Had two days of ice this past week. I'm sure anyone reading was aware of the Kansas+-sized winter storm that swept across the US last week. My part of Arkansas got hit pretty hard as far as the state's usual winter weather goes. Sleet the first day. Snow the second. I actually got snowed in at a friend's apartment on the second night. It didn't occur to me until tonight that it was anything other than ordinary. Tonight I saw the Snow Tinks.
It was foggy this evening as slightly-above-freezing temperatures caused the snow and ice to melt and the humidity was so high that it became visible in the night air. As I've said before, strange things come out of the mists. And tonight was no exception. I was walking the path around the outside of my dorm (looking for some headphones I had dropped), when it came out. It was large, in the European style of dragons, and looked to be made of paper and books. Not really surprising, it being a Sunday evening with so much unfinished homework about.
Like most dragons, it quickly zeroed in on me. And I, foolishly not having considered the fog, was unarmed. Fortunately for me, that was when the Snow Tinks arrived. All at once these little snow- white imps seemed to appear from all around and latch on to the dragon. The air tinkled with a sweet childish laughter. Within moments, the dragon was an ice sculpture of itself and the little creatures hopped off and went about their business, which now that I noticed them could see that it was a huge snowball fight. One of those snowballs went for me and I took it as an invitation to join in. I can't say that I won, but I haven't had quite so much fun in the snow in quite some time.
Now as to the Snow Tinks themselves. They're somewhat of a rare breed. Almost unheard of in North America. They're actually the strange crossbreed of a gnome and pixie (something about a "free love" movement in the 1700's from what I've heard) and they tend to bring snow and other wintry weather wherever they go. The name Snow Tink is actually a more recent development derived from their striking similarities to a snow white variation of J.M. Barrie's Tinkerbelle. The species' numbers have grown significantly since the race was born, but they mostly stay in Europe. One has to wonder what they're doing all the way over here across the pond.
But I'm not about to look a gift mouth in the horse.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Highway to Hell
I was driving back to school last night from my hometown. The doctor's appointment ran long and as I had worried, I wasn't going to get back before dark. I was sort of worried. I hadn't ever driven on the interstate at night before and to tell the truth I'm not a very good driver to begin with. To my surprise, things went surprisingly well. That is, until the point which I found myself on the Shadow Highway.
I'm not sure when it happened, but suddenly I was acutely aware that I wasn't on any stretch of the Interstate that I recognized. At first, I passed it off as never having seen it at night before. An understandable conclusion. Except then I passed my first exit. A town called "Cruciatus". Incidentally, there is no such place in Arkansas. And then came the deer-things.
They appeared against the myriad trees which edged the road on both this and the normal highway. Any time of year, it's not unlikely one will see a deer streaking across this particular stretch of highway at nice. I first noticed their emaciated frames, the ribs that stuck out against patchily-furred skin, their spindly legs which ended in threatening points... But that wasn't the scariest thing. No. It was their heads. The portion near the neck was deer-like enough. But the closer you got the the nose, the more they resembled the head of a female dobsonfly. And I don't want to think of why, but there were blood-colored stains all over the mandibles. The worst part, though, were the eyes. They would watch me as I passed, gleaming with strange alien intelligence behind them.
It was all I could do to not pull over and mentally break down. I kept driving and eventually reached a stretch of highway where the deer stopped appearing. So did the disturbing signs. I thought that maybe I had somehow made my way back to the highway I knew and was still completely terrified of for understandable reasons. No such luck. I hadn't occurred to me that there weren't any other vehicles on the highway with me. Ironically, the second I realized it, I was immediately aware of lights of two semis filling both the lanes behind me. They were coming upon me really quickly and when they looked to be overtaking me, probably just to spite me, they burst into flames. Clearly I've survived or I wouldn't be writing this, but I spent the next two hours pushing 100 MPH passing exit signs, each with a more horrifying name than the last. Finally, as the needle dipped just below 1/4 tank of gas, a miracle happened. I saw my exit. I pulled off with reflexes I hitherto hadn't been aware I had had before then. The semis barreled past where I had just been and I almost hit someone on the offramp but dammit I was safe.
And THEN I pulled over and psychologically broke down.
I'm not sure when it happened, but suddenly I was acutely aware that I wasn't on any stretch of the Interstate that I recognized. At first, I passed it off as never having seen it at night before. An understandable conclusion. Except then I passed my first exit. A town called "Cruciatus". Incidentally, there is no such place in Arkansas. And then came the deer-things.
