From 6555a7e550497e0f0430abe84448eec8eaca7248 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Madison Scott-Clary Date: Mon, 18 May 2020 23:00:11 -0700 Subject: [PATCH] update from sparkleup --- writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/013.html | 38 ++++----- writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/002.html | 96 ++++++++++++----------- writing/post-self/qoheleth/index.html | 2 +- 3 files changed, 69 insertions(+), 67 deletions(-) diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/013.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/013.html index 12338a711..fc6e380a6 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/013.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/RJ/013.html @@ -14,11 +14,11 @@

writing novel chapter fiction scifi post-self qoheleth

The relief of finding emself sitting in eir own bed, ey supposed, should have been immediate and intense.

-

Instead, seeing eir room around em once more rather than the clinic, all AwDae could do was close eir eyes and shift down in bed until ey was able to draw the covers up over emself, a mirroring of this morning. The weight of the blanket atop em, the feeling of being surrounded, covered, supported by the mattress seemed to be more important than...than what, relief? Joy?

-

Ey didn't feel despair, didn't feel hopelessness.

-

AwDae wasn't sure what this emotion was. It was a non-emotion. It was a sense of swelling, of being too full. Of having words and images and colors flooding through em and yet wholly out of reach.

+

Instead, seeing eir room around em once more rather than the clinic, all AwDae could do was close eir eyes and shift down in bed until ey was able to draw the covers up over emself, a mirroring of this morning. The weight of the blanket atop em, the feeling of being surrounded, covered, supported by the mattress seemed to be more important than…than what, relief? Joy?

+

Ey didn’t feel despair, didn’t feel hopelessness.

+

AwDae wasn’t sure what this emotion was. It was a non-emotion. It was a sense of swelling, of being too full. Of having words and images and colors flooding through em and yet wholly out of reach.

When ey had awoken this morning, ey had supposed that ey would head down from home to the clinic and magically find some sort of success. Or, if not success, at least another clue. Another step along the way. A fraction of success. Some piece-of-eight that, when added up, would save em.

-

This wasn't a puzzle, though. This wasn't a set of steps that could be followed to some logical conclusion. There was no end to the road, because there was no road.

+

This wasn’t a puzzle, though, was it? This wasn’t a set of steps that could be followed to some logical conclusion. There was no end to the road, because there was no road.

Dreams, after all, have no plot.

Ey curled beneath the duvet. Resting in the fetal position in eir childhood bed beneath eir childhood blankets, ey could not even pretend that ey was dreaming. Had ey been asleep, this would have been one of those confusing dreams of too much meaning. Not nightmare, not blessed peace. Just neurons firing at random, conjuring images up from dust, from nothing. Mere breath.

If history played out as it promised to, there would be no waking. Ey was in a world of dream, eir every thought mirrored back against the inner surface of eir cortices, both cerebral and exo.

@@ -26,27 +26,27 @@

Find this note.

Find this mic.

Find this solution and perhaps you will achieve your goal.

-

But what goal was that? Was it to solve the riddle of Cicero's loss? Was it to become unlost, to be found?

+

But what goal was that? Was it to solve the riddle of Cicero’s loss? Was it to become unlost, to be found?

Or was it to become unstuck? Was it to find something new? Some way to move on? Move forward? Move, period?

-

"You seem kind of frozen, kind of stuck, in a few ways."

+

“You seem kind of frozen, kind of stuck, in a few ways.”

The laugh that came to em was choked. More sob than anything.

-

"Well, hard to get more stuck than this."

+

Well, hard to get more stuck than this.

Ey drew the covers up over eir head. Perhaps ey wished to blot out the dream with darkness and silence, but this darkness was dream. The barrier: dream. The silence: dream.

Ey slept, then. Not the restless, confused sleep of the night before, but a dreamless sleep of an hour. An hour? A day? What mattered time? It was the sleep of a mind demanding that very blessed nothingness. Was that something ey could request, as ey had requested to dream eir way back home?

