Joysweepers Incoherent Idea Bank

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This is Joy's Idea Bank. It isn't a story. It isn't an article. It is a list, and a list without organization, at that. To get ridiculously metaphorical, this is a garden of story-seeds, fertilized with things that supercharge me with enthusiasm, and populated by aggressive plot gizka. Joysweeper is easy to inspire, but for various reasons can't act on everything. This is a backup - her computer is crashy, and she doesn't want to lose all of these. Why is she typing in third person?

You can look through it, but it isn't for you. By which I don't mean that you can't use bits and pieces of it - I mean that I picked things out for me, and I haven't reformatted it, explained the in-jokes, or anything like that. To go back to the garden metaphor, I haven't hewn a path, and although I know where everything is and what is or isn't pleasing to touch, smell, or eat, you're likely to be lost. Here we have definitions, a couple of links, and some story concepts and fragments. Oh, and I repeatedly express a juvenile love for Steve Rogers, also known as Captain America. Why? Because he is the straightforward, good-natured, usually-confident, idealistic, stoic, goal-driven, responsible leader type. And awesome.


Pictures. 501stJulia.GIF

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"You white?" ...no? "Black?" ...No. "Chinese?" No. "What are you?" Human?

One time I laughed so hard I seemed to bruise my chest from the inside.

Their conversation was interrupted by fade-outs and static, but it was a minor miracle that they were able to talk at all, the astronauts and the aquanaut, each in their respective tin cans, crossing their respective voids. They talked about what it was like spending so much time inside their own heads and what they missed about their former lives. They laughed about craving the strangest things: the smell of an orange, a drink with ice cubes clinking in it. But mostly they talked about things only people who have ventured so far from home can know. People say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but the astronauts and the aquanaut knew love isn't a function of how long two things have been apart -- what matters is how far.

"I am given to understand that this establishment provides coffee? Have I heard correctly, or am I mistaken in that belief?"

When I was in my 20s-30s, I hung around with a lot of That Guys. They were members of the SCA (Society for Creative Anachronism), and even though we could all party like it was 1099, the men were chivalrous and respectful of the women. Or else. (First offense of being drunk and disorderly was being tied to a tree. Second - if there was a second, and most guys were too embarrassed for a repeat - was usually unofficial shunning.) The guys also looked out after the younger women, especially if they thought they were getting over their head. It was the safest I ever felt in my life - and you have no idea how funny it can be when a guy is flirting with you and a big Viking comes stomping over, looms over him, and asks, "Milady, is he bothering you and should I make him go away?"

It was wrong. I stopped it. I’m not sorry.

I stopped in a reception area, looked at the night sky from the second story window, and though how strange it was that the world — my world had changed so dramatically — yet the sky looked just the same.

"S-see how easy that was? And now we can start all over again and fix what was wrong and we'll all be one big happy family again and everything will be alright you'll see--"

I've known a few very old cats, and the combination of fragility and vitality is so charismatic and powerful.

Maybe when our outrageous spirit for living has died down a little bit and we slip into that phase of one's life where you start giving up on your dreams and all the amazing things you thought you were going to do, and you just start to panic that you're going to die alone.

That is the essence of love. When you feel it so strongly, and so deeply, that it has the power to draw others into it, and they can live it too, then you know that despite logic, reason, science, religion, or anything else manmade, that love transcends what we are, and who we are, and delivers unto us, something far greater than we ever suspected.

Makes me very, very angry, and very, very tired, and reminds me of the nights I sat alone in my car in parking lots, frantically eating, then running home to throw up because I knew something bad had happened to me but I couldn't say why, or what, and I just needed it to not be happening any longer.

It's heavier than it looks in my hand, whispering dark promises of madness and filth like a digital Necronomicon.

“Who are you?” “I don’t know. I used to know what I was. But now… now I am something else.”

Lawlis

Congratulations, you have made me inhale my drink. My forced evolution to liquid respiration is one step further.

Tyrannical is definitely your color

That face is... ugh... if my remaining biological systems had the ability to vomit, I would be doing so right now.

I guess it's really not that long in the grand scheme of things--it blows my mind a little that it was ONLY two years, it seems like something that happened so long ago, in another country in another language under another sun--but it throws my whole day a little off-kilter when it happens, and I spend the morning grumping around trying to get back.

It is not so easy a thing to come to terms with your once strong body failing on you. If you are 40 possibly you recall a vigor of 18 that's now on vacation and which you miss with creaking fondness. Remember the vigor of 40 when you're pushing your 82nd birthday.

Because the retina is the darkest part of the eye and it moves around, one can sometimes look into the eye of a jumping spider and see it changing color. When it is darkest, you are looking into its retina and the spider is looking straight at you.

I've been working a long time on getting my mental image of my face to line up with my actual face.

It's totally like staring into the sun. And having the sun stare also into you.

I felt like murdering them. All of them.

I don't like WarHammer because the feeling of hopelessness and helplessness (sorry, I like my fantasy/sci fi to have hope in it, I'm weird that way), but really doesn't this all come back to the same crap?

I keep thinking that I ought to become immune to this by now, but every time it gives me a punch in the gut. Hope springs eternal I guess, which is how it can be quashed over and over again.

He was an Imperial officer, and Imperials never gave up. Ever.

True to form for my life, the one in the laundry room decided I was a friend and tried to get me to play, and I had the hardest time convincing her that yes, I wanted her to leave. Holy f**k, one just WALKED ACROSS THE DINING ROOM SKYLIGHT. Several are crashing around on the porch. We are under siege. If you don't hear from me, send help; we have been eaten by tiny, deceptively appealing bears.

I'm grateful that you like me enough to greet me with somersaults and tail flips and leaps out of the water, which, since you are the size of trout, makes for a pretty impressive display. But truly, it's not really necessary to slam a quart of water into my face whenever you see me. Honestly, you don't have to worry about my drying out.

[[1]]

Suddenly the diffident and marginally competent Major Tierce who’d served as his military aide for eight months was gone. In his place stood a warrior. Disra had once heard it said that a discerning person could always recognize an Imperial stormtrooper or Royal Guard, whether he stood before you in full armor or lay dying on a sickbed. He’d always discounted such things as childish myths. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

A Royal Guardsman never seeks special privileges. Ever. His entire goal in life is to serve the Emperor, and the New Order he created. His goal in life, and his desire in death.

The being that I was is gone… the change is complete… But I am incomplete because you have made it so…

What a sweet little girl, plotting how she will eventually wreak bloody revenge on those who wronged her.

This jelly-like 1.5kg mass inside our skulls, containing hundreds of billions of cells which between them form something like a quadrillion connections, is responsible for our every action, emotion and thought.

This is the guy who was still so heavily loaded with shrapnel that he had to carry a doctor's note with him to all public buildings and airports, because he'd set off the metal detectors.

He retreats to an inward space as his body slowly fails him a step before his mind.

I can just imagine some sort of army having one of those radars and going "Sir! We're detecting high amounts of sexual energy!"

Anyway, humans breathe oxygen, one of the most poisonous materials in the universe. It's the same fucking thing that makes FIRE. It fucking kills METALS, and we need it to BREATHE.

I'm actually crying, right now, I'm laughing so hard at that one.

Point- it would be impossible to be insulted if you are able to understand every facet of an action.

Also, we used to use a couple variants on the fortune cookie thing in college: "in bed with whips and chains", and "thus ending the age of wonders". Uh, yeah, we were a bunch of geeks.

So sorry that life usually has consequences for you, pookie, but get over it. You take the responsibility, you take all of it. You don't get to pick and choose the parts you like.

