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Friday, December 17th, 2004
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11:32 pm - beginning of my alpha story
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The only sound that morning was the beep of the computers as the ship whirled gently in orbit around the black hole; surrounded by the frothy, hot clouds that were the disk of luminous matter that it pulled gently from it’s binary companion, a warped yet beautiful star. It couldn’t be called morning exactly, but Az had woken up, and she constructed her own days. It was strange not to be bound by planetary restrictions- to live in the time dictated by space. She wasn’t sure how long it had been since she’d visited any of the Habitated Planets, at least by their clocks and sundials. By her approximation, it had been almost a year on the ship.
The ship was a somewhat augmented first-series <>, once considered a highly valuable collector’s model, was now junk on any but the most primitive planets. She was sturdy and functional, with practically new shielding and her original ESBIGS (Earth and Satellite Based Information and Guidance System). Az called the ship Charybdis, much to the chagrin of the ESBIGS, which had taken to playing Beethoven’s 9th symphony along with the whirs and blips that connoted processing. Az desired no personal relationship to the computer, even though the possibility was boasted of in many manuals, however it insisted on being familiar no matter what she said, or sometimes threw.
“Good day Asmahra; 72nd owner of the ship previously called Star-Sailor 7.” The ESBIGS said, filling the air with a series of blips in scales. Az shook out her waist-length hair and stepped out of the cot she slept in- it was imbedded in the wall and surrounded by sheets of yellow-lined paper written all over with symbols and mathematical equations, affixed to the wall with adhesive. They were the calculations for every move or function the ship made, Az trusted nothing but herself, and she double-checked the ship every time. After straightening them habitually, she padded off to the controls, where she checked and double-checked on the small pad she kept affixed there the coordinates, speeds, and forces involved with the ship. It took her, after long habit, only around twenty minutes.
She dressed in her usual loose silver pants and yellow tunic, straightened the utility belt she wore and descended, barefoot, into the bowels of the ship. Charybdis was shaped not unlike a barbell, with storage and functional parts in one end, and living quarters in the other. Az climbed down through the thin middle of the “bar” and was immersed in the clicking, whirring, and hissing of a healthy machine. She sat on the floor and cocked her head, brown eyes half-shut, listening for any irregular variation to the rhythm. Sometimes, in this state, she felt she could feel the universe pressing in around her, hear the stars hissing as they burned, feel space dust and rocks whirl around her, as though she were a black hole herself, taking everything in, everything into darkness, into cold, which in itself was the most searing heat she’d ever felt, becoming nothing and in that, knowing everything. She jumped and opened her eyes with a start. Her arms were goose-pimpled, the hairs sticking up. She rubbed them as she weaved among the pipes and generators, laying a hand against some, an ear against another; pleasantly warm as sunlight on her face. Everything was in order, everything running smoothly, as it always had.
She went back to the control room, sat in the operator’s chair, and gripped the controls. The ESBIGS whirled into presence in flashing lights above the window-screen,
“Where do you wish to go? Enter coordinates, please.”
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Any comments? Editing-type remarks? Thank you!
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(3 comments | comment on this)
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| Sunday, November 21st, 2004
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10:40 pm - A sci-fi story (!!!!)
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Sometimes young people come after dark. It’s a mysterious place then- not filled with the laughter of children, the plastic of the playground, the exhaust of the cars in the parking lot. It’s a rolling field that’s eternal in the mist and moonlight; trees that shoot from the ground like the spears of fallen warriors. It’s that single moonbeam, alighting on their bright faces, eyes sparkling enough to challenge the stars that shine down on the significant ideas of an insignificant planet. Insignificance is much played at in the cosmos. Planets form, bear thousands of civilizations, collapse without a whisper, without a breath. The ideas live on. The thoughts the Martians had once are spreading, and some have hit the Earth, a planet called Terra in the system of an unspectacular star called Sol, and a spiral galaxy called the Milky Way. Every planet builds its own billions, trillions of ideas with it’s societies, it’s complexities, it’s generation upon generation of birth. Every planet has one of us. In one there are many, just as a planet, just as a system, just as a galaxy, just as the universe, just as the cosmos.
We are the Receivers, the Senders, the Thinkers. But never the Creators. Never the Saviors. “Nevers” become stories, and we, the Iet, have pondered stories since the Creation. A story begins with an idea, and an idea begins with a thought, and a thought begins with an occurrence. This is the story of the planet called Lydros in the system of an unspectacular star.
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It started as a description of a park by a dryad but grew into something else.
current mood:  confused
current music: "As You Sleep"- Something Corporate
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(comment on this)
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| Sunday, November 14th, 2004
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9:27 pm - poetry
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(this was written like three days ago and does not reflect my current emotional state in any way)
"Junior"
We are the highest
Veterans of our world
We will learn how to make the streetlights bow
To our mutual curtain calls and
Our important illusions
That let them know that we
Are.
Acknowledge stolen dreams and whispered kisses
For we are more than we could ever be
In our fishbowls that glow with a laugh over
What has been broken
And become dark with hurt over laughter
Not meant to say that we shouldn’t
Be.
(not finished- I'm working on it, any suggestions?"
"The Junkie"
I wish
The sky were as wide as
The intention in your touch
And I wish I could discern it.
The expressions in your eyes
Are raindrops
Fragile worlds distorted
On a fingertip, in a palm
I can see what I want.
I wish I had what was easy
Promises kept and words released
And if I was brave
you would know I am
A
Junkie.
Because oh,
To love is to hurt like
Air at just my fingers.
But I’d buy your promises
And your songs that sing under my ribs
Dance behind my eyes- for just another hit.
(any comments? suggestions?)
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(comment on this)
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| Thursday, November 11th, 2004
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7:25 pm - a constellation of frustration
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| Monday, November 8th, 2004
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9:56 pm
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Sing me to sleep
Sing me to sleep
I’m tired and i
I want to go to bed
Sing me to sleep
Sing me to sleep
And then leave me alone
Don’t try to wake me in the morning
’cause I will be gone
Don’t feel bad for me
I want you to know
Deep in the cell of my heart
I will feel so glad to go
Sing me to sleep
Sing me to sleep
I don’t want to wake up
On my own anymore
Sing to me
Sing to me
I don’t want to wake up
On my own anymore
Don’t feel bad for me
I want you to know
Deep in the cell of my heart
I really want to go
There is another world
There is a better world
Well, there must be
Well, there must be
Well, there must be
Well, there must be
Well ...
Bye bye
Bye bye
Bye ...
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(comment on this)
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