They appeared against the myriad trees which edged the road on both this and the normal highway. Any time of year, it's not unlikely one will see a deer streaking across this particular stretch of highway at nice. I first noticed their emaciated frames, the ribs that stuck out against patchily-furred skin, their spindly legs which ended in threatening points... But that wasn't the scariest thing. No. It was their heads. The portion near the neck was deer-like enough. But the closer you got the the nose, the more they resembled the head of a female dobsonfly. And I don't want to think of why, but there were blood-colored stains all over the mandibles. The worst part, though, were the eyes. They would watch me as I passed, gleaming with strange alien intelligence behind them.
It was all I could do to not pull over and mentally break down. I kept driving and eventually reached a stretch of highway where the deer stopped appearing. So did the disturbing signs. I thought that maybe I had somehow made my way back to the highway I knew and was still completely terrified of for understandable reasons. No such luck. I hadn't occurred to me that there weren't any other vehicles on the highway with me. Ironically, the second I realized it, I was immediately aware of lights of two semis filling both the lanes behind me. They were coming upon me really quickly and when they looked to be overtaking me, probably just to spite me, they burst into flames. Clearly I've survived or I wouldn't be writing this, but I spent the next two hours pushing 100 MPH passing exit signs, each with a more horrifying name than the last. Finally, as the needle dipped just below 1/4 tank of gas, a miracle happened. I saw my exit. I pulled off with reflexes I hitherto hadn't been aware I had had before then. The semis barreled past where I had just been and I almost hit someone on the offramp but dammit I was safe.
And THEN I pulled over and psychologically broke down.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Dragons in the Mists and Shadow Highways
It was foggy out this morning. The entire campus was shrouded in thick fog. It was kind of nice but I was a bit worried that I would run into a dragon on my way to class.
Dragons are imaginary. They weren't always. The naturally-occurring variation was wiped out in the dark ages by glory-seeking knights. But they are now (and that's another story, as Scheherazade would say). Regardless of what the old ones were like, the imaginary sort are generally intelligent but vicious and greedy. And they live in fog banks.
I dunno why. I guess it's something about the fog bank's "mysterious aura" and the concept still ingrained into our collective consciousness that "here there be dragons". They're weird, too. They seem to take whatever form of the most powerful emotions and thoughts around them. To that point, I've encountered dragons formed apparently of test anxiety, the color purple (but not the play), and Hello Kitty. They've all got weaknesses and things they can't do, too. Most notably, I was able to slay a large sulphur-breathing one on the Arkansas River two years ago by scratching it with a plastic fork (again, Scheherazade's excuse).
Mercifully, I wasn't attacked. But that leaves me the other thing I intended to bring up in this post. I sit now at the doctor's office in my home town. It's a surgery followup, but I'm sure I'm fine. Anywhat, my home is some 80 miles from my university. It's a bit of a drive. And though I've become more comfortable driving on the interstate, I'm still a pretty paranoid driver when I'm on it. That self-induced heightened awareness paid off today when I noticed something running alongside my own stretch of highway. It was another set of roads I hadn't ever noticed before. It wasn't the opposite direction's lanes, because that's always been to my left. This path was on the right. Before I knew it, the second highway was running off the ground without any support, sometimes parallel to me, sometimes perpendicular to my own, sometimes running the other way entirely. Oddly enough, I didn't see any vehicles or on ramps and off ramps. And LIKE EVERYTHING ELSE, nobody seemed to notice.
This warrants further study.
Dragons are imaginary. They weren't always. The naturally-occurring variation was wiped out in the dark ages by glory-seeking knights. But they are now (and that's another story, as Scheherazade would say). Regardless of what the old ones were like, the imaginary sort are generally intelligent but vicious and greedy. And they live in fog banks.
I dunno why. I guess it's something about the fog bank's "mysterious aura" and the concept still ingrained into our collective consciousness that "here there be dragons". They're weird, too. They seem to take whatever form of the most powerful emotions and thoughts around them. To that point, I've encountered dragons formed apparently of test anxiety, the color purple (but not the play), and Hello Kitty. They've all got weaknesses and things they can't do, too. Most notably, I was able to slay a large sulphur-breathing one on the Arkansas River two years ago by scratching it with a plastic fork (again, Scheherazade's excuse).
