I am up to my ass in Cher and drag queens, that's what.
This'd be a bit easier if I was in a place with a scene or twelve, you know, like San Francisco or New York or Austin, but I'm not, so I can't just pop downtown and get me some juice, I have to import it on shiny discs and beam it through the plasma screen at my face.
And that's just not the same.
It lends a sort of claustrophobic air to this space--at least, it seems that way to me--unlike wunderkammers such as Angeliska's or maybe here. I think I need to head north soon, to the city by the Bay with the sparkling sidewalks, just for a few days. Batteries are running low, and it's tough to conjure up the fabulous energy needed to display wildly plumaged people with their sequins and wigs.
Gotta get more juice, yes. Must have more juice.
Juice is the stuff that lubricates wordflow, keeps the visions of the worldlet inside the head crystalline and sharp, provides the people in it with souls and imbues their lives with meaning. No juice means no flow, and it's a precarious way to be, a slow motion careening down a mountainside road with rubber guard rails and rockfalls of Nerf. That is to say: no real threat, there, no energy imparted by risk.
Gotta get the juice.
At the same time, the need to get the juice is in fact the first stage of its getting, because the need is will, and without will there's no intention, and without intention there's no magic. That arcane stuff is all about the turning of thinking into doing, so it stands to reason that before you wreak change upon the world you've got to get your thoughtforms into some kind of order, haven't you, form your intention, maybe with a bit of a chant and the scribbling of a sigil, but before you can even do that you've got to have desire. Move me from this place to that.
More juice for me.
Juice is ephemeral yet rock-splitting, like water. A couple of drops or a steady flow will whet your mind, but when the pressure's on and violent it'll burst your mortar asunder and scatter your stonework into the lower fields. Focus can take a small flow and increase its pressure, like a water knife, but in the absence of focus you can work with sheer volume. That's what I'm looking for: a great tower full of the stuff, enough for glorious and messy bursting. Mmmmm.
Juice.
This'd be a bit easier if I was in a place with a scene or twelve, you know, like San Francisco or New York or Austin, but I'm not, so I can't just pop downtown and get me some juice, I have to import it on shiny discs and beam it through the plasma screen at my face.
And that's just not the same.
It lends a sort of claustrophobic air to this space--at least, it seems that way to me--unlike wunderkammers such as Angeliska's or maybe here. I think I need to head north soon, to the city by the Bay with the sparkling sidewalks, just for a few days. Batteries are running low, and it's tough to conjure up the fabulous energy needed to display wildly plumaged people with their sequins and wigs.
Gotta get more juice, yes. Must have more juice.
Juice is the stuff that lubricates wordflow, keeps the visions of the worldlet inside the head crystalline and sharp, provides the people in it with souls and imbues their lives with meaning. No juice means no flow, and it's a precarious way to be, a slow motion careening down a mountainside road with rubber guard rails and rockfalls of Nerf. That is to say: no real threat, there, no energy imparted by risk.
Gotta get the juice.
At the same time, the need to get the juice is in fact the first stage of its getting, because the need is will, and without will there's no intention, and without intention there's no magic. That arcane stuff is all about the turning of thinking into doing, so it stands to reason that before you wreak change upon the world you've got to get your thoughtforms into some kind of order, haven't you, form your intention, maybe with a bit of a chant and the scribbling of a sigil, but before you can even do that you've got to have desire. Move me from this place to that.
More juice for me.
Juice is ephemeral yet rock-splitting, like water. A couple of drops or a steady flow will whet your mind, but when the pressure's on and violent it'll burst your mortar asunder and scatter your stonework into the lower fields. Focus can take a small flow and increase its pressure, like a water knife, but in the absence of focus you can work with sheer volume. That's what I'm looking for: a great tower full of the stuff, enough for glorious and messy bursting. Mmmmm.
Juice.
Lucidity!
Your posts are better than coffee in the a.m. A mind at work is a beautiful thing.
Better than coffee? High praise, indeed!