Wedding Cake - Second Attempt
Jul. 2nd, 2011 09:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
the_fantastic_ms_foxMy last attempt to sleep on a piece of wedding cake for three nights (in the hopes of divining my future in romance and/or marriage) resulted in a vivid dream of joining a five-person/four-gendered hub-mind.
(To deliberately bring about a dream is a practice known as "incubation")
Time time, I got a dream of moving into an apartment in a strip mall. Spacious, and beautifully furnished, but empty and in need of a room-mate.
There's someone in here. She came in through the alley door. She's messing with the crockery - polishing an oddly shaped teapot, with a chunk missing from it. Nervously she laughs about the genie in it.
Right.
I pick up the missing chunk, dust it off.
Look. Can you leave?
She's heard it likes whipped cream poured inside.
Okay. Thanks.
She exits.
If there's a genie, I just need advice. How am I going to afford this place. It wasn't 800. It was 800 each. Or was that 1600 each? How much sculpture would I have to clear to make that?
Again, someone's in here.
Off-colour, fancily dressed folk, pouring up of the basement stairwell. Faeries? Friendly enough. Guess they were already living here.
One escorts me down the stairs a level. The decor looks like Tim Burton meets Ed Wood. Wait. You're following a bit close. And... the ones who look like Frank-n-Furter's assistants are in close, as I turn, they have a look like they plan to kill or kidnap the leaseholder - i.e. me.
Two of the kindly folk from upstairs swoop down after them. One in a raven dress scolds them, while a lumpy guy bars their way.
I thank the latter as the other calls social sanction down on the offender. He.... verbally... directs... me... slow... ly...
Thanks, mate.
Out another door on the same level. The lumpy fellow is a modern Prometheus sort of creature; Frankenstein's Adam. Built to be perfect - right in the middle of the uncanny valley. His speech picks up speed, as it does with all people he's just met. He directs me down another set of stairs.
Down and out the door, and somehow on a highway. In Whyte Creek. Across the road, a superhero series is shot. It looks like cheap DFX but it's real powers.
Four heros confront villains and get frozen, one who looks like The Brown Hornet. His purple cloud is caught in mid-air. He falls to the ground frozen, next to his three comrades.
Looks beautiful in life; terrible on camera.
The modern Prometheus informs me: This fight is just the set-up. We're looking at how the court system will handle this. Different cultures and different notions of justice, procedure and law.
Sounds good, but it sounds like you're having trouble keeping it in the black. (that, on top of rent... we'll have to find a way to market this)
Wait.
How did you do this?
The magic is obvious enough. Faeries or hidden folk or whatever their name have glamour or whatever their method. But how did we go into a sub-basement and wind up in Whyte Creek?
The modern Prometheus responds: We "borrowed" some space.
Amazing.
MP: It's fine as long as the Yellow Jackets don't find us. Radiant and beautiful, but violent physics-conformists.
Like those people over there?
MP turns
Twelve gold and radiant pearl jackets shine in the sun. They advance on the victors of the staged fight. A separate group of hidden folk, who scatter. They pursue them. Not us. Nor our "frozen" comrades.
We agree to avoid the back door. Up, around front into Whyte Creek Family Diner we go. In, through their bathroom all at once, and back home.
MP: I study the different taxa that line our society.
Like those scary folk who tried to abduct me earlier, and how they have their own, separate, space. And how Prom here, seems to be apart from the pretty fairies. A man behind the camera, never in front of it. And a politic to go with it. Yes, I see some identity and power at play.
Thanks.
It's no trouble. He's telling me this because I'm the Clueless with the lease. He'd rather work with me than hide, and he won't see blood shed. My job is to keep the building from being demolished, or investigated, and to look normal in public. My contribution is mortal privilege, money, and skill with it. Unjust and surreal, this ignorance puts me in a position of power over them.
Some of the hidden folk here consider this, and me, to be a lesser evil than the alternative. Some just figure it's as good as it gets, and isn't it nice to have a kind Human calling the shots. Others will cut my throat.
They all have their reasons. I don't like this, and it is unjust, but I am integral. My power-of-normal is something they need.
If I'm going to play that role, I'm going to do it well. So maybe someday the power between us will dissolve and we can be equals. Rather than just seeking rent, I will bring what I have. Cunning. Ideas.
Can you borrow through time as well as space?
MP: Yeah, but the YJ's will tear us a new one if we're caught.
