It's been a long time since I awoke this dreamsick. And a long time since I've had this much trouble shaking it. Those subconscious echoes, those distracting, disarming, intrusive thoughts...these days, they rarely survive longer than half an hour beyond waking. But this morning, they have longevity. As for the dream itself, it's shattered like a rose dipped in liquid nitrogen and then dropped on the floor. I have scenes intact, but the narrative that would make sense of them has been lost.
There's very little to be said for yesterday. I spent the day trying to find vignettes. I might have found one. Well, Spooky might have found one and given it to me. That's how "Untitled 34" came about, you know, back in December. It happens every now and again. Spooky gives me a word or two, or reads to me a passage from a book. And there it is, what I have to write next.
There are a couple of screencaps from last night's truly amazing rp (I'm not just heaping hyperbole here, it really was fucking amazing) in Insilico. Xiang mixing White Russians at the Blue Ant. The arrival of a woman who knows Xiang, but whom Xiang doesn't remember. Her headlong dash from the bar, only to be whisked away by someone she still can't quite believe isn't an enemy. The hover car that carried her to a fountain atop a skyscraper (well, actually part of a fission reactor's cooling exchange system). A hesitant and unexpected kiss, up there in the night sky. And later, the corporate agent hunting rogue droids who entered the home of Xiang's beleaguered owner and demanded access to all of Xiang's BTL chips. The voices in her head. The end of a robot's hyper-accelerated adolescence. What else can you ask for from a cybernoir thriller? There are a couple of screencaps behind the cut:
All images Copyright © 2010 by Caitlín R. Kiernan
*(3/7/11) Long story, but actually this quote should be attributed to one of my readers, Jacob Garbe, not to Mr. Bowie.