Mercifully, I wasn't attacked. But that leaves me the other thing I intended to bring up in this post. I sit now at the doctor's office in my home town. It's a surgery followup, but I'm sure I'm fine. Anywhat, my home is some 80 miles from my university. It's a bit of a drive. And though I've become more comfortable driving on the interstate, I'm still a pretty paranoid driver when I'm on it. That self-induced heightened awareness paid off today when I noticed something running alongside my own stretch of highway. It was another set of roads I hadn't ever noticed before. It wasn't the opposite direction's lanes, because that's always been to my left. This path was on the right. Before I knew it, the second highway was running off the ground without any support, sometimes parallel to me, sometimes perpendicular to my own, sometimes running the other way entirely. Oddly enough, I didn't see any vehicles or on ramps and off ramps. And LIKE EVERYTHING ELSE, nobody seemed to notice.
This warrants further study.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Haiti and a Friendly Reminder/Warning
The sound of the facetious slow clap fills the air as I write this. As I'm sure you readers know, an insanely powerful earthquake has struck Haiti in the past few days. Anywhere from 30,000 to 100,000 people have been shuffled from this mortal coil and many more are hurt, mentally, emotionally, or physically. Many are still missing. I'm not saying for sure, but I can't help but think something else seriously bad went down.
I've been consulting some of my not-quite-human contacts and they say that at the time of the quake, something similar swept across the spiritual overlay of the southeastern US. Their guess is that someone tried to summon something they couldn't control. Something big. Something powerful. Whatever was called was probably vodoun considering the region (and that it doesn't work that way in Santeria). The likely culprit? Gran Bois. Loa of The Sacred Forest (of the Island Below the Waters (a.k.a. Guinee)).
Normally, he's pretty nice and generous if you pay the proper respect and tribute. He's also pretty proud of his unusually large, constantly erect penis. Just worth noting there. Like all loa, though, he can be "great and terrible" if things aren't done properly or he isn't paid proper respect. And a lot of loa also have alternate forms, usually "La Flambeau" (the fiery aspect) or "Ge-Rouge" (literally "Red Eye"), which are quite violent and dangerous variations. My guess is that something along those lines led to the massive earthquake and the only earth-aligned being I can think of that powerful is Gran Bois. I really feel sorry for all the other Haitians who are suffering or lost their lives for the folly of one or several summoners who didn't do their homework. There is no excuse for this. This kind of disaster can't ever be spun in a positive light. No matter what they stood to gain.
Great job genius! You almost sank the island!
This kind of crap is why Atlantis fell, according to some of the supposed survivors' accounts. "We're powerful magicians!" they said, "We don't need to seal things in a summoning circle!" And then they called something big which proceeded to eat them all and sink the continent.
Third Law of Magic: Never summon anything bigger than your head.
Gran Bois' veve.
You can do whatever you feel like to help the relief efforts here. Please do. They need it.
I've been consulting some of my not-quite-human contacts and they say that at the time of the quake, something similar swept across the spiritual overlay of the southeastern US. Their guess is that someone tried to summon something they couldn't control. Something big. Something powerful. Whatever was called was probably vodoun considering the region (and that it doesn't work that way in Santeria). The likely culprit? Gran Bois. Loa of The Sacred Forest (of the Island Below the Waters (a.k.a. Guinee)).
Normally, he's pretty nice and generous if you pay the proper respect and tribute. He's also pretty proud of his unusually large, constantly erect penis. Just worth noting there. Like all loa, though, he can be "great and terrible" if things aren't done properly or he isn't paid proper respect. And a lot of loa also have alternate forms, usually "La Flambeau" (the fiery aspect) or "Ge-Rouge" (literally "Red Eye"), which are quite violent and dangerous variations. My guess is that something along those lines led to the massive earthquake and the only earth-aligned being I can think of that powerful is Gran Bois. I really feel sorry for all the other Haitians who are suffering or lost their lives for the folly of one or several summoners who didn't do their homework. There is no excuse for this. This kind of disaster can't ever be spun in a positive light. No matter what they stood to gain.
Great job genius! You almost sank the island!
This kind of crap is why Atlantis fell, according to some of the supposed survivors' accounts. "We're powerful magicians!" they said, "We don't need to seal things in a summoning circle!" And then they called something big which proceeded to eat them all and sink the continent.
