it's 4:49 a.m., on 2001-06-06 - paranoia and I pay my dues.
~
I just read (a) Kate and then was a voyeur at (b) Sheila.
Sheila is talking about new Buffy fans and the way they think they're original, but they're not.
I'm feeling that-- hmm.
You know the bit where you get a sneaking suspicion that someone, making a general rant, really is talking a lot about things that pertain to you?
That. I have that sense. It sucks.
See, Sheila is my hero. Sheila and Puca. I have Kate as a god-head, and those two as my heros, in the Buffy fandom. Everyone else is... grand. But I don't *know* their style.
You know that Anya site?
I'm thinking, no.
I like small things. Like a M*A*S*H archive. A decent Matrix fic archive. Buffy is something too big and too... non-centralized, to be a good thing for me.
I'm just not capable of keeping up, and I want to keep up. I'm too new to count, really, I haven't paid *any* dues. I posted once to the UCSL, and it really, it didn't feel like a good story, after that. Even if I liked it before I posted.
I think, I liked the process, not the product. Since it was co-written.
Another thing I wanted to say. I am afraid of what this irony means, but I don't know exactly how to put it.
Lemme try it this way. I have listed 'radiohead' and 'fight club' as my favorite band and movie. They, apparently, are the most popular at diaryland in both of their catagories.
They are based around an inside-out media whoring, the anti-media.
I feel something stirring in my bones. Maybe it's the depths of the city, the subway lights flashing and mold glowing blue in the dark. Maybe it's in the tip-tapping of high-heels, the buzzing of the thought generators. Elevator music, man. The buzzing in *everything*. Electrisity through the wires giving off subliminal messaging.
Why are we sitting around in our basements, hiding from the sun and putting our creativity and passion into a computer screen? We are the best and the brightest, we are people, goddamnit. Why are we stuck in a jail at home. Those *words* should be in our lives.
--yeah, I've been reading the Invisibles again.
I even saw the blackness of hell, wrapped in Bronze and fighting to tear the walls of Troy down. Just *see* it, baby. The agents of the bad guys, spears in hand, lead by Achilles the brave and tearing at the rural Trojan countryside.
Achilles, faltering in his day of victory. Patroclus, sitting on the ship and subservient to a demi-god, loving and kind and devoted, but wondering why the fuck they weren't just *fighting* already.
Achilles, the old-god, losing his faith in the Cause. Maybe, a myrmidon turned invisible, role-reversal, passion guiding his spear. The ant-people, Myrmidons, lead by a false general.
"Okay, but, why, again?"
"Spike, it's quite simple. History isn't happening just in the past. It's in the future too."
"Oh, right, the 'if you don't know history you're doomed to repeat it' gig. Got it. Don't trust any of you if you lead me into battle with bronze-age weapons."
Robin would grin at him a little. "No, see. The past isn't just happening in the past. Some ways, it's happening right now, too."
"Right, right. History repeats itself, got it."
"No," Dawn would interrupt. "She means, that battle's still taking place." Look to Robin. "Right?"
And, of course, Robin would be incredibly pleased. Maybe even give her an apple.
~*~
This is all Kate's fault, bless her heart. I had Dawn's first acid trip written in a note-book, from skipping Ancient History today, but now I'm not sure where I put it. I think I *might* have left it in the car, or downstairs, or possibly in the computer lab at school.
I admit. I want River.
I have on what I'm starting to think of as my WMFiccing playlist-- which basically means that the chords are minor and there's 'wish you were here' in some way in the title. One song's about protest singers; one's about the crack in the river. One sings for british salamanders. One's just about driving.
I read more WMF today. I reread chapter eight, which, as we know, is right around the time that I get uncomfortable and start over-identifying.
Falsely over-identifying.
Today, I clicked on the soup opera... and I was immediately, frightened. I didn't want to see. Let me tell you why.
It doesn't involve me. I am left out-- and if I don't look at it, you didn't do it.
I'm childish that way. It hurts.
~*~
Tomorrow, I'm going to *a* organize the sequel to renere and *b* either scrap the dawn/spike/KM/Robin idea or do something slightly more interesting with it. Possibly bring in the horsemen of the apocalypse.
I should scrap it, leave it to Kate.
Picture Dawn on acid. She could bend the worlds.
~
-
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
-