-

It wasn't a long nap, of course. Or perhaps it was. Perhaps ey could will it to be as long as ey wanted. Perhaps ey were bound to a rhythm, but the scale did not matter. Perhaps ey could bend time.

+

It wasn’t a long nap, of course. Or perhaps it was. Perhaps ey could will it to be as long as ey wanted. Perhaps ey were bound to a rhythm, but the scale did not matter. Perhaps ey could bend time.

Either way, when ey awoke, the corners of eir eyes gunked up with dried tears, the funk of the morning had largely passed. The numbness still lingered around the edges, vignetting curiosity, but it was not so all-consuming as it had been.

-

AwDae sat up in bed, folding eir legs beneath em to keep eir tail from cramping. Ey teased a thread loose from the edge of the comforter, tugged. A habit from youth made easier with vulpine claws.

-

Habits in dreams. Dreams that were more than dreams. Dreams one knew about and nevertheless was pinned beneath: nightmare demons sitting upon one's chest, upon one's mind. Upon one's exo, perhaps.

-

"If I dream, if I dream," ey murmured, words coming unbidden to eir lips. "If I dream, am I no longer myself?"

-

The vignette of numbness throbbed, narrowed, then faded once again. The words seemed to carry import beyond their plaintive query. Ey could not stop emself from speaking

+

AwDae sat up in bed, folding eir legs beneath em to keep eir tail from cramping. Ey teased a thread loose from the edge of the duvet, tugged. A habit from youth made easier with vulpine claws.

+

Habits in dreams. Dreams that were more than dreams. Dreams one knew about and nevertheless was pinned beneath: nightmare demons sitting upon one’s chest, upon one’s mind. Upon one’s exo, perhaps.

+

“If I dream, if I dream,” ey murmured, words coming unbidden to eir lips. “If I dream, am I no longer myself?”

+

The vignette of numbness throbbed, narrowed, then faded once again. The words seemed to carry import beyond their plaintive query. Ey could not stop emself from speaking.

Dawdling.

Ey stretched eir way out of bed and padded to the door of eir room, closed.

-

"Wait," ey commanded emself. Hand on doorknob. A count to three. A promise to emself. I will open this door and will find the open space across the road instead of the hallway.

+

“Wait,” ey commanded emself. Hand on doorknob. A count to three. A promise to emself. I will open this door and will find the open space across the road instead of the hallway.

Could one dream within a dream? Do so with such a detail that ey would not notice the transition? Had ey dreamed the trip to the clinic? Had ey perhaps slept through the return?

-

"I do not know. I do not know."

+

“I do not know. I do not know.”

A supplication. A mantra against hopelessness.

Ey turned the knob and stepped out into the shortgrass prairie of the open space. The packed dirt of the trail welcomed eir paws. The scent of dust and rattle-dry stalks of grass washed over em. Warm, yellow lighted hemmed em in through the fog of war.

-

"Wait," ey said once more. Kept eir hands at eir sides. Loose. Relaxed. No menu to reach for, no gesture required.

+

“Wait,” ey said once more. Kept eir hands at eir sides. Loose. Relaxed. No menu to reach for, no gesture required.

A promise to emself. I still have will.

The fog receded upon eir request, thinned, disappeared. Mere breath. The prairie of the open space stretched out before them. A valley, and then a ridge of hills to the east. The mountains behind eir back.

Not a sim. No limitations other than those eir dreaming mind had set upon them. Ey had spent so long in sims, lived eir life out in worlds bounded by the edges of invisible properties that, upon getting lost, ey had imagined the same must be true inside. More so, eir unconscious reasoned, for was ey not constrained by the processing power of eir exocortex?

@@ -55,16 +55,16 @@

Ey did not rush. Ey stood still. The breeze fingered eir fur and teased along the hem of eir skirt as a breeze must. There were the turbines on the far ridge, three blades turning laconically as turbines must. There was the highway across the valley, the gas station squatting low alongside it as gas stations must.

