it's 3:19 a.m., on 2001-05-21 - red-faced hell.

~

Now that I have two more surveys under my belt, I'm going to do a real entry. But I'm probably going to whine. Because my eyes hurt and my neck hurts, and my head REALLY hurts. I think I've been archiving too much.

I need some aspirin.

'I wanna mmm' just came on, and I'm feeling content. Right before that was 'I know,' by fiona apple. The survey asked about religion, and revolutionaries, and I answered 'worm-clock' and 'king mob' and 'anya', for both of them, which shows how much my own pantheon and star chart has permeated my thinking. I don't know whether it goes skin deep... but words are nothing but skin deep, so it comes out more often than it should.

Words are nothing more than skin deep. It's true. Action, doing, shows. Saying, doesn't.

Stuart doesn't say things. He's shallow enough that he knows what saying things really means.

~*~

From the email I'm writing to river:

Something that came to me today-- I don't know where or how or what, but this feels shift-related, and nastynasty to the core. No subtle, lucky sadness, either; just hard-on, grinding, knife-cutting/bone-cutting pain.

But ethan's like that.

*

Have you been a very bad man, Ethan? Have you been a very scary man?

...

Ethan Rayne is learning that chaos, indeed, isn't a very fun place.

Sure, there's the excitement and the never-ending surprises and the *color*, god, he was never going to get tired of the color. But then there's the pain, too, and all these infuriatingly dull questions.

...

"C'mon, Ripper, you sound like a schoolboy at lessons, still! Put your *back* into it! Put your *power* into it!"

*

Yes, the last line is Ethan remembering fucking his schoolboy chum. Yes, I know that it's got nothing to do with anything and somehow, I'm seeing Ethan in a place that resembles Dante's Hell, with the seven circles and the rigid control and the traditional fire and brimstone. Probably some of the less traditional fire and brimstone, too, in the replaying of old-Ripper memories, and the watching as Ripper turns away from him, so slowly, into that thing which they both used to hate the most: control.

And feeling that control, too, like hot-pokers up the arse and chains, tight but efficient, nothing of that wild-abandon that Ripper used to chain him up with. That kind of hell.

I see it as the color red.

~*~

And then I wrote a whole bunch more, but I'm sleepy now, so I'm going to go to bed and see if I can't wake up when river does.

Mileage to all of you.

~

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what would sith be nostalgic about anyway - November 24, 2015
moving truck dilemma - October 28, 2015
- - July 19, 2015
- - July 01, 2015
bruise - June 29, 2015

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