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Consider the heroic cycle.
Then consider what the American Monomyth says about America.
An interesting point came up during my conversation with my Sweetie, and it has many implications fr applying narrative psychotherapy to geeks. It is "What do the stories we tell say about whe we are, and how do amateur (or professional) writing, storytelling and roleplaying games play into this?
This is intense for me.
If you write or game, I suggest that you try this out for yourself.
Then consider what the American Monomyth says about America.
An interesting point came up during my conversation with my Sweetie, and it has many implications fr applying narrative psychotherapy to geeks. It is "What do the stories we tell say about whe we are, and how do amateur (or professional) writing, storytelling and roleplaying games play into this?
This is intense for me.
If you write or game, I suggest that you try this out for yourself.
Dreams of boats and radioactive cities
Mar. 20th, 2006 11:23 pmThere'd been a nuclear war and the Mid-Eastern United States and Canada have been hard hit. People flee the worst areas and, coming to a lake, were launching beats to row across. I was there, alone though, and didn't have a boat.
I asked the women in the A-frame cabin for help. They say I can have a boat. But you can't row a boat alone. I wait in the sunlit attic. A woman in her sixties surprises me. She gives me a hundred dollars Canadian and asks that since I really don't have anywhere to go, could I buy what I can in the city across the lake (Detroit? Scarborough?). I say that's awfully trusting of her.... But is a hundred bucks actually going to buy anything useful? There must have been a real run on supplies.
A man comes. We will row together, towing a boat behind us for me to return in once I've found something useful.
I asked the women in the A-frame cabin for help. They say I can have a boat. But you can't row a boat alone. I wait in the sunlit attic. A woman in her sixties surprises me. She gives me a hundred dollars Canadian and asks that since I really don't have anywhere to go, could I buy what I can in the city across the lake (Detroit? Scarborough?). I say that's awfully trusting of her.... But is a hundred bucks actually going to buy anything useful? There must have been a real run on supplies.
A man comes. We will row together, towing a boat behind us for me to return in once I've found something useful.
Dreams of metros sans skin
Feb. 8th, 2006 11:57 amEveryone was supposed to have exited the Skytrain at the last stop. It's as unlit as the station it pulls into. I can't leave without forcing the doors. I'm the only person there.
A train slides in from the other direction. It is lit. You are not supposed to see this; there's a plague on. The other train is full of skinless corpses. Some sit placidly, others tried to claw their way out before they died.
I hunker down by the window and take a photo.
Two.
Three.
The other train pulls out. These photos are secret. I shouldn't be here.
A train slides in from the other direction. It is lit. You are not supposed to see this; there's a plague on. The other train is full of skinless corpses. Some sit placidly, others tried to claw their way out before they died.
I hunker down by the window and take a photo.
Two.
Three.
The other train pulls out. These photos are secret. I shouldn't be here.
Middle Kingdoms
Dec. 28th, 2005 08:33 pmThey will go out to the residentials again, the intermediate zone; something wide and full of (three-bedroom-plus-garage) shells. They'l make trips every week and territory won't be an issue, the middle areas between the croplands and the ports will be too large to police readily and too rich to bother. They'll smash windows sometimes, or crowbar the door, and then sift through the dross from old lives. The occupants will usually be dried up in bed or unseen in the cellar or attic or wherever they felt safe. Their faces will no longer bother anyone because they're just icons.
"What did they do with all this crap?" they will ask. "There are CD's. These one-two-three-four-five-six are labelled 'DBGT' and there are stacks of unopened video cassettes and it looks like they never touched any of it."
Then they will sift a little more and leave it and they'll wonder what will happen. Someone will move here someday what wil lthey do with all this old crap? Bury it? They used to use the CD's as ornaments but there are just so many and they're not good for anything else: books you can burn or wipe your ass, furniture you can break down and maybe burn and even plastic grocery bags have their uses but what are you supposed to do with all the damn CDs?
Leave them. Let someone else worry. Take your stuff and go.
"What did they do with all this crap?" they will ask. "There are CD's. These one-two-three-four-five-six are labelled 'DBGT' and there are stacks of unopened video cassettes and it looks like they never touched any of it."
Then they will sift a little more and leave it and they'll wonder what will happen. Someone will move here someday what wil lthey do with all this old crap? Bury it? They used to use the CD's as ornaments but there are just so many and they're not good for anything else: books you can burn or wipe your ass, furniture you can break down and maybe burn and even plastic grocery bags have their uses but what are you supposed to do with all the damn CDs?
Leave them. Let someone else worry. Take your stuff and go.
Apocalysettes and the gomi no sensei
Nov. 29th, 2005 03:53 amSnow.
Cars slow, collars up, ducks look confused.
It's not the end of the world that I want to see, so much as a series of changes in it and our handling of artifacts, that speaks a material honesty.
Homes for example. I want to see new buildings go old as they bend a little under the elements. I want to see unusually short tables find a new calling as chairs. I want to see squats that turn junk into houses. Give me islands made of garbage, not just sitting on it.
Scavenging is not only honest but spiritual.
I want to see the guts of things.
What if we used ladders on the outside of buildings to get around?
Or if the plumbing wsn't hidden but a feature of every room, built into furniture and everyday use?
What if the oil ran out tomorrow? Electric trolley wires traverse the navigable cities. Elsewhere there be bicycles; in the suburbs, reclusus and gardens that crack the asphalt; in the bedroom communities, dragons. Skyrises served by carts from the fields. It would be beautiful to watch the old not destroyed, but disassembled.
It is not fire I seek, but roots that crack sidewalks.
Cars slow, collars up, ducks look confused.
It's not the end of the world that I want to see, so much as a series of changes in it and our handling of artifacts, that speaks a material honesty.
Homes for example. I want to see new buildings go old as they bend a little under the elements. I want to see unusually short tables find a new calling as chairs. I want to see squats that turn junk into houses. Give me islands made of garbage, not just sitting on it.
Scavenging is not only honest but spiritual.
I want to see the guts of things.
What if we used ladders on the outside of buildings to get around?
Or if the plumbing wsn't hidden but a feature of every room, built into furniture and everyday use?
What if the oil ran out tomorrow? Electric trolley wires traverse the navigable cities. Elsewhere there be bicycles; in the suburbs, reclusus and gardens that crack the asphalt; in the bedroom communities, dragons. Skyrises served by carts from the fields. It would be beautiful to watch the old not destroyed, but disassembled.
It is not fire I seek, but roots that crack sidewalks.
