractive young ladies stroll in. They're dressed in gauzy little numbers and for a few minutes I seriously consider staying. Then a large white pair of wings unfurls from one of their backs and I change my mind. Damn it.
Swan Maidens. You hear a lot of legends about them. In spite of the stories, they really enjoy "dalliances" with normal men. They don't ever do anything with lasting consequences, so I usually leave them alone when they show up. The non-predator therianthropes aren't usually a problem. The partygoers were too inebriated to remember them, anyway. (And the ones who weren't won't believe their own memories. Nobody ever does.)
On the bright side, I managed to swipe a canister of salt from the kitchen on the way out. (Stealing is wrong, but I'm too paranoid to care right now.) So at least my room wards are back up.
Incidentally, here is a common representation of a swan maiden. They're impressive, but not this impressive.
Caer Ibormeith The Swan Maiden by ~Quicksilverfury on deviantART
Come 3 AM. The DJ is winding down, those who drank are entering incoherence, and I'm about to be asked to be some drunk person's last resort. Time to go. Lo and behold, two attractive young ladies stroll in. They're dressed in gauzy little numbers and for a few minutes I seriously consider staying. Then a large white pair of wings unfurls from one of their backs and I change my mind. Damn it.
Swan Maidens. You hear a lot of legends about them. In spite of the stories, they really enjoy "dalliances" with normal men. They don't ever do anything with lasting consequences, so I usually leave them alone when they show up. The non-predator therianthropes aren't usually a problem. The partygoers were too inebriated to remember them, anyway. (And the ones who weren't won't believe their own memories. Nobody ever does.)
On the bright side, I managed to swipe a canister of salt from the kitchen on the way out. (Stealing is wrong, but I'm too paranoid to care right now.) So at least my room wards are back up.
Incidentally, here is a common representation of a swan maiden. They're impressive, but not this impressive.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Alternate Warding
It's not easy to sleep when the room keeps telling you to get out. My wards held for the night, but they as well have not for all the sleep I got. Maybe I'm just paranoid. Or maybe something's out to get me. And thus I do what all of my generation do when presented with such a problem. I turn to the internet. If I'm lucky, I might find another technique that won't keep me out too. Hopefully.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Salt
I was renewing the wards today. Everything seemed to be in order. Then I realized I had run out of salt. (It must have been from performing an abjuration on a cursed book last week.) No worry, I'll just walk to the store, I thought.
Except they were out.
In fact, I went to the three grocery stores within walking distance only to find that they were all out of salt. All the while, my dorm room whas completely unguarded. There's more than a few things out there that would absolutely love to pay me a visit while I sleep. And while it's more than possible the proximity of Thanksgiving is causing a lot a compulsive cookers to buy up a lot of salt, I can't help but feel like this was planned.
I've made do with a few iron crosses, but they repel me almost as much as everything else I mean to keep out so they're not a long-term solution. Such a pain in the butt, too, 'cause I'm going to have to clean the space again. I know I'm being paranoid, but I should probably prepare for some kind of attack. I think something's up to something.
Except they were out.
In fact, I went to the three grocery stores within walking distance only to find that they were all out of salt. All the while, my dorm room whas completely unguarded. There's more than a few things out there that would absolutely love to pay me a visit while I sleep. And while it's more than possible the proximity of Thanksgiving is causing a lot a compulsive cookers to buy up a lot of salt, I can't help but feel like this was planned.
I've made do with a few iron crosses, but they repel me almost as much as everything else I mean to keep out so they're not a long-term solution. Such a pain in the butt, too, 'cause I'm going to have to clean the space again. I know I'm being paranoid, but I should probably prepare for some kind of attack. I think something's up to something.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Stephanie Meyer just made my list.
If I have to save one more fourteen-year-old girl from a four hundred-year-old vampire I think I'm going to have to do something terrible to the woman. I mean, it's always been bad. Ever since Interview With a Vampire, this cultural image of vampires as sex gods has become worse and worse.
People used to be afraid of the bloodsucking freaks. Then they thought, "Well, they're monsters, but they're less scary when they're channeling their inner beast into being sensual and passionate." (Damn you Anne Rice!) That was something that could be dealt with. People still knew they were monsters. Now the popular image is something along the lines of a "sparkly twenty-something cute vegetarian boy with pale skin". Oh yeah, and statutory rape laws don't apply to them.
Our old legends and stories existed to protect the people who had never met one face-to-face. Now they're just saying "It's okay to play with fire. It can't burn you; it just wants to sexually pleasure you!"
And people believe it.
People used to be afraid of the bloodsucking freaks. Then they thought, "Well, they're monsters, but they're less scary when they're channeling their inner beast into being sensual and passionate." (Damn you Anne Rice!) That was something that could be dealt with. People still knew they were monsters. Now the popular image is something along the lines of a "sparkly twenty-something cute vegetarian boy with pale skin". Oh yeah, and statutory rape laws don't apply to them.
Our old legends and stories existed to protect the people who had never met one face-to-face. Now they're just saying "It's okay to play with fire. It can't burn you; it just wants to sexually pleasure you!"
And people believe it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)