Caitlín R. Kiernan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
greygirlbeast) wrote2008-01-06 11:49 am
greygirlbeast) wrote2008-01-06 11:49 am
Entry tags:
every tower must be razed
A very good writing day yesterday. I did 1,709 words on "The Crimson Alphabet," getting through R (for Ravish), S (for Samaritana), T (for Transmutation), U (for Umbra), and V (for Vase), which means I ought to be able to finish the remaining four letters today.
Technically, I have left the house once so far this year. I went out on the the front porch night before last just long enough to toss some stale corn muffins out for the birds and 'possums and such.
The Ambien is no longer helping with the dreams, which are once again assuming epic dimensions. This morning, I was onboard some sort of low-orbit craft that really looked more that a gigantic balloon than anything else, and below me, Earth was blue and vast. I remember looking out a round porthole and seeing Africa, mostly brown, and the Indian Ocean glittering to the east. The balloon seemed to be a sort of passenger vessel, and I had a cabin all to myself (or so I first thought), which was very much like a compartment in an Amtrak sleeper car. There was Earth-normal gravity, which I'll write off to dream physics, more than any feature of the balloon's technology. But it was very cold, and I was wearing some sort of long fur coat. I locked my cabin door and lay down in the upper berth, listening to people fighting in the next compartment over. The thrum of the engines was like a great purring cat reverberating through the ship, but it wasn't enough to drown out these voices, two women screaming at one another. I can't remember what they were arguing about, only that they were, and I kept thinking surely someone would come along to ask them to be quiet, but no one ever did. Later, my locked door was unlocked, and a young man with vivid orange skin entered the cabin, then locked the door again behind him. He wore a fur a coat identical to mine, but he was bleeding, and stood at the tiny sink, coughing up blood and cursing. I reached into a pocket of my coat and found a gun, and when I touched it, he turned and looked at me. "This is your fault," he said, and I could see then that there was a very large bullet wound in his chest. And that's all I recall, aside from a few fragments I can't really seem to fit anywhere.
Last night, good Second Life rp in the Dune sim and also in that other place, that ruined city by the sea where it's always twilight (or dawn, one or the other).
Spooky has a very adorable new doll up on Etsy, which she has named Ella and which I could not dissuade her from putting up for sale. You can see it here. I'm going to make her make a twin for me, which I think I shall name Nessa.
Okay. I need the coffee and the platypus and something food-like...
Technically, I have left the house once so far this year. I went out on the the front porch night before last just long enough to toss some stale corn muffins out for the birds and 'possums and such.
The Ambien is no longer helping with the dreams, which are once again assuming epic dimensions. This morning, I was onboard some sort of low-orbit craft that really looked more that a gigantic balloon than anything else, and below me, Earth was blue and vast. I remember looking out a round porthole and seeing Africa, mostly brown, and the Indian Ocean glittering to the east. The balloon seemed to be a sort of passenger vessel, and I had a cabin all to myself (or so I first thought), which was very much like a compartment in an Amtrak sleeper car. There was Earth-normal gravity, which I'll write off to dream physics, more than any feature of the balloon's technology. But it was very cold, and I was wearing some sort of long fur coat. I locked my cabin door and lay down in the upper berth, listening to people fighting in the next compartment over. The thrum of the engines was like a great purring cat reverberating through the ship, but it wasn't enough to drown out these voices, two women screaming at one another. I can't remember what they were arguing about, only that they were, and I kept thinking surely someone would come along to ask them to be quiet, but no one ever did. Later, my locked door was unlocked, and a young man with vivid orange skin entered the cabin, then locked the door again behind him. He wore a fur a coat identical to mine, but he was bleeding, and stood at the tiny sink, coughing up blood and cursing. I reached into a pocket of my coat and found a gun, and when I touched it, he turned and looked at me. "This is your fault," he said, and I could see then that there was a very large bullet wound in his chest. And that's all I recall, aside from a few fragments I can't really seem to fit anywhere.
Last night, good Second Life rp in the Dune sim and also in that other place, that ruined city by the sea where it's always twilight (or dawn, one or the other).
Spooky has a very adorable new doll up on Etsy, which she has named Ella and which I could not dissuade her from putting up for sale. You can see it here. I'm going to make her make a twin for me, which I think I shall name Nessa.
Okay. I need the coffee and the platypus and something food-like...
no subject
Put this one into "The Crimson Alphabet"?
no subject
I can't promise I'll forget it, though. I admit, it would be fun to write from, but I swear I wouldn't do that without asking permission first.
Ella the Beast is really adorable. If I could afford her, I'd give her a good home. Til then, I'll have to keep lurking. ^_^
(no subject)
(no subject)
Dreams, Immensity
When I asked the doctor for help, her response was, "Why?"
Harumph.
The Ambien was good for a while, but I had a tendency to stay awake and enjoy it.
Re: Dreams, Immensity
Re: Dreams, Immensity
no subject
Anyway, I felt obliged as a reader to say that I find your dreams very interesting, and--well--to put it crassly, if there were a book called "Caitlin R. Kiernan's Dreams" I would buy it in a heartbeat. I know these dreams are very personal to you, but I had to say it nonetheless.
I've found that with distractingly intense dream theatre writing about it is usually threat enough to get the actors to back off. Have you thought about penning/pinning them to paper? What are your thoughts on all this?
~Jacob
no subject
~Jacob