No commands in dreams. No promises required. Ey would take that step and all would be as it must.

And then ey took the step.

-

And then Prisca meowed and twined around eir ankles.

+

And then Prisca meowed her hello and twined around eir ankles.

And then AwDae fell to eir knees and let the cat step up onto eir thighs, and ey lifted her in eir arms and buried eir snout in her warm, purring side, and cried.

Cried because this was not London. Cried because this was not eir cat. Cried because ey could dream anything ey wanted and it would never be anything beyond a dream.

-

This was a memory. This was something dredged up from eir own mind. Prisca, eir very own Prisca, was purring against eir face because that's what Prisca must do. She was squirming out of eir grasp because ey knew that, had ey held her like that in the waking world --- and ey had --- that that is what cats do.

-

It was eir dream. Eir own, eirs alone. All the lost must perforce be dreaming their own dreams. Ey dreamed of homes and clues and boundaries, of cats that squirmed, of emself as a fox --- and that one ey would keep --- and could not begin to guess at others' dreams.

+

This was a memory. This was something dredged up from eir own mind. Prisca, eir very own Prisca, was purring against eir face because that’s what Prisca must do. She was squirming out of eir grasp because ey knew that, had ey held her like that in the waking world — and ey had — that that is what cats do.

+

It was eir dream. Eir own, eirs alone. All the lost must perforce be dreaming their own dreams. Ey dreamed of homes and clues and boundaries, of cats that squirmed, of emself as a fox — and that one ey would keep — and could not begin to guess at others’ dreams.

Could ey will Prisca to stop? To hold still and be eir pillow to cry into? Ey did not know. Eir mind resisted the question. Resisted, because ey did not want that to be the case. Did not want to will eir precious cat to be anything other than she was. To ask that question was to admit the idea that ey could dream anything other than that which ey must.

Ey let the cat down so that she could stalk self-righteously to her favorite spot and groom the tears out of her fur.

diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/002.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/002.html index 42d6845c6..d2a8ceb23 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/002.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/002.html @@ -13,20 +13,20 @@

writing novel chapter fiction scifi post-self qoheleth

-

Sasha wanted to be pleased with the rapidity with which everything was happening. It hadn't even been a week, and here was one of the lead researchers of the lost mailing from a private address.

+

Sasha wanted to be pleased with the rapidity with which everything was happening. It hadn’t even been a week, and here was one of the lead researchers of the lost mailing from a private address.

She desperately wanted to be pleased. Wanted to believe that things were moving forward. Wanted more than anything to smell the lingering scent of fox and cat in the Crown Pub, just to know at they were there.

-

And yet, she wasn't. It was all wrong. Everything about this was wrong. There was no way to forget that, despite the forward momentum, she was still doing all of this for what was widely acknowledged to be a lost cause.

+

And yet, she wasn’t. It was all wrong. Everything about this was wrong. There was no way to forget that, despite the forward momentum, she was still doing all of this for what was widely acknowledged to be a lost cause.

She began typing.

Dr. Ramirez,

-

Wow, I'm glad you got back to me! I was not expecting that. I'm a little confused as to why, but I guess no sense in questioning it.

-

Do you have information on RJ and Collin? I'll gladly give what I can. They both were good people. RJ and I went to school together, and the three of us spent a lot of time together in sim. They would spend hours talking politics (mostly Collin yelling).

+

Wow, I’m glad you got back to me! I was not expecting that. I’m a little confused as to why, but I guess no sense in questioning it.

+

Do you have information on RJ and Collin? I’ll gladly give what I can. They both were good people. RJ and I went to school together, and the three of us spent a lot of time together in sim. They would spend hours talking politics (mostly Collin yelling).