Watch closely as I deftly flip these eggs in a needlessly dramatic fashion... WATCH CLOSELY! AS IF YOUR LIVES DEPEND ON IT! For, indeed, if you are as inept as I suspect you are, you would surely starve were it not for these... Very... Eggs.

In the foundation of our hearts, none of us sees ourselves as old. Mentally we are all teenagers—teenagers who happen to be trapped in increasingly unreliable bodies.

Rheum is a medical term for the natural mucus discharge from the eyes. It is formed by a combination of mucus consisting of mucin discharged from the cornea or conjunctiva, tears, blood cells, skin cells from the eyelids, and dust.

Kletecka, Dostis

[I spent time going through Ursala Vernon's Livejournal. Many bits are from it.]

I had this nightmare last night. I dreamed I was a dolphin. It sucked.

That hard, acrid chemical taste is really quite revolting to me--beer is even worse because it's chemical mixed with rot--and despite my ability to acquire many other tastes, like blue cheese and black coffee, alcohol eludes me.

I'm reading "The Mummy Congress" which is about mummy research. It's riveting. I am riveted. Like...big...steel...neat...rivets...The weird thing about reading while drugged to the gills is that you don't realize how out of it you're getting--you just keep focusing in on the written word until you look up and the world goes whomwhomwhom around you, gray sweeps in at the edges of your vision, and you make some witty observation like "Oooglleeey..." before sliding gently to the floor.

The funny thing about pain, though, is that anticipating pain is bad, and mysterious pain is scary and bad, but just plain jaw-shattering agony from a known source somehow isn't as bad as it could be. There's no anticipation--it hurts as bad now as it will five minutes from now. And there's no fear--I know exactly why it hurts, I know approximately when it'll stop (two days). So in a weird kinda way, it's more bearable than it could be.

First we had laws against illegal things. And that was fine. And then we started having laws against people doing stupid things to themselves, and that was not fine, that was bad, because it meant that common sense no longer held sway, and people could blame their stupidity on something other than themselves. And now we have laws against saving people's lives. And this is pure, profound idiocy.

I wander around snorfling and growling to myself and revisiting the age old truth that you shouldn't cry when lying on your back because your ears fill up with water, which tickles, and stomping snivelling into the bathroom to clean your ears out really ruins the mood of an otherwise perfectly good mope.

"Will this hurt?" "A great deal, yes." “In ways you have never imagined.”

Evolutionary Ingrates http://ursulav.livejournal.com/19596.html#cutid1

That's the one thing about religion I am absolutely not willing to dispense with--much, much better curse words.

I wonder if some people just get a lot angrier than other people--the maddest I've ever gotten, I never hit walls because I'm smart enough to know that hitting the wall will hurt me and cause structural damage to the wall, while not doing anything to affect the cause of the frustration. If I must do something hysterical, I will cry, since it's easy to clean up. But I know plenty of other people who, in a rage, will smack furniture or whatever, who don't seem any dumber than the usual run of people. So I dunno--it's possible that I deal with it better, or I'm repressing it all in something that will eventually erupt in a homicidal explosion. Or it's possible that I simply don't get that mad--I mean, I will display fits of temper where people walk around me on eggshells in terror of what I might say, but I never get into a screaming, blistering rage where I can't control my actions, the way that some people appear to.

Got a date, got a date with 7378

Eight months of sandal wearing means that I now feel like I've got cinderblocks strapped to my ankles. I pick up a foot. Ungh. I set it down. Thunk. I feel absurdly taller, as if I've got those pimpin' platform shoes with goldfish in the heels.

I like packing, as I've said before, but I pretty much hate every other part of moving, and generally spend it in a nerve-frayed state, waiting for Something To Go Wrong. Actually, "I hate moving" isn't descriptive enough. I feel it lacks resonance. How about "Moving gives me the feeling that my chest cavity has been filled up with a number of small furry animals, all of them milling about and climbing on top of each other with their tiny little sharp claws, and--this is the key bit--all screaming in unison."

But I will prevail! Once I can feel my hands again, once more into the breach!

"The Emperor's Embrace" by Jeffrey Moussaieff Masson

But I still nearly squealed. (I didn't, however. My gravitas is unshakeable. Also, I'd forgotten to breathe, so I didn't have anything to squeal with.)

"You know, I'll never forget..."

  • dead silence for at least a minute*

"You'll never forget what?" "What?"

Possibly I have some unresolved issues.

"Because I knew it would be more fun to listen to you grovel."

One should not lose entire families. It is not the natural state in which people should live.

My friend has had jaw surgery recently and is still on liquid and pureed foods. She has been extremely busy lately and has not had a lot of energy available to figure out how to eat with her jaws held together with rubber bands. I am going to evilly feed her before she sallies forth.

"core dump." Trying to compress into the course of a few hours an expression of who you are, for someone else's benefit, and to receive the same.

I am so exhausted I want to cry.

Snow smells like tin. I'm never sure if I'm a thin skin of transparent cheerfullness stretched over an abyss of grief, or a slightly melancholy tinge on a crazy hysterical joy. I don't know whether I want to laugh or cry or both. Large mammal seeing the end of winter. Deer and bears and for all I know, chickens and frogs probably do it too. It's that sort of feeling. I feel restless, full of some powerful emotion, but either there isn't a word for it, or there's a perfectly good word that I just never thought to apply. And just as this isn't quite the thaw smell, I don't feel quite like that--but the smell brings back those memories of that weird feeling, a sort of reminder, enough to make me a little jittery and generally useless in the studio, unable to concentrate for long enough periods of time.

Stomach acid has a pH of 1.2, which is only slightly higher than battery acid. One drop of stomach acid will burn through wood, drop to the floor, and burn through the carpet, and if chewing through all that didn't neutralize it, it would burn through the floor below as well. Drinking more than 4 oz of water within 20 minutes of a meal will disturb digestion by diluting the acid, which has a job to do.

It's like having a lover: you can be passionately intense but you don't really know where it's going...and for all the excitement, you know who you come home to.

Felt this terrible fragile happiness.

It's a good thing humans don't speak Bird, or else we probably wouldn't find these bloodthirsty paeans nearly so charming.

As people who have thrown their back out know, it's a weird sensation, it'll almost not hurt for a bit, and then you'll move a millimeter, or it'll just get bored, and everything suddenly seizes up and the world does a kind of breathless wobble-and-flop around you, and for a brief, bright moment there is nothing in the universe but you and the God of Back Pain. That's much worse. A low, perpetual ache is peanuts.

They have little pipes threaded along the edges of the patios, and every few minutes, they release a fine spray of mist. Because the droplets are so fine, and the air so dry, you don't get wet, you just get a wash of coolness across your skin as the droplets evaporate before they quite touch you

Birds are the scions of dinosaurs.

The entry told me that it was often confused for another, similiar owl, called a pulwit, so I was flipping back and forth between entries trying to figure out which one it was, and finally the fact that there was a heated battle going on in the rest of the house, between the last defenders of righteousness and an army of gobliny things, became too distracting and I had to stomp out, owl only tentatively identified, and kick some ass.

Nobody to the front of me Nobody to the back of me Nobody to the side of me There must be nobody here but me.. It's about the two of us Just the two of us It's always about just the two of us...

Also, the answer to "Will this hurt?" is not "Maybe a little," it is "Oh, hell, yeah."

