Sorry for going dark for so long. I'll bet you were concerned about me, huh? No one is really listening, I know, but it helps nonetheless.
I managed to hide in the shadows in one of my lairs. He came in and started searching; got too cocky and didn't see me. Now the shrinks can handle him.
Unfortunately, he didn't know who he was working for. They had a very complex system in place to make sure I was locked out. So, I've been reorganizing, shuffling things around, trying to stay on my toes. Acanthus is a twig, a leaf. I've cut him off. I'm about to get the whole tree thrown at me, and it's safe to bet there's a gardener behind that.
So keep on your toes, dance on the knife, glance about like a scared rat. There's the old routine.
Do I like routine?
Monday, September 20, 2010
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Machetes and Guns
Never use a machete in a concrete jungle.
I tend not to use machetes in any situation, metaphorically. They help you go faster, but they leave a trail. And the only reason to go faster is to hide.
A city street is a quickly changing scenario. If you can see the paths, the patterns, you can run, hide, escape with ease.
That's how I knew he was from out of town.
He shoved, pushed, and threatened, leaving a wide trail to follow. He may be powerful, but he's not a genius in any sense of the word. But somebody hired him, so I shouldn't take anything for granted.
I came around a corner and saw him walking invisibly, trailing his fingers across arms, waists, throats. One foot after the other, a hypnotic step. This man was used to walking down the center of the street, expecting traffic to stop for him. And by the rings on his fingers and bells on his toes, I surmise that it did.
I hunched and took on a hurried, busy walk. Counting spots of gum on the sidewalk. Bumped his sensationless shoulder and marched on. Seek and ignore.
That was a stupid, stupid mistake. How easily we forget, having been so long a gun in a world of knives, that we forget the damage another gun can do to us.
When I got home, he was waiting for me.
I ran.
My lairs are blinking off the grid. one by one. Seemingly at random.
He knows them all as well as I do, and he's going to find me soon.
But I also know his.
Be prepared, Shadow-Demon, for the Fire-Dancer comes.
I tend not to use machetes in any situation, metaphorically. They help you go faster, but they leave a trail. And the only reason to go faster is to hide.
A city street is a quickly changing scenario. If you can see the paths, the patterns, you can run, hide, escape with ease.
That's how I knew he was from out of town.
He shoved, pushed, and threatened, leaving a wide trail to follow. He may be powerful, but he's not a genius in any sense of the word. But somebody hired him, so I shouldn't take anything for granted.
I came around a corner and saw him walking invisibly, trailing his fingers across arms, waists, throats. One foot after the other, a hypnotic step. This man was used to walking down the center of the street, expecting traffic to stop for him. And by the rings on his fingers and bells on his toes, I surmise that it did.
I hunched and took on a hurried, busy walk. Counting spots of gum on the sidewalk. Bumped his sensationless shoulder and marched on. Seek and ignore.
That was a stupid, stupid mistake. How easily we forget, having been so long a gun in a world of knives, that we forget the damage another gun can do to us.
When I got home, he was waiting for me.
I ran.
My lairs are blinking off the grid. one by one. Seemingly at random.
He knows them all as well as I do, and he's going to find me soon.
But I also know his.
Be prepared, Shadow-Demon, for the Fire-Dancer comes.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Secrets and Shadow-Makers
I apologize for my absence, I have been very busy these past few weeks. Blogging, I decided, would have to wait. Then I realized, this is exactly what my blog is for.
Music makers, dreamers of dreams, those who live their lives and shake the world in ways that none but them would even deem possible, these are the real world. Those who dance to inaudible music are the turning machinery in the deep underbelly of what others would call 'normality'.
Are these things possible? Could such things be real?
Cell phones, internet, these things spread information at the touch of a button, faster than the eye can perceive. Surely, in such a world, no secrets can be kept. Surely, in such a world, what is known by some is known by all.
Not so. For what is a 'scandal' but a secret come to light? What is a 'press conference' or a 'trial' but the bringing forth of information which some know but more must? These things are not gone. Information, which can be spread so fast and made available to so many, is still often a prized and treasured thing.