Third Law of Magic: Never summon anything bigger than your head.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Surgery, Psychoses, a Cuban, and a little Cosmic Skin Shedding (But nothing really THAT exciting)
The surgery went well. It was a reasonably minor outpatient procedure. Blah blah blah benign polyp in the sinus. I woke up with a sore throat from the "standard procedure" breathing tube, nauseous from all the blood I swallowed, and the-inability-to-keep-my-eyes-open-in-spite-of-the-fact-that-I-was-mentally-all-there-almost-immediately-upon-waking. Apparently I'm more resistant to anesthesia than I thought. I'm probably an expensive drunk, too.
Normally I hate hospitals, but this one was unusually empty. Of imaginary things, that is. Imaginaries take many forms. Most are shaped by human expectation. Pixies, gnomes, the immortal menace that is the Loch Ness Monster to name a few (eat that cryptozoologists!). Some are more primal, formed unconsciously of feeling rather than legend. Hospitals are usually just crawling with such beasties. People have fears and worries and hopes among other more complex feelings which make strange creatures. Negative emotions make nightmarish things come to life and the more positive end of the spectrum brings forth what is best described as cute and cuddly. Of course the former often eat the latter, especially when hope is weak, and they're not too common to begin with in such places. One of my imaginary associates calls the negative ones Nervosa. (I assume it's a nod to psychological disorder names.) They're generally not fun to deal with. Sometimes they become strong enough that they can directly affect the ones who helped form them. On one occasion, I had to help get rid of a particularly nasty one who stalked the wards of a childrens' hospital not too far from my university. The Nervosa in question took the form of a doctor ripped from the collective dreamscapes of King, Barker, and Lovecraft. He was made of and fed off of the fears of mostly surgery patients. But that is another story (though it is a thrilling one.)
Anywhat, this hospital was strangely free of Nervosa. I noticed three relatively minor ones in the waiting room and none beyond. It was rather pleasant. The hospital has a good track record, so maybe its reputation has other benefits. The way she was looking around, I think my mom noticed the fact too. But my dad didn't. Strange, since he noticed the gremlins back at Thanksgiving. (Side note: Are they both something other?) So yeah, blessedly free of scary things.
Recovery was reasonably smooth and the ability to breathe through my nose for the first time in a year was quite pleasant. That wasn't the best thing I got for Christmas, though. My family gave me some books (glorious books!) and I had the pleasure of giving them each a handmade gift blessed with a minor protection charm. My best gift, however, came on Christmas Eve night. Ever since my first encounter with the Jolly Old Immigrant I've been making sure to leave milk and cookies (and to make sure they're the good stuff) out. We've had a few random encounters outside the Season of Giving and have a friendly acquaintanceship going. Incidentally, it turns out Santa Claus does a whole lot more for the world than we give him credit for. Him and a mysterious gentleman with a strange thorny circlet. (Again, another time.) Anyway, he shows up, we enjoy a brief chat over the snacks, I give him a thank you gift and go to bed, he leaves presents, Christmas morning, rinse, (maim), repeat. This year, when I gave him his present (after all, a little gratitude is never a bad idea) he handed me one of his own. I kind of felt bad. I had given him a little handmade snowglobe which depicted the first time we met, but he gave me something way more awesome. It was a crystal tree topper actually made out of a star! I mean, he had actually gone through the trouble of plucking a shooting star out of the sky and refining it for me! I put it on top of our tree immediately (our old star had been retired this year). He also included a little bottle of starlight. "A little light," he said, "Is never out of place. Plus it doesn't run out of batteries." With that, we parted ways and went to go fulfill our Christmas Eve duties. For what it's worth, my family wasn't all that surprised about the new star (though they did think it was pretty), so I have to wonder if they saw it for what it really was. (But again, what are they descended of?)
The last major happening was something that occurs every year: New Years. Every year, people use the start of a new year to make resolutions and forge a new path for themselves. "Out with the old! In with the New!" as they say. Anyone with the eyes to see can see at the stroke of midnight wherever they are a sort of Cosmic Skin Shedding. The imaginary objects and markings people collect over the course of the year simply slough off, if only for a little while. Sometimes the ephemera dissolves into nothing an sometimes it soon enough reattaches itself. More than that, though, the collective resolution to change and become better, sincere or otherwise, actually makes the world around us shed much of the emotional and imaginary imprint we drop on it like litter over the year. Sometimes only for a while before things return to normal, sometimes permanently.