Isn't that always the way, though? The agonizing ones don't bruise, even though you feel that much pain bloody well deserves it, and then you get something that looks like the Mark of Cain and you can't remember what the heck happened, maybe the desk gave you a sharp look or something?

I think I need a t-shirt made up that reads, "Because I'm the human. That's why."

It's a luxury to be able to take a stance of nonviolence. Someone has to buy it for you. Sometimes it’s you.

So, I've been having these heart flutters for a few years, and sometimes they're absent for a while, and sometimes they're very frequent and upsetting. And it's possible they're not even my heart...it's possible they're spasms in some other nearby organ; everything's so crowded in the box of your chest and abdomen that it's hard to tell what sensation is coming from what place.

Life isn't infinite and I'm tired of being sad and grieving for my lost self, the one that existed before I got sick. So I'm just not going to do it anymore. I'm done.

The distressing fact is that I often have no color except for purple shadows under my eyes and whatever color I've dyed my hair (currently red), but last night it occurred to me that I looked...normal. This might not mean anything to someone who hasn't walked around for several years looking like they were just a few steps above legally dead, but trust me, looking just normal is for me about as exciting as it would be for the average woman to wake up and find that all her cellulite has disappeared overnight.

A truly colorful fall, on the other hand, is like a thunderstorm, or thaw, an almost meteorological event, the sort where you don't know if you're happy or despairing, if you're on the verge of nirvana or a midlife crisis, a state where you actually comprehend "melancholy" as something other than the domain of comsumptive poets. It's not something you get used to quickly. A good fall will leave you wrung out and drained, the way you get when you're sick as a dog, wrapped in a welter of blankets on the couch, trying to find something on TV at 3 AM, and you find Bob Ross or TV evangelists and it's so damn funny and you're so weak that you start laughing and can't stop, and every time somebody said "Praise Jesus!" or "...happy little tree..." it sets you off again.

Because failure is only failure, but not doing it smacks of defeat.

The thought of 200K legal fees if he lost gave him pause, but Mavis, who's intestinal fortitude I have praised before, said "No. They Have Annoyed Me." This is the sort of ground where angels fear to tread.

I recall a show once where several scientists set out to see just how aggressive cottonmouths were. At one point, they were standing around poking the thing with sticks, trying desperately to provoke an attack, and the snake was just "Let me go, let me go, I have no quarrel with any of you, let me go, let me go." They eventually concluded that as long as you don't step on them, and don't try to play with them, you'll probably be fine. This is good advice with any animals, and most artists.

Not that he gets off scott-free on the wax front. The wax is a trifle messy, it sticks to things like, well, wax and I learned I had not cleaned up thoroughly when the plaintive cry came from the bathroom--"OH MY GOD! Why am I welded to the floor?!"

I go a step further. My shaving is so sporadic, and my skin in such bad condition right now, that I have PATCHES of hair of all different lengths. And I've got too many androgens, so the hair isn't just downy fluff, but dark mean tough wiry stuff that WILL NOT STAY DOWN. Shaving's kind of a pointless exercise for me. I wear long pants a lot.

You pulled the Catheter out with your toes? well my arms were tied down because I kept pulling out my IV's and chewing through my breathing tubes. Apparently I'm not a Nice Person when you dose me with steroids.

It hurts. As pain goes, it's a bizarre jabbing tingly thing, like a fine gauge wire drifting through my hand. It still hurts, too, and apparently it's not going away for at least a day. Ice helps, but once I remove it, it starts right back up. It is a weird and distracting pain.

Well, twentysome hours after the bite, it's subsided to only hurting when I move my hand, jar my hand, or think about touching my hand. No swelling, and other than a tiny crease, you can barely see where the bite was. So it could be a lot worse. Still, it's rather extraordinary how persistent it is--whang my hand, and it's a bolt of pain almost as intense as the first ten minutes of being bitten. There is a brief sense of the top of your head coming off.

A goldfish can live as long as a human, or longer.

Rocket trooper!

Naturally, the Dark Side/Light Side thing is mostly a non-issue. No survivor of Prof. West's 8 AM philosophy classes, taught by a snarky ex-Jesuit who could convince you that down was up and up was morally indefensible will ever be even mildly interested in the cheap social darwinism of the Sith, particularly not when delivered by an NPC whose metamucil I want to spike with arsenic. And I can be kind and charitable to low-poly models 'til the cows come home, because decades of gaming have hammered into me that no milkrun, however lowly, is below me. We live for milkruns. If I ever made a game, it would be a fantasy quest to deliver a bottle of dragon milk across a continent or something.

odd glasses and a girl on impulse he opened his wings and leaped

reason revan and furiously thinks you are not supposed to be

evidently i like things best when they're somewhere around the middle

what was in the way he hopped off half spreading his wings and shoved

Yeah, after the Big Moment, every time a dialog option showed up with some variation on "I don't have to put up with this crap, I'm the Dark Lord of the Sith!" I had to fight off temptation with a stick.

It is unbelievably fun. It is sick and twisted fun.

I’m still not quite sure what I was, but I’m damn sure I was not a derelict who raved to herself on street corners. Let’s have a little dignity here.

I think he may be the most purely ruthless hero I've ever tried to write. It's not that he's a bad guy, exactly, but he's very, very practical and in his world, there are no innocent bystanders and no such thing as collateral damage and absolutely everything is justified. He engages in no soul-searching whatsoever. It's a sort of moral feedback loop--"I have total confidence that I am right, therefore anything I do must be right and justified, because it's me doing it." It dovetails nicely with Rail, who is quite sure some of what she does is reprehensible, but believes firmly that her ends justify the means, because after all, it's her doing it.

Well, this is always what it comes down to in the end, being alone with yourself in the dark.

It's a weird thing to be grateful to one's own creations, and yet, not a bad sensation.

Having another living being around does something to the human brain. We're stronger in the company of other people, as much out of pride, I suspect, as anything more noble.

It's been the longest year of my life, and very nearly the worst. And I kept on going, and I kept being strong. And I kept throwing myself into things, because I thought that strength was inexhaustible. Guess not. Live and learn, huh?

I hate being so fragile.

Eventually you stop that queasy "I can't eat..." and start thinking "Man, I could totally go for something with salami about now." Before long panic fades, you think "God, I'm an idiot..." and sanity returns. Well, for a certain questionable value of sanity. It's me, after all.

One thing I did know is that there is a point where you shut off. The emotional breaker gets thrown, with an almost audible click, and suddenly you are cold, cold, cold. You are calm. You have never been so calm in your entire life. It is not a healthy calm. It is a bad, bad calm, the hurt calm that radiates out from the belly, the eye of the hurricane, the rattlesnake coiling, the old, cold little voice that comes into your brain saying I will take this from here. I encountered this before, during the bad bits of my divorce, and what I should have learned then is that when this hits, it has a purpose. The purpose is to give you time to stand up, get your purse, and walk away, time to say "Ah, yes. I see," and hang up the phone. This is the calm that lets you extricate yourself. Do not stay there and hope to remain calm. This is the airstrike your brain calls in to cover your retreat. It is a finite gift. Don't waste it.

I don't feel miraculously better, but I'm not seized with an urge to cry, and I'm not yelling at anybody inside my head, so there's a lot to be said for that.

Sort of like the way Vicodin works--you call still see all the pain, it's just on the other side of that vague grey wall there. It doesn't fix it, exactly, it just puts it at a distance so you can turn your head and say "No, no, we're not going to look at that..." and go on about the day. It cures no pain, it just slaps a restraining order on pain's ass.

More importantly, I feel like ME again. And crimony, you never really appreciate yourself until you're gone.

