Jan. 27th, 2011 01:28 am
vixenmage: St. Francis wiv a bird on 'is haid! (Default)
It's one o'clock in the morning, snowflakes tumbling up and down through the darkness outside the window, I can only see them up close, obscuring the distant glow of the streetlight, tossed and turned by the wind, and they remind me of a wild joy, they remind me of standing beneath the lights in the park, watching that eternal dance and laughing for the joy of life, and I am here, and there's an empty grapevine on the table, and a sheet of numbers scrawled between the edges of feathery, sharp, black and swirling sketches, writing that looks more like conspiracy every day, and bed looms in the colder corners of the house, full of wood shavings and fouled sheets and oddly shaped footprints on the floor, and piano lurks in the edges of my mind, lulling me to wakefulness.

It's like standing in the middle of a road, no landmarks anywhere in sight, wondering whether you were on the right side or the left before things started spinning, it's like looking at the sky for leading stars in the daylight, all too bright to care about your perceptions, it's like singing in the city, where the air is full of smoke and corners, watching, see you don't invade their space, a concept only cities could've dreamt to being, and the people wonder at the dreams of their own places, the space that takes up just a little bit of life, you'd never miss it if the story hadn't pointed it out, belike.

It's the drawing of the graph of something you don't know the meanings for, it's the sketching of the abstract, rather than the numbers you were told, it's the patterns in between the meanings, it's the patterns in the pages in the lines in the cubic space of three dimensions, where the clouds are more than shadows on the horizon, where that grain of sand has more angles than the snowflakes that we draw, where the possibilities are only as endless as the lenses can bend them into being, it's the fractal beauty of life in the space outside the minds' confines.
vixenmage: Beautiful bird which people dislike because it is a crow-related animal (grackle)
I could write about how I am all depressed and whiny and my brain keeps coming up with new reasons to hate myself and it's kind of getting to me, and I'm going to do NaNo anyway.

Or I could write about how I finally gave notice at Zoup! to work more hours at the bird store and how much of a weight this is off my shoulders and how I'm now wondering how I did it for that long at all.

Or I could write about love, and how much it is awesome and hurts and how I am struggling to keep from angsting constantly on this subject, with limited success.

Or I could say fie! fie! to journalling, and read more comments or archives of Slacktivist, or work on NaNoWriMo as I should be doing.

Instead, I will describe what is now my home in Minecraft. I have dubbed it the Tower of Improbability. It is a very shady spot in Hemn Space indeed.

The first tower* was a sandcastle, with an underground entrance that went to the Sea. Then I dug the Cave of Wonders, in a misguided attempt to create a thing of beauty, and stumbled into horrors and riches in equal proportion. When I had despaired of beauty, I cursed the laws of reality and probability, and surveyed my scattered disarray of forges and workbenches, my hoard of tools, my chests of metals, magma, stone and precious stone alike. And I laughed, and was taken by a momentary fit of madness.

Soon, the sandcastle that had been the marker of a den was no more, demolished by my flailing shovel, and I stood on the beach, nothing in between me and the skies-- nothing, that is, but the skies themselves. And I began to build. I built walls, with and without windows-- I smelted glass and bedrock alike, and I crafted doors on whims.

Cut for long description! )

Next time, I'll post pictures. ...Yes, I am procrastinating. >_>

*The -very- first settlement was a Den, but I abandoned it fairly quickly in favor of the Tower.
vixenmage: Beautiful bird which people dislike because it is a crow-related animal (grackle)
So I'm sitting here with a little kitten on my lap, and she's purring so loud, and just... I dunno. It hit me, all of the sudden, how incredibly lucky I am for this moment, for this cat, of all the... it seems so stupid. But I have a cat and I love her, and despite all the strangeness inherent, she loves me. At least, I'm pretty sure she does. And I can sit here, and cuddle her, and she purrs and cuddles back. I mean... just.

And then I wonder how people can accuse me of being compassionate for stopping to help out baby squirrels/turtles/ferrets/puppies/mice, whatever you care to mention. What the hell did I do to deserve a little ball of fur that purrs when I say the first syllable of her name? Isn't it only just that I treat the life I come across with the same kindness I've found in this life?

Eh, I don't know. I've been reading through Reaper Man, by Terry Pratchett. Sheila finally finished it, and it's... well, -good-. Anyway.

If you get a chance today, check this out. It's a soccer-type game, and every goal scored is a dollar towards life-saving drugs for HIV in Africa. Very, very good cause, no donation pleas or anything. Just a game, and the more you win, the more lives can be saved.


vixenmage: St. Francis wiv a bird on 'is haid! (Default)

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