The last thing I got from RJ was this:

-

AwDae here. Looks like there's a lot going on in DDR activity (where'd you get this, Debarre?). Cicero was into a lot, and I'm not trying to go all conspiracy nut on you all, but do you think that maybe he got in too deep or something? Not saying someone tried to do it too him or anything, just that maybe the more one uses the net, the more likely it is to happen to them? I mean seriously, look at all of his votes, and his stash of credits! I'll keep poking at this after rehearsal.

+

AwDae here. Looks like there’s a lot going on in DDR activity (where’d you get this, Debarre?). Cicero was into a lot, and I’m not trying to go all conspiracy nut on you all, but do you think that maybe he got in too deep or something? Not saying someone tried to do it too him or anything, just that maybe the more one uses the net, the more likely it is to happen to them? I mean seriously, look at all of his votes, and his stash of credits! I’ll keep poking at this after rehearsal.

Do you have any idea what that might be about? I know I said Cicero was super into politics, but do you think RJ was onto something here?

-

I've copied Cicero's partner, Debarre (don't know real name, sorry!) and Caitlin Fowler from where RJ works.

+

I’ve copied Cicero’s partner, Debarre (don’t know real name, sorry!) and Caitlin Fowler from where RJ works.

Sasha

The response was only an hour in coming. As with Caitlin, it was short and to the point.

@@ -36,51 +36,53 @@

A throwaway user? The wrongness intensified.

All the same, Sasha logged in and swiped her way over to the address Carter had provided.

As with most throwaway rooms, it was a cube measuring about five meters on a side, a faint grid lining the floor, and as with most throwaway avatars, Carter was visible only as a gesture at humanity. The lines of a face hinting at expressions, features. Average height. Gray skin. Androgynous hair.

-

"Sasha, I'm sorry for meeting you like this."

-

The skunk shook her head. "It's okay, I guess. Can you tell me why?"

-

"Will you accept "because of a dream" as an answer?"

+

“Sasha. Uh…you’re a skunk.”

+

She frowned.

+

“Right, sorry. I’m sorry for meeting you like this.”

+

The skunk shook her head. “It’s okay, I guess. Can you tell me why?”

+

“Will you accept “because of a dream” as an answer?”

Sasha frowned.

-

"I suppose not." Carter hugged her arms around her middle, a gesture that looked distinctly out of place from the gray avatar. "You mention, uh...AwDae investigating DDR activity, as well as Collin's own involvement but--well, should we wait for others to show up?"

-

"I don't know if any of them are coming." She felt the tightness of panic in her chest intensify. "I don't know where Debarre is, and I imagine Caitlin's show is on."

-

The figure before her frowned. "Right."

-

Sasha pulled up her deck. "I can take notes, perhaps," she allowed. "I don't suppose you'll want ACLs with a throwaway."

-

"No, probably not. Notes will have to do." Carter seemed to compose herself, and then continued as she was saying before. "You mentioned the relation to DDR, and we already suspected that Collin and RJ were friends. This is something we've been looking into with my group. The possibility of a social vector, I mean. It's gone poorly."

-

"How do you mean, poorly?"

-

"Well, there was unexpected resistance within the team, and then shortly after taking this tack, the hammer came down from above saying we had to fire someone --- someone not studying this aspect --- and shift our investigation to the neurological side."

-

Sasha blinked. "Are you suggesting you're being told to not look at social aspects?"

-

Despite the mere sketch of facial features, the av's smile still carried the weariness heard in the tone of its voice. "In a way, yes. I had a dream about shadows following everyone and I guess I could say I'm a bit spooked. Too many coincidences in too short a time."

-

"I'd chalk it all up to paranoia if I weren't feeling so anxious, myself."

-

"Any particular reason why?"

-

"I, well." She brushed her paws down over the fur on her forearms, stalling to hunt for a response. Any response. "I don't know. Things are moving so quickly. I don't know how to explain. I met up with Caitlin and she told me a lot, and then I emailed you, and your two responses didn't do anything to assuage my fears."

-

Carter nodded, didn't respond.