Have discovered I cannot chew. Send pudding.

And to think, it took only six years of them seeing me every day for them to decide that I'm not Satan.

Sometimes, without warning, the future knocks on our door with a precious and painful vision of what might be. Gods, I love Al Gore’s global warming speech.

Note to the cat: No, the turtles are not going to leap out of their temporary tank and fly through the air like Gamera and clamp themselves onto your nose, as rocks seldom become airborne without a precipitating event. So you can remove your claws from my neck anytime now. And why you think behaving like the result of an unholy alliance between a muffler and a cactus will save you from flying attack turtles anyway, I don't know.

Only problem so far is that I can't kneel or crouch in them. The leather bends fine, but I take a row of spikes in the back of the thigh, and nobody wants that.

I...I feel this strange feeling in my angry, blackened heart. I think it is called....love....

I have to admit that having animals that are so very dependent on us for their environment and whose environment can go toxic in the minute that you're not monitoring it, is getting old.

I am once again stupified by how much damage a small animal on a mission can accomplish.

"I am sitting here at home alone with large portions of my body covered in painted-on latex. Damn this is sexy. Why have I not done this before?"

I suspect part of it is that the last few moves I've made have been INCREDIBLY depressing--of the duct-tape-and-sobbing variety--so it's a bit Pavlovian--perhaps my brain now equates moving with despair. But moving into this place was good for me. I threw myself into it like a psychotic, trying to make a place that reflected ME, as part of that whole identity-nesting thing that you always go through after a divorce. You're not entirely sure who you're going to be, so "I am the person who lives HERE," is a pretty good starting point.

Suddenly you become a human thermometer. The metal bits can get really cold, and you feel that.

Will it change the whole world? Oh, probably not. The world is big and it rolls along with fine disregard for most of us. But it'll sure as hell change my corner of it.


A buddy of mine says that I just give off some kind of vibe that says in essence "I'm a very nice, laid-back person, and if you push me too far I WILL DESTROY YOU." I can't speak to the truth of that, but occasionally, at certain times of the month, I hope it's true.

Kill it with fire. Bring the grenades.

Dreamed I was a stormtrooper at Base, part of Tampa Bay, hit by it and taking Pyms, and desperate to keep anyone from knowing about it. But when I ran out of time, and I didn’t want anyone to know it was me, it was okay. Went around without my armor and talked to people. Part of how I got around involved balloons with strings in strategic places. I talked to Wedge in a cafeteria and was ridiculously happy about this. Because WEDGE! He was polite, but a little unnerved. I don’t think he knew why I was so happy.

"you open your mouth to scream, but you no longer have a throat, let alone a larynx!"

Ooh! ASL-swearing. A motion like clapping once, only with just the fore two fingers extended. Also similar to the rude Brit gesture.

A period of uncertainty led to a night and a day of what might charitably be called soul-searching. Verdict: Yup, I'm still me. (Not as obvious an outcome as you might think.)

That wasn’t scary. That was a cataclysmic primal force that crawled from the darkest depths of hell to wreak cosmic horror on all humanity.

I told him I believed in him... but did he believe me? And was I right to do so? The Jake I knew would never do something so awful... but he'd lost his memory. Could he have been a different person... before? All I know is, I doubted, and I think he doubted too...

I’m not in a good mood today, what with the whole destruction of everything I’ve ever known.

Clearly we’d not killed him hard enough.

"I have tried so hard to do right."

Remember: If the skirt is poofy and long enough, you can hide a person under there.

sense of community and camaraderie and nostalgia

Belief that life is meaningful, they are saying, seems to require a belief in something like justice. But, well, look around. For this idea of justice to matter in any meaningful sense then there must be more to it than what we see here in this world -- there must be some kind of transcendent justice in the long run, some kind of ultimate balancing of the scales for those wretched who suffered more than they deserved as well as for those wicked who may have inflicted or ignored that suffering.

Aerobatics! Long periods of aerobatics = nausea.

Made me think that being able to get around freely is one of these things you just can't possibly appreciate fully until it's curtailed, and then you realize how awesome it was to have been able to do that without even thinking about it.

Cardiopulmonary bypass

I mean, the freakiest thing my mom did was buy octopus tentacles, stick them down the kitchen sink drain so it looks like Cthulhu was trying to climb out, and stack a bunch of dirty dishes on top.

Sometimes I think my subconscious mind just likes toying with me.

The breaking story of the day was a Canadian politician who was being indicted because he attacked his political rivals with his massive zombie army.

fem(me fat)ale

If you want to control your teenager -- if you want to protect him from the big, bad world and to ensure that he never strays from or escapes the sheltering bubble of your religious subculture, that he never encounters any thought or feeling or emotion too big to put into words, too alive to define and categorize and pin down on cardboard -- then you really do need to prevent him from listening to music. Any music. And every single one of them meant it. Even if what it was they meant, specifically, was something they'd never be able to put into words. Music can do this. Even cheesy power ballads. It can take you out of yourself. It can catch you up. It can make you lose your cool. Music is not easily controlled or contained. Those who believe in controlling and containing every thought and every emotion -- whether hipsters or fundies -- would do best to avoid it altogether.

I've been feeling either a step behind or a step ahead, but generally at a fifteen degree angle to the rest of the world.

An order to put polish on my boots means the whole boot.

There's something kind of sad about people who succeed so completely that they stop existing on the same planet as the rest of us.

Scent reviews.

There are few things more pitiable and terrifying than a rabid ninja.

Something had locked itself in my old bedroom because it thought it was me. Some kind of variation on the thing-that-won't-die dreams, I think, except that it was less "really annoying" and more "absolutely horrific." Not even Ben could protect me, and my subconscious, resisting all knowledge of the psychology of cats, had him trying. I even dreamed that I woke up, and went to pet him, and found crusts of scar tissue all along his back, and of course that meant that it was real, and then I was right back in the dream again.

and then there was much panicking and running in circles and flapping of vestigial wings.

I have spent my entire life on a quest for the honey I had once in my youth, a wildflower honey, still in the comb, that tasted like the essence of wildflowers. It was lightweight and fragrant and melted on the tongue, and I would claw my way over the piled bodies of the dead to get more.

I'll match my hokey religion and ancient weapon against your blaster any day.

I actually had to go look up the difference between mania and hypomania -- apparently hypomania means the same emotional state but not as psychotic as true mania. (That is, true mania is a loss of contact with reality, while hypomania leaves intact the bit of your brain that can look at the rest of it and go, "Man, I am acting WEIRD!") No psychosis.

"Somnio ergo caeles" 'I dream, therefore I am divine'.

As Joseph Campbell once said, "Anyone that animals speak to, or offer aid to, wins."

  • after "What's the worst that could happen"* "Ooh, did you just feel that? It's like Fate just stood up and said 'ooh ooh I know the answer! Pick me!"

And then there was the time that my husband and I were deep in discussing our Champions tournament on the bus. "It's not enough to murder him," one of us said: "It's got to be messy. When they find him it has to send a message.." As the noise level on the bus dropped, we looked up to find that we suddenly had empty seats around us...

Despite all stresses there is an itchy kind of joy that fills up the back of my skull and the hollow spot under my breastbone. Something to do with spring and love and the belief that all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well (as St. Julian is supposed to have said.)

"It's a good life if you don't weaken."

The Lovecraftian citrus would be Buddha's Hand. It's also formally known as Fingered Citron, colloquially "the Cthulhu Fruit" among most varieties of Fandom, and almost invariably "time to call the produce manager over" when trying to check out of the grocery store.