There's not really much else interesting. You see, with the exception of the odd gremlin or other critter, I'm not particularly involved in the preternatural going-on of my hometown. I arrived in time to go off to school and get involved there. It's kind of nice though. Christmas break is like a vacation.
Summer can be like solitary.
Normally I hate hospitals, but this one was unusually empty. Of imaginary things, that is. Imaginaries take many forms. Most are shaped by human expectation. Pixies, gnomes, the immortal menace that is the Loch Ness Monster to name a few (eat that cryptozoologists!). Some are more primal, formed unconsciously of feeling rather than legend. Hospitals are usually just crawling with such beasties. People have fears and worries and hopes among other more complex feelings which make strange creatures. Negative emotions make nightmarish things come to life and the more positive end of the spectrum brings forth what is best described as cute and cuddly. Of course the former often eat the latter, especially when hope is weak, and they're not too common to begin with in such places. One of my imaginary associates calls the negative ones Nervosa. (I assume it's a nod to psychological disorder names.) They're generally not fun to deal with. Sometimes they become strong enough that they can directly affect the ones who helped form them. On one occasion, I had to help get rid of a particularly nasty one who stalked the wards of a childrens' hospital not too far from my university. The Nervosa in question took the form of a doctor ripped from the collective dreamscapes of King, Barker, and Lovecraft. He was made of and fed off of the fears of mostly surgery patients. But that is another story (though it is a thrilling one.)
Anywhat, this hospital was strangely free of Nervosa. I noticed three relatively minor ones in the waiting room and none beyond. It was rather pleasant. The hospital has a good track record, so maybe its reputation has other benefits. The way she was looking around, I think my mom noticed the fact too. But my dad didn't. Strange, since he noticed the gremlins back at Thanksgiving. (Side note: Are they both something other?) So yeah, blessedly free of scary things.
Recovery was reasonably smooth and the ability to breathe through my nose for the first time in a year was quite pleasant. That wasn't the best thing I got for Christmas, though. My family gave me some books (glorious books!) and I had the pleasure of giving them each a handmade gift blessed with a minor protection charm. My best gift, however, came on Christmas Eve night. Ever since my first encounter with the Jolly Old Immigrant I've been making sure to leave milk and cookies (and to make sure they're the good stuff) out. We've had a few random encounters outside the Season of Giving and have a friendly acquaintanceship going. Incidentally, it turns out Santa Claus does a whole lot more for the world than we give him credit for. Him and a mysterious gentleman with a strange thorny circlet. (Again, another time.) Anyway, he shows up, we enjoy a brief chat over the snacks, I give him a thank you gift and go to bed, he leaves presents, Christmas morning, rinse, (maim), repeat. This year, when I gave him his present (after all, a little gratitude is never a bad idea) he handed me one of his own. I kind of felt bad. I had given him a little handmade snowglobe which depicted the first time we met, but he gave me something way more awesome. It was a crystal tree topper actually made out of a star! I mean, he had actually gone through the trouble of plucking a shooting star out of the sky and refining it for me! I put it on top of our tree immediately (our old star had been retired this year). He also included a little bottle of starlight. "A little light," he said, "Is never out of place. Plus it doesn't run out of batteries." With that, we parted ways and went to go fulfill our Christmas Eve duties. For what it's worth, my family wasn't all that surprised about the new star (though they did think it was pretty), so I have to wonder if they saw it for what it really was. (But again, what are they descended of?)
The last major happening was something that occurs every year: New Years. Every year, people use the start of a new year to make resolutions and forge a new path for themselves. "Out with the old! In with the New!" as they say. Anyone with the eyes to see can see at the stroke of midnight wherever they are a sort of Cosmic Skin Shedding. The imaginary objects and markings people collect over the course of the year simply slough off, if only for a little while. Sometimes the ephemera dissolves into nothing an sometimes it soon enough reattaches itself. More than that, though, the collective resolution to change and become better, sincere or otherwise, actually makes the world around us shed much of the emotional and imaginary imprint we drop on it like litter over the year. Sometimes only for a while before things return to normal, sometimes permanently.
There's not really much else interesting. You see, with the exception of the odd gremlin or other critter, I'm not particularly involved in the preternatural going-on of my hometown. I arrived in time to go off to school and get involved there. It's kind of nice though. Christmas break is like a vacation.
Summer can be like solitary.
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