-

"But I don't know that anything you might have said beyond "we fixed it, AwDae's awake" could have done anything but. Even your "we're working on it" form letter was anxiety-inducing in its own way. I know you're working on it. I imagine a lot of people are." She hesitated, then added, "But that doesn't really help to hear."

-

"No, I imagine not."

-

"And to then get another email saying that you wanted to talk things through outside of work just added to my fears. Like, what could that possibly mean?"

-

"I'm sorry," the figure said dully. "I really can't help in the context of work."

-

"I know. I read up a bit on WFHIPA."

-

"Yeah."

-

The panic was slowly transmuting into anger. Sasha didn't like it, but was powerless to stop the shift. "And now here you are, in all gray, talking about, what, conspiracy theories? Dreams?"

-

"I'm sorry, Sasha. I really don't feel any better about this than you. I'm not usually the paranoid type, but I think Sanders...well, I suspect that one of my colleagues has motives that go beyond just his focus on neurochemistry. I think they go beyond just the university."

-

Further information tempered anger. "How do you mean?"

-

"Well, I said the hammer came down. It did so in the form of grantors threatening to pull funding from the project." Carter shrugged. "And I believe that the research coordinator --- that is, the university itself --- was just passing along that message. I think the stress is coming from higher up."

-

"Wait, grantors?"

-

"Yes. The project is hosted by the UCL, but is being funded from external sources. Grants, that sort of thing."

-

"Who's writing the grants?"

-

Carter held up her hands. "No clue. That's the thing. Why would the grantors throw their weight around, saying that we should follow specific lines of research? That's not their job."

-

"Have you even published data that would suggest anything but a--" Sasha dug for the term. "Neurological cause?"

-

The figure stiffened. "What?"

-

"I just mean AwDae got lost only a few days ago, and you said that ey was the reason you started looking at the social aspect, right?"

-

Carter began pacing. "Right, yeah. And we haven't published anything along either front in that time, social or biological. I can't say this is helping my paranoia any."

-

"Do you think this coworker--"

-

"Sanders?"

-

"Do you think Sanders is, I mean..." Sasha said, struggling to keep her voice in check. It seemed to want to simultaneously rise in panic and also sneer at the very suggestion. "Some sort of shady government plant?"

-

"I gotta go," Carter said. "Don't use the DDR for a while."

+

“I suppose not.” Carter hugged her arms around her middle, a gesture that looked distinctly out of place from the gray avatar. “You mention, uh…AwDae investigating DDR activity, as well as Collin’s own involvement but–well, should we wait for others to show up?”

+

“I don’t know if any of them are coming.” She felt the tightness of panic in her chest intensify. “I don’t know where Debarre is. Probably work, it’s midday for us. And I imagine Caitlin’s show is on.”

+

The figure before her frowned. “Right.”

+

Sasha pulled up her deck. “I can take notes, perhaps,” she allowed. “I don’t suppose you’ll want ACLs with a throwaway.”

+

“No, probably not. Notes will have to do.” Carter seemed to compose herself, and then continued as she was saying before. “You mentioned the relation to DDR, and we already suspected that Collin and RJ were friends. This is something we’ve been looking into with my group. The possibility of a social vector, I mean. It’s gone poorly.”

+

“Poorly how?”

+

“Well, there was unexpected resistance within the team, and then shortly after taking this tack, the hammer came down from above saying we had to fire someone — someone studying this aspect — and shift our investigation to the neurological side.”

+

Sasha blinked. “Are you suggesting you’re being told to not look at social aspects?”

+

Despite the mere sketch of facial features, the av’s smile still carried the weariness heard in the tone of its voice. “In a way, yes. I had a dream about shadows following everyone and I guess I could say I’m a bit spooked. Too many coincidences in too short a time.”

+

“I’d chalk it all up to paranoia if I weren’t feeling so anxious, myself.”

+

“Any particular reason why?”