Oooh. Now there's a power! Someone who can hear the soundtrack.

Sometimes you just wanna go "Pay attention, world! Somebody good died!"

"Bonk" by Mary Roach

I still keep doing this randomly. It's not even traumatic so much as just so WEIRD, ya know? I mean...really?

Anyone who talks to me on the phone has known me to utter such phrases as "Get off the ceiling!" and "STOP using the ironing board as a springboard!"

There are random crashing noises wafting up the stairs, as the cats systematically dismantle the house. I fear to go and assess the damage.

"Mad Scientist University" Any game where I can yell "We'll get to the center of the earth using genetically engineered eighty-foot tall lava-sucking mosquitos!" is a good thing.

You wear it so well.

"I have to wear two layers so they can't see the nipple rings."

[2]

Close my eyes to look at you.

Very odd, meeting someone you know well in some ways and not at all in others.

She is very bubbly and vivacious and ruffled my hair frequently, which was an interesting experience as people don't generally treat me like I'm cute. Particularly people who have to reach up to ruffle my hair.

Rabbits are cute to look at, but man, I get creeped out looking into their eyes. They're just...they're soulless, or something.

"I had to go through puberty twice, but it was worth it."

Just happens like that.

You’ll never escape me.

we turned off all the lights the other night, and I hear I didn't glow any more than usual

I could have my nose and my upper respiratory passages back any time now. Also my voice. Also my mind. Thankyouverymuch. Life without an immune system is so much fun.

Wow. Look at how much I get done when I don't sleep or eat.

This is the most bizarre virus. We're both tired but can't sleep, and have stomach-aches but are also constantly hungry. I think this virus is doing something with calories. Maybe it's building a particle collider.

There's no need to hog the cookies, 'cuz it's an infinite bag of cookies.

Yes! Just checked the mail and got my company-name registration. I am now something other than merely myself. Just wait. Someday I will rule the universe.

I am rapidly developing the impression that dealing with Israeli bureaucracy is like slamming your head repeatedly into a very slightly padded wall.

Crow is either terminally insane or having a really bad day and wants everyone to share it. Either that, or he is a Norse god really peeved about being imprisoned in the body of a small bird.

Crows with small, roughly triangular gullets attempting to swallow whole saltines: FAIL.

We named her Mystery, Myst for short, because her appearance in our lives was a mystery. And a blessing. And so it remains. As is true, I think, of all love.

Oh, WOW. There goes the mature eagle. If I thought having the juvenile eagle fly toward the house was impressive...oh. my. god. It's like having a deity turn up in your dishwasher, or something. Why should the sight of a bird move me to tears? It is just a prettily feathered North American vulture, really. In the most blazing white and depthless black. But oh, such magnificence on wings. This world is too beautiful and we'd better work damned hard to preserve it, because we are not the only beings who matter. it just soared over this megaconsumer development looking supernaturally beautiful and utterly out of place.

No, really. I'm not being sarcastic. I take the little ferry over to the city as a commuting method, but most of the people on it during the summer are tourists, and they're so happy and excited and smiling and taking photos and oohing and aahing over Seattle's considerable natural beauty, over which I am still not jaded after 18 (!!!) years. Then some of them take the little shuttle 'round Alki Point and there's more oohing and aahing when the view opens up to the beach. I love people loving my city...and even if we move, it'll still always be my city. But I don't love the tourist who just walked past the house, leaned over the fence, and picked yet another damned rose.

X was very social this past week. Now I'm solidly in control again, and I feel like crap. And weirded out by her actions. I got to jump in here and there, but a lot of it was her.

When bored supervillains don't have heroes to play stupid games with they tend to commit real crimes.

Palmares. Equally important was the complex political organization that these colonies developed, often based at least in part on traditional African practices, with their own kings, military discipline, and internal social stratification. In essence, they constituted nations in exile.

It's about half kendo, half fencing. Strangely, the Jedi never seemed to take advantage of the fact that the lightsaber is effectively bladed 360 degrees around and has no appreciable mass, and only rarely take advantage of the ability to retract and extend the blade at will.

Charivari - a noisy mock serenade (made by banging pans and kettles) to a newly married couple

But humans are pack animals, and it gives us enough sense of community to keep us from going insane.

“Aw c’mon stop complaining, this is fun!”

[3]

Super Tongan Nassarius. It is a snail. It sounds like a mecha anime.

Photos of it will not develop if taken.

No! I am not allowed to lust after X!

Avengers v3 56: "Lo, There Shall Come... an Accounting"

Nothing like waking up to find that a part of you died.

My mother learned to gauge how badly I was hurt or how scared I was by how hysterical the laughing was at the time.

Lagniappe: an unexpected bonus or extra

[4] "On the third day away from all people, I became silent. It began to happen almost immediately; now, I said nothing, calling my dogs only when needed, with a short whistle or a movement of my hand. Even the written word seemed obtrusive."

"I have a virtually complete copy of everything I missed. However, the DVR picks up all sounds and seems to favour things like paper rustling, overhead projector whirring, and air conditioning over the human voice, even though I can't imagine anyone wanting to record any of those noises. Despite using both the low cut filter (which is supposed to remove low frequency machine noise) and the playback noise filter, there's still an awful lot of distracting extra sound. And because the playback noise filter cuts out some human voice frequencies along with the noise, the speaker sounds somewhat robotic and some words are inaudible."

"Tell me about Rovac." "It's a place where the ground's the ground and the sky's the sky. The people there are born of women, some nine months after their parents couple. To live they eat and drink; at the end of living they find they die."

I am a woman, not a pod babies grow in. I'm not the life support system for a womb and ovaries.

[5]

Presume not that I am the thing I was, for I have turned away from what I once was. Oh, it is excellent to have a giant's strength! But it is tyrannous to use it. (PLOT GIZKA. Yay TSSM!)

Informatio-Scope

FESTIVAL OF STUPID!

My name comes from Greek for "rational"! That or it's derived from "Alice", which is derived from French "Adelais" which is in turn derived from old Germanic "Adalheidis", "of nobility". "Alexander" and its derivatives mean "Defender/protector/savior of mankind." ARGH STOP WITH THE PLOT GIZKA.

I had an aunt who believed that the world would end in 1978; Apocalypse and riders and all.

Everyone who knew me before thinks I'm dead.

Leyolet! Why didn't I think of that before?! See, "Level Up", said really quickly and with my weird inflection, sounds like "Leh vyol yup", and at some point I just started using Leyolet. Okay then.

"I've put on enough muscle in my legs that even relaxed-fit pants are painfully tight and cut off my circulation. By texture, it's not fat."

You guys, you guys, I finally discovered what everyone's been saying: skilled dancing is incredibly sexy! Yeah, I know, but I'm slow at figuring these things out. Skilled dancing is awesome. And so is this!

Tech bubble, housing bubble, thaumic bubble.

Big face on a big neck.

Many soldiers, when they march into battle, do so with their heads down like they're going into a strong wind, hunkered down to present a smaller profile. Not us. Our heads are high, backs straight, daring the enemy.

Ladarks

Je ne sais quoi. "I don't know what."

Or Xenos. That means "stranger" in Latin.

http://www.worldwideschool.org/library/books/lit/poetry/TheSpelloftheYukon/chap19.html

DON'T LOOK DOWN.

