Another one of those days/My wild eyes are open

Leaving Denver, I looked to the north and saw a radiant city on the horizon, built of spires and towers, lit by fires in giant cauldrons lifted two stories above the streets. I rationalized it into a factory complex, or perhaps an amusement park, but the lockdown came too late -- in the three seconds between observation and explanation, I'd already started to write its story. It doesn't matter what it is in the mundane world, it's already populated with clockwork pixies, genius inventors, industrious gnomes and their pet constructs. In its universities, vampires hold tenure positions. In its streets, women and men of ill-repute weave illusion to lure custom, or flaunt organic/electrical 'enhancements'. And so on.

I dreamed, later, of serving in its police force, hunting a renegade golem-maker. It seemed that I had been on his case for years uncounted, trailing him through the sewers and back-alleys, into abandoned warehouses and secret labs, where he built constructs to aid him in his various crimes. I knew him better than anyone else on the force, and he, in turn, knew me better than anyone else possibly could. One day, I caught up to him. We surrounded his workshop, but I knew that he was too clever by half to end the chase here. And indeed, we shot him, but he slipped out of our grasp. The next day, a gift arrived for me at the station - an opulent necklace made of amber, teeth, tiny bone skulls, brass and copper gears and wire. He knew he was dying. This was his last move, a tiny golem meant to either protect its wearer, or to choke the life from her. I knew it, I could feel that power in it when I picked it up. And still, I hung it around my neck. Why not? He was dying, and he knew me better than anybody. There seemed no sense in living without him - in my eyes, such a dedicated adversary is practically a partner.

Another one of those days/My wild eyes are open

Leaving Denver, I looked to the north and saw a radiant city on the horizon, built of spires and towers, lit by fires in giant cauldrons lifted two stories above the streets. I rationalized it into a factory complex, or perhaps an amusement park, but the lockdown came too late -- in the three seconds between observation and explanation, I'd already started to write its story. It doesn't matter what it is in the mundane world, it's already populated with clockwork pixies, genius inventors, industrious gnomes and their pet constructs. In its universities, vampires hold tenure positions. In its streets, women and men of ill-repute weave illusion to lure custom, or flaunt organic/electrical 'enhancements'. And so on.

I dreamed, later, of serving in its police force, hunting a renegade golem-maker. It seemed that I had been on his case for years uncounted, trailing him through the sewers and back-alleys, into abandoned warehouses and secret labs, where he built constructs to aid him in his various crimes. I knew him better than anyone else on the force, and he, in turn, knew me better than anyone else possibly could. One day, I caught up to him. We surrounded his workshop, but I knew that he was too clever by half to end the chase here. And indeed, we shot him, but he slipped out of our grasp. The next day, a gift arrived for me at the station - an opulent necklace made of amber, teeth, tiny bone skulls, brass and copper gears and wire. He knew he was dying. This was his last move, a tiny golem meant to either protect its wearer, or to choke the life from her. I knew it, I could feel that power in it when I picked it up. And still, I hung it around my neck. Why not? He was dying, and he knew me better than anybody. There seemed no sense in living without him - in my eyes, such a dedicated adversary is practically a partner.

Observations on costuming for DragonCon.

The number of things that I do not need to acquire in order to go to DragonCon is staggering. Even if I try to talk myself into some of them. For instance, ponytail falls. Seriously. I could make that. With dreadlocks and machine parts and shiny copper wire, even. Maybe next year.

I keep thinking of doing a wind-up doll costume. Maybe next year. Surely I could justify ponytail falls for that. And perhaps petticoats. (Yes, my tendency to Dress Like A Girl does increase as Con approaches. At any other time of the year, anyone who suggested I should dress like a wind-up doll would likely have to exit, stage left, with a broken nose within about thirty seconds. This probably doesn't bear a lot of analysis.)

Also, the power of procrastination is amazing. In the pursuit of avoiding doing anything like sewing on the Promethea costume, I made the shoulder pin for the outfit and picked out the wig I want. I've been avoiding these tasks for some days now, apparently waiting until there was something that I needed to do, that I wanted to do less than them. Rock. So I'm guessing I'll get the skirt made about the time that the toilet needs cleaning.

Observations on costuming for DragonCon.

The number of things that I do not need to acquire in order to go to DragonCon is staggering. Even if I try to talk myself into some of them. For instance, ponytail falls. Seriously. I could make that. With dreadlocks and machine parts and shiny copper wire, even. Maybe next year.

I keep thinking of doing a wind-up doll costume. Maybe next year. Surely I could justify ponytail falls for that. And perhaps petticoats. (Yes, my tendency to Dress Like A Girl does increase as Con approaches. At any other time of the year, anyone who suggested I should dress like a wind-up doll would likely have to exit, stage left, with a broken nose within about thirty seconds. This probably doesn't bear a lot of analysis.)

Also, the power of procrastination is amazing. In the pursuit of avoiding doing anything like sewing on the Promethea costume, I made the shoulder pin for the outfit and picked out the wig I want. I've been avoiding these tasks for some days now, apparently waiting until there was something that I needed to do, that I wanted to do less than them. Rock. So I'm guessing I'll get the skirt made about the time that the toilet needs cleaning.