But what if we're less likely to be caught? Maybe an indoor space? A subterrainian warehouse to use as a studio... near... the Battle of Stalingrad? Menacing figures in uniforms won't hang around outside there.
He is intrigued.
(To deliberately bring about a dream is a practice known as "incubation")
Time time, I got a dream of moving into an apartment in a strip mall. Spacious, and beautifully furnished, but empty and in need of a room-mate.
There's someone in here. She came in through the alley door. She's messing with the crockery - polishing an oddly shaped teapot, with a chunk missing from it. Nervously she laughs about the genie in it.
Right.
I pick up the missing chunk, dust it off.
Look. Can you leave?
She's heard it likes whipped cream poured inside.
Okay. Thanks.
She exits.
If there's a genie, I just need advice. How am I going to afford this place. It wasn't 800. It was 800 each. Or was that 1600 each? How much sculpture would I have to clear to make that?
Again, someone's in here.
Off-colour, fancily dressed folk, pouring up of the basement stairwell. Faeries? Friendly enough. Guess they were already living here.
One escorts me down the stairs a level. The decor looks like Tim Burton meets Ed Wood. Wait. You're following a bit close. And... the ones who look like Frank-n-Furter's assistants are in close, as I turn, they have a look like they plan to kill or kidnap the leaseholder - i.e. me.
Two of the kindly folk from upstairs swoop down after them. One in a raven dress scolds them, while a lumpy guy bars their way.
I thank the latter as the other calls social sanction down on the offender. He.... verbally... directs... me... slow... ly...
Thanks, mate.
Out another door on the same level. The lumpy fellow is a modern Prometheus sort of creature; Frankenstein's Adam. Built to be perfect - right in the middle of the uncanny valley. His speech picks up speed, as it does with all people he's just met. He directs me down another set of stairs.
Down and out the door, and somehow on a highway. In Whyte Creek. Across the road, a superhero series is shot. It looks like cheap DFX but it's real powers.
Four heros confront villains and get frozen, one who looks like The Brown Hornet. His purple cloud is caught in mid-air. He falls to the ground frozen, next to his three comrades.
Looks beautiful in life; terrible on camera.
The modern Prometheus informs me: This fight is just the set-up. We're looking at how the court system will handle this. Different cultures and different notions of justice, procedure and law.
Sounds good, but it sounds like you're having trouble keeping it in the black. (that, on top of rent... we'll have to find a way to market this)
Wait.
How did you do this?
The magic is obvious enough. Faeries or hidden folk or whatever their name have glamour or whatever their method. But how did we go into a sub-basement and wind up in Whyte Creek?
The modern Prometheus responds: We "borrowed" some space.
Amazing.
MP: It's fine as long as the Yellow Jackets don't find us. Radiant and beautiful, but violent physics-conformists.
Like those people over there?
MP turns
Twelve gold and radiant pearl jackets shine in the sun. They advance on the victors of the staged fight. A separate group of hidden folk, who scatter. They pursue them. Not us. Nor our "frozen" comrades.
We agree to avoid the back door. Up, around front into Whyte Creek Family Diner we go. In, through their bathroom all at once, and back home.
MP: I study the different taxa that line our society.
Like those scary folk who tried to abduct me earlier, and how they have their own, separate, space. And how Prom here, seems to be apart from the pretty fairies. A man behind the camera, never in front of it. And a politic to go with it. Yes, I see some identity and power at play.
Thanks.
It's no trouble. He's telling me this because I'm the Clueless with the lease. He'd rather work with me than hide, and he won't see blood shed. My job is to keep the building from being demolished, or investigated, and to look normal in public. My contribution is mortal privilege, money, and skill with it. Unjust and surreal, this ignorance puts me in a position of power over them.
Some of the hidden folk here consider this, and me, to be a lesser evil than the alternative. Some just figure it's as good as it gets, and isn't it nice to have a kind Human calling the shots. Others will cut my throat.
They all have their reasons. I don't like this, and it is unjust, but I am integral. My power-of-normal is something they need.
If I'm going to play that role, I'm going to do it well. So maybe someday the power between us will dissolve and we can be equals. Rather than just seeking rent, I will bring what I have. Cunning. Ideas.
Can you borrow through time as well as space?
MP: Yeah, but the YJ's will tear us a new one if we're caught.
But what if we're less likely to be caught? Maybe an indoor space? A subterrainian warehouse to use as a studio... near... the Battle of Stalingrad? Menacing figures in uniforms won't hang around outside there.
He is intrigued.