"[And] the children were asking, where is the boy who is Jesus Christ? We have seen his controversy in the East and are come to go trick-or-treating with him. And lo, the boy who is Jesus Christ and his followers went trick-or-treating, and received gifts of Butterfingers, Kit-Kat bars, and M and Ms. Plus some weird old guy who gave them myrrh. And having been warned by the older kids not to go to Old Lady Murray's house, they got into their parents' cars and returned home by another way."


"He'd lost his home, his family, his past. All that was left to him was his future, one that had then seemed threatening instead of inviting." I love Wedge.

[Some whispering poem was calling us home, to a place we know never existed.]

Chris texted from DC that his plane crashed and he was dead, but thought he'd be okay. I wrote back and told him to stay out of the sun.

You have destroyed me utterly.

Do it again.

What's love? This sense of freezing-bitter loss, the pit of anguish whose eyes I can't quite bring myself to fully meet yet, and which I am becoming heartily sick of? Or the way the sunlight catches briefly on a strand of your hair and the world collapses itself into a breathless and giddy moment of beauty, as piercing and pure-tasting as ice water? The moment in which I catch a breath of your scent by accident and, before I check myself, am moved to bliss?

It's November, and I can feel myself dying again. I'm starting to forget how many times it's been, but then I've never been fantastic with numbers. I wonder what new thing will rise from my compost heap this time?

FDR: "A radical is a man with both feet firmly planted — in the air. A conservative is a man with two perfectly good legs who, however, has never learned to walk forward. A reactionary is a somnambulist walking backwards. A liberal is a man who uses his legs and his hands at the behest-at the command — of his head."

Siren (ginger, jasmine, vanilla and apricot)

He is a lovely, lovely singer. His acting skills are on par with a certain Captain James "The T Stands For Manwhore, What Do You Mean I Failed Spelling?" Kirk portrayer.

'Don't worry about the world coming to an end today. It's already tomorrow in Australia !'

'Be yourself. Everyone else is taken!'

Fainting: "I was walking, and then I was asleep with silent blackness all around me, and then I heard music and people talking and dishes clinking like at a party, and then I woke up and I was sitting in a chair with worried people all around me and my vision was clouded with little silver-edged black sparkles. I felt like I had been asleep for hours, but everyone said it was only a few seconds. I kept asking "Where am I?" but I knew where I was, I just couldn't comprehend what was going on. I felt like I must have traveled some enormous distance, I must have passed out and been unconscious for hours, surely they would have taken me to a hospital, so why would I still be at the doctor's office? It was completely disorienting. Being passed out felt just like being asleep."

Let me insert a slightly more annoyed rant about what it's like to be a non-traditional bio-female in the army. Judging from what other people say, every female (I think we're still at less than 10% of the total military population) has this same rocky reef to navigate, so my own personal set of grievances is just the way that this institution manifested in my case. I have heard it summed up like this: - If you don't sleep with any of the army guys, you must be a lesbian. - If you sleep with one army guy, then you're probably okay, or at least normal. - If you sleep with more than one army guy, then you're a total slut and deserve no respect. - (And if you watch enough Powerpoint briefings, bullet points really start to grow on you.)

Dantooine - dorian passion fruit

"Spontaneous Knotting of an Agitated String"

Breathe easy?! I'm trapped inside a psychopathic corpse! I can't get out!

I am the boomstick.

I have needs now - dirty, horrible needs.

I, for one, think it's pretty awesome that a god-tier space lord with phenomenal cosmic powers can just kick back every so often and have a brew with his dad, talking about all the wicked cool shit he's been doing.

I'm happy, hope you're happy too.

The main difference, I guess, is that the hydraulic “muscles” work more by pushing, while human muscles work by pulling.

Tomorrow starts today.

Dead!

"And that's why I don't like magic, Captain. 'cos it's magic. You can't ask questions, it's magic. It doesn't explain anything, it's magic. You don't know where it comes from, it's magic! That's what I don't like about magic, it does everything by magic!"

I thought it was a guiding omen, but it screams in the night.

Greek term thauma (marvel)

Technically, Zaktan from Bionicle. When his old boss tried to vaporize him, he was somehow able to pull himself back together as microscopic "protodites". In this new, permanent state, Zaktan can easily avoid attacks by turning into an insect swarm; change the shape of body parts; heal damage by filling the gaps with Protodites; and engulf a foe in an attack that must feel like getting hit with thousands of needles. Zaktan himself calls it a curse however, as his voice now sounds like a crowd speaking; and whenever he wakes up he can feel his body shifting "where there once were tissue and solid metal".

The boss of a level who plans to kill a bunch of civilians to cover his tracks is revealed to be an ex-employee of Stark industries fired for stealing supplies: "My inventions helped make you rich Stark! You never should have fired me!" Tony (Iron Man) "You were stealing pens!"

[lj-cut text = "This is a massive piece of ASM"] Lots of pictures [/lj-cut] But with pointy brackets instead of square brackets.

"Tony is molested by technology" is almost as popular an Iron Man storyline as "Something's wrong with Tony's heart/nervous sytem/etc--again!" Then there's the combination plot of "Tony's armor is killing him, yet he keeps wearing it anyway because he's just that stubborn."

"See, a side-effect of being able to break bricks with my bare hands is that I have a hard time fitting into clothes that are designed for the average woman. My arms are just too big and muscular (and so are my thighs, and my calves…)"

Human brains are 21% of our bodyweight.

"humans are actually very weak for animals their size, due to a difference in muscle protein structures. A typical adult chimpanzee could rip the arms off an Olympic weight lifter." "Chimps have a lot of dense quick-burst muscle, but they can't swim and they have very poor endurance." "Humans have great long-term endurance, though." "Yeah. We're built for chasing gazelles. For miles. Until the damn thing falls over from exhaustion and we beat its head in with whatever's handy. (See Niven's "Folk Tale.") Lions can't do that. They're sprinters." "The average office worker (ie, unfit sod who walks at most a mile a day) can train themselves up within a month to run 4-5 miles in one go, and then you have this thing called a 'marathon'. I don't think anyone even contemplates asking a horse to do that. That's not even counting how long someone can row or cycle for."

Human endurance running ability has been inadequately appreciated because of a failure to recognize that "high speed is not always important," Bramble says. "What is important is combining reasonable speed with exceptional endurance." Hairless, clawless, and largely weaponless, ancient humans used the unlikely combination of sweatiness and relentlessness to gain the upper hand over their faster, stronger, generally more dangerous animal prey, Harvard Anthropology Professor Daniel Lieberman said Thursday (April 12). “Humans are terrible athletes in terms of power and speed, but we’re phenomenal at slow and steady. We’re the tortoises of the animal kingdom,” Lieberman said. [6] While animals get rid of excess heat by panting, they can’t pant when they gallop, Lieberman said. That means that to run a prey animal into the ground, ancient humans didn’t have to run further than the animal could trot and didn’t have to run faster than the animal could gallop. All they had to do is to run faster, for longer periods of time, than the slowest speed at which the animal started to gallop. [7]

I love being human.

Another Idea Bank dump.


Unfinished Story Ideas

Title: It's part of the Revan Saga. This part could easily be called "Five Years". Names: Revan. Elisa Freeman. Gist: Ask for character. Dark room, eyes very wide, ears very sharp, distracted, blindsided, no v/h, fighting, “Finish me now!”, doesn’t happen. Lingers, lasts. Walks away, Revan’s compensating and on edge(paranoid! Paranoid!), Elisa is d/b and scared, little communication – attempts. Throat vibration, monitoring tongue and lips, no idea w/out sound. Revan can’t read English. Elisa can’t read Aurebesh. War robes, war mask, bogan, intimidation factor up. Make it back to CC, one-sided conversation, healing trance. FIVE YEARS. FIVE YEARS, and Fake Rip Van Winkle it to twenty. No! More! AWESOMESAUCE.

