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Oct. 25th, 2011 08:50 pmNow night comes on conspicuously abruptly. Or so you might think, but - me, me I've been watching and I have noticed that the moment the sunlight gets through my window and peels back my eyelids, from that moment on, first thing of the day - it's getting darker and darker, the night comes on, suspiciously, conspicuously - all day long. I have had the leisure to discover this and I share my findings. This is intelligence gathered in obscurity.
Not that it's all obscure, and in fact today is a new thing of the recent times - today is a slow quiet thing that trembles like a bird in the hand - it did and does - I caught today and didn't hold it, didn't seize it, didn't use it.
But working backward - yesterday. B came and got me after some goading and I went with her to Toledo - which place has its own Genius Locii - a spirit of place as unalike to the Wasteland as coffee from tea. Clean and bright and somehow unfrayed - even it's tattered edges are lined in dark-bright borders - it's all very clear there. We went to see the fallen places, and which places had a distinctly unfallen flavor. The abandoned hospital was inaccessible, the landscaping somehow - sweetly intact - it settled on you, that place -like rest and calm and good whiskey. Leaving it behind to find the gutted, enormous highschool, likewise unapproachable, but beckoning - courteously - it was grand and unassailable and we left the hurricane fence unbent. Finally to the emptied hotel - which was 11 stories and a roof and a swimming pool filled with broken glass. In the conference rooms - carefully named for the Ohio Presidents, grandly in brass, lettered by machines - in there were all the mattresses, all the desks and bureaus, all the tables and the coffee services, all arranged and arrayed. In their midst someone's campsite. I found the remaindered copy of barely legal and thought to leave with it one of the Gideons' bibles that were easy enough to find. Up and up into it - room after room, you could see the method employed, by, I think the squatter. Piece by piece the toilets were dismantled, robbed of copper fittings, bit by bit the walls were opened and wires withdrawn - floor by floor and maybe he worked from home, that home. Maybe he worked every day and thought how he'd survive a bit longer, picked out a mattress and a chair and looked longingly at the abandoned Viking range and plotted how to take it away.
Having so much while technically having nothing - that's the inmost mystery of the Wasteland, of the whole fallen world. To go, constantly - effortlessly without - and to be just fine. There's a way of grace you know? It's a way of life that's easily led, but only alone, only when you aren't observed.
Before that we gamed, on Sunday night, all day on sunday, a normal thing, a good enough game. I run it -the Carrion Crown - satisfactory. But in the earliest part of the day I'm hung over and need to shake that by the time the gamers arrive. No sweat it's done.
I earned my hangover at Melt Banana - down the street. I'd been out of the house and on my way to look for something, a thing to do - out and among people, and then remembered- at the 11th hour, that I could go and see Japanese Hardcore and was gratified that I was able. It was the Cat-Cat tour and it was fine. Nimoy was there and so was Ras-Sinister and I had a good experience with both of them and with Antonio - who just before, earlier in the day had driven me to Columbus to see my cousin and my brother and to take me and Agatha to meet Billy D. Williams - who, for a kings ransom would sign articles. Those articles, now framed, and once suitable for framing are in the house now - the spoils of comic-con adventuring. That time was good and the days that followed, and now it's rest - and peace and the day is like a bird, trembling in my hand that I let go and didn't think to keep.
Not that it's all obscure, and in fact today is a new thing of the recent times - today is a slow quiet thing that trembles like a bird in the hand - it did and does - I caught today and didn't hold it, didn't seize it, didn't use it.
But working backward - yesterday. B came and got me after some goading and I went with her to Toledo - which place has its own Genius Locii - a spirit of place as unalike to the Wasteland as coffee from tea. Clean and bright and somehow unfrayed - even it's tattered edges are lined in dark-bright borders - it's all very clear there. We went to see the fallen places, and which places had a distinctly unfallen flavor. The abandoned hospital was inaccessible, the landscaping somehow - sweetly intact - it settled on you, that place -like rest and calm and good whiskey. Leaving it behind to find the gutted, enormous highschool, likewise unapproachable, but beckoning - courteously - it was grand and unassailable and we left the hurricane fence unbent. Finally to the emptied hotel - which was 11 stories and a roof and a swimming pool filled with broken glass. In the conference rooms - carefully named for the Ohio Presidents, grandly in brass, lettered by machines - in there were all the mattresses, all the desks and bureaus, all the tables and the coffee services, all arranged and arrayed. In their midst someone's campsite. I found the remaindered copy of barely legal and thought to leave with it one of the Gideons' bibles that were easy enough to find. Up and up into it - room after room, you could see the method employed, by, I think the squatter. Piece by piece the toilets were dismantled, robbed of copper fittings, bit by bit the walls were opened and wires withdrawn - floor by floor and maybe he worked from home, that home. Maybe he worked every day and thought how he'd survive a bit longer, picked out a mattress and a chair and looked longingly at the abandoned Viking range and plotted how to take it away.
Having so much while technically having nothing - that's the inmost mystery of the Wasteland, of the whole fallen world. To go, constantly - effortlessly without - and to be just fine. There's a way of grace you know? It's a way of life that's easily led, but only alone, only when you aren't observed.
Before that we gamed, on Sunday night, all day on sunday, a normal thing, a good enough game. I run it -the Carrion Crown - satisfactory. But in the earliest part of the day I'm hung over and need to shake that by the time the gamers arrive. No sweat it's done.
MELT-BANANA from We Have Signal on Vimeo.
I earned my hangover at Melt Banana - down the street. I'd been out of the house and on my way to look for something, a thing to do - out and among people, and then remembered- at the 11th hour, that I could go and see Japanese Hardcore and was gratified that I was able. It was the Cat-Cat tour and it was fine. Nimoy was there and so was Ras-Sinister and I had a good experience with both of them and with Antonio - who just before, earlier in the day had driven me to Columbus to see my cousin and my brother and to take me and Agatha to meet Billy D. Williams - who, for a kings ransom would sign articles. Those articles, now framed, and once suitable for framing are in the house now - the spoils of comic-con adventuring. That time was good and the days that followed, and now it's rest - and peace and the day is like a bird, trembling in my hand that I let go and didn't think to keep.
