I caught him

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?

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

Headaches

I walked down the street today. When most people say that, they mean they walked down the sidewalk. I walked down the center of the street, just for the fun of it. A cab brushes by on the left, a bus on the right. There's enough space between them. The only trouble is to keep them from seeing you. Once people see you, you're in trouble. So I can only hold it for about 5 minutes. There's a lot of people here.
Anyway, I've got to go. I've decided I need a social life, and I have contacted some of the... others. Going to meet them tonight. I hope it goes well.

Reciting poetry helps me relax:

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.
J.R.R. Tolkien

Lassez-faire

I think I'm losing it. I can't keep this up much longer. Too much is happening all around me. Someone is always hurting. Someone always needs help. I can't be active 24 hours a day. I can't do this.

I feel like a failure every second that someone is hurting that I could be helping. Why do I waste the time to write this blog, to go out for coffee, even to sleep in? Why do I have to be so... human? One might say, "I can sleep when I'm dead." but this just isn't possible.

Mayhaps I need a vacation? I've been wanting to see the Callanish Stones, in Scotland... The change of air might do me good. Just... let things be as they will here for just one week. Can I do that? Or will I lose whatever humanity I have worked so hard to lay claim to?

Susan

Life

Today has been a good day. I am sitting in a coffee shop, cozy, caffeinated, and content. Only downside: I've hurt my arm. My left arm, if you really cared to know.

When was the last time you felt really, truly happy? When you looked around and simply thought, "This is where I want to be for the rest of my life. This is what I want to feel for the rest of my life."? When you knew without a doubt who you were, what your place was in the world, and that if your whole life were exactly like this day, you could die with a smile on your face?

Most people don't have a clue what it really means to live.

Susan

Scraping gum off the sidewalk.

Dear Reader,

Wherever there are people, good sir, there is dirt. That's what comes with being organic. Organic waste, everywhere. Skin cells, dung, and toxic exhalations. Not to mention the unnecessary yet unavoidable waste. Garbage, gum, and graffiti. And the cigarette butts, my dear reader! You know, they used to pour their excrements out the window as well. It would flow down the streets in specially dug ditches. An absolutely tragic thing to step into.

Such is the price to pay for living in the center of Humanity on earth. The very air stinks. But even if I had to walk around in a gas mask and tinfoil suit, it would be worth it. Worth doing what I love.

Susan

Introduction

My name is Susan. If you're reading this, you're one of very few. My story will be detailed herein, for your literary enjoyment.

Postings will be erratic and often vague. Occasionally uncompleted and... pretty weird, to boot. I know all this beforehand because it's my life.

This is my blog. My cyber paper trail. A little bit of my life goes up on the web for all to see. Because it should.

I doubt you really know what I mean, and I don't really feel the need to tell you. So read on, adventurous stranger. Read on.

Susan