On the Saga: Gwah. Maybe meld them all into one again. And get some things straight. Call her "Elisa Freeman", do this consistently. She's a potter, she is an art major at Midtral, her family is up in Wisconsin, she has a brother named Kris. Her father, Jack, works for American Airlines as a pilot. Yes, this is suspiciously self-insertiony, but I've already come this far.

The Great Pacific Garbage Patch. "At least 1,500 miles wide (give or take, could be much larger, no one's quite sure because it's a bit difficult to measure), 30 meters deep, 80 percent plastic, and 100 percent appalling." I wish I could get rid of it for real. Damn. Oooh. That island of plastic in the Pacific... I bet I could do something with that. Yeah... FMA is popular enough, and even if not, there's sure to be mages or something who could work it out. Why not? Displacement of seawater wouldn't be an issue, not like raising seamounts. Okay! It's settled! A new country, maybe? Hmm. Not just one mass, there would be several "islands", chained together. Propulsion systems. A hospital-type facility on one, for the long-term cases. Yes. Yes! It's good!

Title(tentative): Eh, why not? "Joysweeper". A little narcissism can be fun. Names: Let's use my real name, shall we? Gist: Self insertion for the win. Things that I have/could get: wings, ear thingies, contact lenses, Ace bandages, some kind of tail, possibly press-on canines. Forehead horn? I don't know. I could buy one, but... Anyway. Family is in Orlando why? Laborday Weekend, right. Maybe won a discount for Disneyland. I go to the Kublai Con on the second day, dropped off. I see Freeman in her Revan costume, don't have the nerve to go over and talk to her, berate myself about it. Describe the Ignore Her effect, if applicable. Get mopey. It happens in the handicapped stall. Everyone and anyone else leaves. Forehead horn, corner-of-jaw horns. Maybe backswept horns and spinal ridges, might be a bit much. Bone, smooth, sharp, maybe coated with enamel or something. Scales where appropriate, the foot thing, special wing-arm. Trapped in the bathroom, can't push door. Ceiling looks high. Make something rudimentary out of a bit of bandage, waits until door gets opened - it's Anj, but he doesn't notice - flee. Afraid to fly - the heights thing - get kicked, latch onto a leg. Wingclaws - maybe not normal venom. Maybe that agent I've been thinking of... hmm. It's a thought. Find some kind of ending, okay?

Title(tentative): "Everest". "Because It's There". Names: Hnn. Let's say - Daniel, Edward, Leah. Maybe don't bother with last names. But if needed - Batey, Alden, Piwarski. College student directories are useful, useful things.

Gist: Everest. VG, werewolf type A, snowtrooper. Probably need a few others. Guides, right? Timeframe, keep it vague. At least a year after, possibly more. First Xanadu people(need to find a name for that) to climb Everest; can say that supers have flown to the top before, but that doesn't count. Supplies get sabotaged. Freak out the guides, make them leave? Howling in the night. Antagonists? Climate is one. Yeti? Ferals? Terrorists, c'mon, you've thought about it. Should have some Xanadu connection. Oooh - Xanadu has caused right-and-left wing antiglobalists to band together, possible Islamic connection - they don't believe that it isn't the result of a secret gov't project. The costumes are thought to be entirely supportive of Jewish conspiracies. Refer to notes. But just because you hate and fear something doesn't mean you won't use it. Hmm. Send Dan down the mountain, hole up Ed and Leah for a while, food running out, power packs get sabotaged/stolen. Storms. Major storms. Drive them out into one. Confrontation. Rescue should come in the denoument, if then.

"8113. You are 8113. That is what you will respond to from this point on. 8113. We need you." Yeah. Leah wants an identity that's more than a designation, more than one of the few female troopers. Yeah. Edward is a secondary. Let's say... mmm... bioluminary tattoos are all the rage after Xanadu, he got bit by a were, couldn't be fully cured - reaction to the tattoo - ended up a type A, which isn't a bad thing. Why? Well, he's always wanted to do it. Were-ing out would make it easier. That's part of it, anyway. Daniel? Exploration. Listen to a lot of LoZ music.

Okay. Daniel... I want him to be mute, but avoid the obvious way to get around it. Hells. I've played versions of LoZ, I know the character never speaks, but everyone knows what he's getting at. Sure! He can say "Hey" and maybe "Whoa" or "C'mon" and one or two others, but is otherwise pretty much wordless. Same with writing and typing, perhaps a few words at most. Okay. No regular telepathy, that wordless form that came up you know where. Portrayed "Dan looked up, blinking, and told them that if they were going to fight they really should get to it already." Yeah, that could work. Get Leah to repeat things back - "No, I'm not cold" and not be aware of it. Happens all the time in Star Wars. Don't make a big deal of it.


Title(tentative): "Shell", perhaps. Names:… I'm actually thinking first-person for this. Hold off on the names for a while Gist: Powered armor. I love it, and I need to make this as obvious as possible. Maybe more. Iron Man was great in that regard(and in most others). Soo... We start with my protag waking up and finding that something is wrong. Let's say she(male originally, original character) was killed a week after the Event, body dissolved or something, and brought back in armor. But! The protag is in the armor itself, the character is wearing it. Refer to notes on AI ghosts. And that bit about the difference between a Stranger and a Palim. She could be my WBH.

"I was! I'm not anymore."

"After it happens, they all ask each other, 'why didn't somebody act? It could have been so different.' So many times, it's kept from happening. Somebody can't be everywhere, and they don't remember that. Somebody has a lot of hard and thankless work, but somebody has to do it. Guess what? You're somebody too."


"Don't take it so personally. They are what they were made to be. I'm sorry. I forgot. You are what you were made to be, too." - I love Nealan of Queenscove and Keladry!


...You know what? If for the self-insertion I'm really going to have... that ... happen, that still leaves my family. And my stuff. You know... could be a total blank who picks my ID up and wonders "Was this mine?" Or could be a Stranger. Could be... could be... NO NO NO NO! I won't! I don't even know where to start! It would be interesting. It would be so boss. But gaddammit, I can't. Yet. It's out there. I keep thinking about it! Because it makes sense. Even as a complete and total Stranger who looks at his own previous parents with nary a trace of recognition - the character I have in mind would visit anyway, stay over for a two day period or visit for the holidays(because naturally he would be... busy). The chara I have in mind would feel all guilty if he didn't do that at the minimum. It'd be interesting to speculate how they'd react on all sides. They'd be losing me, but I am a nerdy money-sink artsy loner who makes a really good sounding board - they'd think, maybe after some convincing, that I'd become the chara I have in mind. I don't think they even know that I like him! And he is - he is a leader, an inspirational archetypal good-guy chara. Who happens to be a soldier, a ridiculous athlete(A mile in just over a minute?!), a baseball fan, an artist, and a big pretty blond man. Wow. This is completely untapped territory! Completely!

...Am I actually considering this? Gaaah!

I'd need some reason why they'd think he was me, instead of just picking up my stuff at random. Oh, I know! On That Day, I'm wearing a Cap-related T-shirt("Cap Was Right", maybe), and there is actually a photo with me in the background or whatever to confirm this. Also, a button on my bag that has that design. Ooooh. I don't think I can actually do this yet... but damn if it's not interesting. Particularly if I waffle on actually having ... that ... happen and it gets cleared up a few weeks after the visit. And hey, it's not like I actually have to use my folks. It would just be mean if I vanished during the Event and they never got any closure.