+

“I, well.” She brushed her paws down over the fur on her forearms, stalling to hunt for a response. Any response. “I don’t know. Things are moving so quickly. I don’t know how to explain. I met up with Caitlin and she told me a lot, and then I emailed you, and your two responses didn’t do anything to assuage my fears.”

+

Carter nodded, didn’t respond.

+

“But I don’t know that anything you might have said beyond “we fixed it, AwDae’s awake” could have done anything but. Even your “we’re working on it” form letter was anxiety-inducing in its own way. I know you’re working on it. I imagine a lot of people are.” She hesitated, then added, “But that doesn’t really help to hear.”

+

“No, I imagine not.”

+

“And to then get another email saying that you wanted to talk things through outside of work just added to my fears. Like, what could that possibly mean?”

+

“I’m sorry,” the figure said dully. “I really can’t help in the context of work.”

+

“I know. I read up a bit on WFHIPA.”

+

“Yeah.”

+

The panic was slowly transmuting into anger. Sasha didn’t like it, but was powerless to stop the shift. “And now here you are, in all gray, talking about, what, conspiracy theories? Dreams?”

+

“I’m sorry, Sasha. I really don’t feel any better about this than you. I’m not usually the paranoid type, but I think Sanders…well, I suspect that one of my colleagues has motives that go beyond just his focus on neurochemistry. I think they go beyond just the university.”

+

Further information tempered anger. “How do you mean?”

+

“Well, I said the hammer came down. It did so in the form of grantors threatening to pull funding from the project.” Carter shrugged. “And I believe that the research coordinator — that is, the university itself — was just passing along that message. I think the stress is coming from higher up.”

+

“Wait, grantors?”

+

“Yes. The project is hosted by the UCL, but is being funded from external sources. Grants, that sort of thing.”

+

“Who’s writing the grants?”

+

Carter held up her hands. “No clue. That’s the thing. Why would the grantors throw their weight around, saying that we should follow specific lines of research? That’s not their job.”

+

“Have you even published data that would suggest anything but a–” Sasha dug for the term. “Neurological cause?”

+

The figure stiffened. “What?”

+

“I just mean AwDae got lost only a few days ago, and you said that ey was the reason you started looking at the social aspect, right?”

+

Carter began pacing. “Right, yeah. And we haven’t published anything along either front in that time, social or biological. I can’t say this is helping my paranoia any.”

+

“Do you think this coworker–“

+

“Sanders?”

+

“Do you think Sanders is, I mean…” Sasha said, struggling to keep her voice in check. It seemed to want to simultaneously rise in panic and also sneer at the very suggestion. “Some sort of shady government plant?”

+

“I gotta go,” Carter said. “Don’t use the DDR for a while.”

Then, without ceremony, she teleported away.

-

There were three small alarm bells, and Sasha found herself back in her home sim. The throwaway had been recycled.

-

"Fuck."

+

There were three small warning chimes, and Sasha found herself back in her home sim. The throwaway had been recycled.

+

“Fuck.”

diff --git a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/index.html b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/index.html index 86867c021..5a7bdc59e 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/qoheleth/index.html +++ b/writing/post-self/qoheleth/index.html @@ -226,7 +226,7 @@
  • Chapter: Qoheleth 002 — Qoheleth’s signifier
  • Chapter: RJ 012 — RJ at the clinic, discovering ey don’t need ACLs in a lucid dream.
  • Chapter: Ioan 006 — Back at home with Dear, Qoheleth messages (split)
    • -
  • Chapter: Sasha 002 — things are moving quickly
    • +
  • Chapter: Sasha 002 — things are moving quickly
  • Chapter: RJ 013 — struggling with numbness, trying to learn to manipulate the dream, memories.
  • Chapter: Carter 008 — At work, viewing everyone with suspicion, DDR votes changing
  • Chapter: Ioan 006-b — Story of gathering Odists, perhaps flashback to/story from Dear about clade’s formation?