Sitting here, at your computer, you feel the rush of all the information the world has to offer at your very fingertips. But, if it should choose to withhold some, you would not only be helpless to stop it, you would be quite unaware of the gap.
Know, dear reader, that there are secrets. Things which you cannot fathom dart quickly back and forth just out of your range of vision.
There are secrets.
Susan
Music makers, dreamers of dreams, those who live their lives and shake the world in ways that none but them would even deem possible, these are the real world. Those who dance to inaudible music are the turning machinery in the deep underbelly of what others would call 'normality'.
Are these things possible? Could such things be real?
Cell phones, internet, these things spread information at the touch of a button, faster than the eye can perceive. Surely, in such a world, no secrets can be kept. Surely, in such a world, what is known by some is known by all.
Not so. For what is a 'scandal' but a secret come to light? What is a 'press conference' or a 'trial' but the bringing forth of information which some know but more must? These things are not gone. Information, which can be spread so fast and made available to so many, is still often a prized and treasured thing.
Sitting here, at your computer, you feel the rush of all the information the world has to offer at your very fingertips. But, if it should choose to withhold some, you would not only be helpless to stop it, you would be quite unaware of the gap.
Know, dear reader, that there are secrets. Things which you cannot fathom dart quickly back and forth just out of your range of vision.
There are secrets.
Susan
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
The Hero's Paradox
Why does everything have to die? I don't want them to die. I can't keep them from dying. That's why all superheroes in mythology eventually end. They go out in a blaze of glory, or they disappear forever, or they die, just like the people they serve. Otherwise, they would go mad.
Your duty is to save, but you cannot save. You cannot succeed. This is the Hero's Paradox. I must, but I cannot.
The only answer is to not do that which nature, fate, duty drives you to do. Let go; let them die; let them live their meaningless lives. Do not hold yourself responsible for everything you could have stopped, for to try to stop all that must be stopped is madness.
But be it nature, be it fate, be it simply inbred duty, I must. I must struggle, I must fight, I must overcome, I must protect, I must, I must, I must.
I cannot.
Your duty is to save, but you cannot save. You cannot succeed. This is the Hero's Paradox. I must, but I cannot.
The only answer is to not do that which nature, fate, duty drives you to do. Let go; let them die; let them live their meaningless lives. Do not hold yourself responsible for everything you could have stopped, for to try to stop all that must be stopped is madness.
But be it nature, be it fate, be it simply inbred duty, I must. I must struggle, I must fight, I must overcome, I must protect, I must, I must, I must.
I cannot.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Bringing a knife to a gunfight
No matter what kind of knife you bring, it won't hold up in a gunfight. But no matter what kind of gun you bring, it doesn't matter at all if the other guy can bomb you from 50,000 feet.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Memories
A man walks down the busy sidewalk. He stretches his arms out to either side. Black painted fingernails scrape at the passers-by. He closes his eyes and walks straight ahead.
A homeless man, crouched by a building, watches him pass. Black shoes click softly on the pavement. For a single moment, in all the rush of the city, in all the crowd, the man seems to stand alone. Click, click, click. A breeze flows gently by. Time slows to almost a standstill.
Half an hour later, a young woman walks by. Her toe catches on a crack in the pavement, and she stumbles. Her arm flies outward. And brushes the man who still crouches by the building. An incidental spark leaps from her finger to his shoulder.
She rises and continues on.
And remembers.
A homeless man, crouched by a building, watches him pass. Black shoes click softly on the pavement. For a single moment, in all the rush of the city, in all the crowd, the man seems to stand alone. Click, click, click. A breeze flows gently by. Time slows to almost a standstill.
Half an hour later, a young woman walks by. Her toe catches on a crack in the pavement, and she stumbles. Her arm flies outward. And brushes the man who still crouches by the building. An incidental spark leaps from her finger to his shoulder.
She rises and continues on.
And remembers.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Empty
The meet failed. Everyone else kept talking about how they had trouble keeping the secret from their friends. But my problem is the slowly encroaching insanity of loneliness. The human genome has been twisted by natural selection. The lonely perish. Socialize or die.
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