DISSOLVED INTO A CLOUD OF BEES. Bees. My God. [/DC reference] I love it. Cloud of bees! Swarm, the Nazi-made-of-bees? [/Marvel reference] Nah. Hate Nazis. Inspired by, maybe. Human skeleton? Mmm. Maybe. Form a human skeleton made of beeswax? YES! YES! Not regular bees, tougher, something more like certain ants, can link up to pull on the bones like muscles. Utter nonsense! I love it! "As I watched, he stumbled, his skin bunching unnaturally, as if he was instantly being covered in boils - he fell, too fast for me to react, fell flat on his face. As he hit he dissolved, coming apart like a crumbling sandcastle into a swarm of hundreds, thousands of bees. They droned, coalescing into a cloud, and shot off in a stream. I saw his clothes, empty but for a few stragglers struggling out of the folds." Bees. Bees. I love it.

Y'know... okay, some kind of AIM. One-sided. "Shakennotstirred" for the Bond connection. Can maybe do it

 like this.  Yeah, this could work.  Looks kind of disruptive, but it could work.

"Take off your gloves". Hnn. Can cameo VvD(Hee!). Cargo crates at entrances, put a TR as guard. The schism. Maybe. I don't think they'd be the antagonists, though. Need someone else. Or something. Raise an army? Of what? I love how ridiculously obscure my notes are. If you-who-is-not-Joysweeper is getting any of this, I commend you.


Links

Has he lost his mind, dare he see or is he blind/ can he walk at all or if he moves will he fall/ Is he live or dead, has he thoughts within his head. We'll just pass him there, why should we even care?

[8] Isn't it beautiful what hands can do?

Cosplayers

["Tony Stark 2.0's Top 5 Positives about no longer possessing an organic human body." http://community.livejournal.com/scans_daily/5872615.html]

People are strange, when you're a stranger. [9]

Just listen to this again. Next time, though, wait for daybreak.

[10] Con costume-bingo card.

[11] The quotes I cut to save space.

X-Men Meets Wicked. Catchy.

Why Superman Will Always Suck.

Terry the Talking Raven. Interesting. Related are some bits with talking crows who are not nearly as coherent, but Victor the parakeet tops them all by having some degree of meaning in what he says. Talking birds all seem to have a "type".

[12]

Regender

Yuri the Only One For Me

Geeks in Love, Word Disassociation.

[13]Enthusiastic feline fitness FTW!

[14]Cellblock Tango

[15]. I love the world

Birth of Sandman

Free speech does not equal scientific theory! This is a good one. Have a little respect for the "scientific minority". Exactly what that has to do with inspiring me is unknown. But it gives me happy shivers, so it can't be all bad.

James Gurney's articles on how "character designers have developed clever ways to infuse animals with human personalities." [16] [17] [18] [19]

[20] DUDE! YES! AWESOME! FIVE YEARS!

Lots of motivational posters here. Verrry interesting. "Tribute to Gary Gygax". Hmm.

This was intended to be part of an epilogue for a story Bryan and I are working on. Then it got long. I had a lot of fun with it, though.

Motivational posters for supervillains.

Woo, episodes of Avatar. I feel all warm and squirmy inside!

"Little Brother"

The Nearness of You. Love and loss...


Fangirling.

"Dude, it's Captain America. He believes in freedom, justice, civil liberties, gay rights, gender equality and yeah, that means punching men and women without discriminating."

Swinging on a Star

[21]

[22]

"Doesn't matter what the press says. Doesn't matter what the politicians or the mobs say. Doesn't matter if the whole country decides that something wrong is something right. This nation was founded on one principle above all else: the requirement that we stand up for what we believe, no matter the odds or the consequences. When the mob and the press and the whole world tell you to move, your job is to plant yourself like a tree beside the river of truth, and tell the whole world - "No, you move."" --Captain America

[23] "That’s what Cap stands for. Righting wrongs and being righteous in your life."

"God damn! How'd he do that? I mean he's only a human mutated to the apex of physical perfection with a genius for tactics and battle strategy... oh." - Mightygodking's "I Don't Need Your Civil War"

"Also- Tony, you don't think an event of this magnitude is worth some attention, maybe you could start figuring out what's going on- or I guess you could dig through every cell-phone video, security camera footage, and satellite photo possible to find the most heroic and manly shots of Steve, set them up aesthetically above your worktop, and stare at them. I'm sure SHIELD will be able to handle things. That's probably about what they were expecting you to do anyway."

A trimmed-down conversation: "Steve did a whole bunch of advertising work in the '80's, and he illustrated the Captain America book for Marvel just after that. That's actually my favourite period of Cap. I should probably post some. Steve's private life was just as important as his professional hero life at that point, and they really got into it a lot." "..He illustrated his own book? I find that very funny, even though I'm sure you mean his in-the-MU book. Was he hired as Steve Rogers to do that?" "Yup, and he didn't just illustrate it. He told the writers and editors off for making it too violent and out of character. It was as Steve Rogers, with his lovely illustration portfolio, which doubled as a shield case at the time. [...] Like, he walked into work at the Marvel offices to hand in his pages, and reamed out the guys there. It was weird. It was a good job for him too, because eventually he went on one of his periodic "Rediscover America by traveling it all on motorcycle" phases, and he could just mail in his pages." That is so boss!. I love character-creator conflict. And the idea of a character having input on his own book?! "RAH RAH" walked out on this one!


Misc Thought Oh, wow, intelligent comments! "He's never been a personification of American nationalism -- he's a personification of American IDEALS." "At heart, 616's Captain America is, I think, still a dreamy artist in the body of a greek god."

"It's in Classic-verse #3, when the Avengers are arguing over what movies they need to make Steve watch. The awesome part is that Steve is canonically a Tolkien fan. There's panel somewhere in either volume 1 Cap or volume 1 Avengers where he's mentally listing the greatest cultural accomplishments of the 20th century, and Tolkien's on the list."

It has nothing to do with anything, but it made me laugh. I love scans_daily. ...And I, too, want Steve Rogers. Damn it, come back from the dead already!

"I'm not sure if I want Steve or just his stuff!" "This is very bad for me as a comic fan. Steve's a wonderful blend of manly and metero. I want all my men to have nice clean homes yet be manly! ;__;" "We only have one hope! Making comic book characters real and then (scratched out)fight for them!(/scratched out) clone them!" "Yes! But I get the feeling that I'd be lecture for my less than clean habits. *glances around her dorm room*" "And really we'd have to be careful because when you really thing about Batman or Superman wouldn't be the best of boyfriends." "This is why I go for the Marvel boys, they're less scary. But damn, Bats and Supes. Damn."

Get up so I can knock you down! “We start off with a would-be hero who fights purely enough, only to slowly hit a snare thanks to his beliefs. Then it gets worse as time goes by until he’s responsible for untold damage. Once things look their bleakest, we get the hero we weren’t even sure we were ever going to find. The build up steams and we return to our villain, who has reached almost complete insanity. Things come to a head and we get the coolest fight scene ever with some of my all-time favorite comic lines (“Get up so I can knock you down!!”). And just as the fight comes to an end with a true victor, it goes directly into a strong conclusion.”<- Ooh ooh! Maybe a robot/mecha character for the WBH? Heart beats strongly, pulsing in throat, temples, gums. Stops. "You can't feel yourself breathe. You can't feel your heartbeat. And you can't recognize the man in the mirror"

Joysweeper really likes Cap. Oh, responsibility!