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Diary of a Necromancer
Excuse me, I'm making perfect sense, you're just not keeping up
It struck me that a bit in the most recent installment of "Trevor & Jason" had a potentially problematic reading. So I gave it some thought, and came up with a revision that I think/hope gets to the same place that the narrative needs to go, without the detour into "um, wait, or did they mean..." of the initial version. So. Live, learn, rinse, repeat.

(And it does trouble me, on the meta-level, that I do have the power to go in and alter the available text like this, which is why I mention it; it's probably not an accident that the Sekrit Project is a high-tech dystopia where they wouldn't even be aware that they had memory-holes things could drop into... and there's a certain irony in the fact that I think I lost a high-tech physical-backup of that at a free movie in a park the other night. :/ )

Tags:
feeling: why is regretful not a choice?

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Still picking away at the worldbuilding on Sekrit Project, and I think I've got a handle on the Suicide By Cop -- now all I need to work out is why the kindergarten teacher has the gun in the first place...

And now, a treat for whatever remaining Readers we may still have here: since this story was written with a very specific market in mind, and since today is its sell-by date in certain respects vis-a-vis finding it another home in a timely fashion, I'm just going to put this out here for my own amusement and y'all's. Enjoy?

PassionCollapse )

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feeling: thoughtful thoughtful

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IMG_1839.jpg

"Captivity enters year two. Gay line-dancing is my only solace."




Now the water-heater broke. I'm beginning to sympathise with Ren's plight.

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feeling: annoyed annoyed

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Still mulling over the worldbuilding on Sekrit Project. Have a rough idea of Plot, for once, but the ending is still a little up in the air; for a dystopia, what do you, the Reader-or-Viewer, find the most satisfying sort of ending?

Poll #2047252 mmm, crapsaccharine

I like my dystopias:

He loved Big Brother.
0(0.0%)
There is no Sanctuary
1(20.0%)
Where the devil are my slippers?
0(0.0%)
And when they ask us what we were doing, you can say, We're remembering.
2(40.0%)
Now I'm cleaning up and moving on, going straight and choosing life.
0(0.0%)
For a moment they saw the nations of the dead, and, before they joined them, scraps of the untainted sky.
0(0.0%)
And so I step up, into the darkness within; or else the light.
1(20.0%)
Forget it, Jake, it's Chinatown.
0(0.0%)
SEWIWEIC
1(20.0%)


In order, that'd be roughly:

  • Protagonist is crushed by Society
  • Protagonist remakes Society
  • Protagonist allies with oppressing faction
  • Protagonist allies with oppressed faction
  • Protagonist evades Society from within it
  • Rocks fall, everyone dies
  • Protagonist's fate is ambiguous
  • I have no idea what I just watched/read or what it meant to Protagonist


(Bonus points for identifying the dystopias.)

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feeling: curious curious

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I appear to have thrown myself wholeheartedly into worldbuilding for New Sekrit Project. Have to balance that with not neglecting Previous Sekrit Project, assuming anyone's still following that...

What I'm hung up at right now is the part where Muse, in-her-infinite-wisdom, seems to have mentally cast the Bernard Marx-y role in her Brave New World homage as Idris Elba. I suspect that it's Relevant, bordering on plot-Relevant, that he's both A, an Englishman, and B, not a white Englishman, but it would be nice for once to be able to dredge up some of the stuff that goes on at the level of subconscious intuition to where I can interrogate the crap out of it before I'm elbows deep in things and have to work back to see how I can reinforce ideas I'd half(-assedly) worked out here and there already. Because compared to that, I suspect that genderswapping most of the rest of the cast is fairly small potatoes, relatively speaking...

(Have also learned that Shaw's original ending for Pygmalion was basically going to be "Eliza punches Henry in the face and goes off to work for universal suffrage" -- I may have interpreted it in my own unique idiom. Feeling rather vindicated in my displeasure at Billy Elliot right about now.)

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feeling: thoughtful thoughtful

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Spent a few more days on the treadmill of negative self-talk, to the point where I got physically shaky with the rage/upset a couple of times, and then I guess I must have worn it out like the Excessive Machine in Barbarella because all of a sudden it seems to have ground to a halt. For now. Cautiously optimistic that the Brainweasels have been bought off for a while by:

  • A, the resolution to try to sort out the semilooming healthcare-status situation as soon as I can block out the time, probably Monday at this point, and

  • B, the story idea that walloped me over the back of the head on the way out to knitting last night, which turned out to be another one of those walking-into-things-muttering-for-two-hours doozies that I think I need to either be talked out of, or into, I can't quite tell yet.

(Anybody out there think that there's a potential market for an updating of a zeerusty inter-war dystopia to reflect that we now know exactly how much worse it could get? I need somebody to hold my feet to the fire to get me to do this, if so, because the treadmill could start up again at any moment with the 'everything sucks and nothing's worth doing' Brainweasels' Gentlemans'-Auxiliary Chorus...)

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feeling: confused confused

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Shoe #I-forget-what: the sump-pump died. Not that I can blame it, it came with the unit and our Alleged Guy was kind of impressed that it lived as long as it had, but dammit, we were going to use the rest of the tax refund to catch up with fixing the last total disaster...

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feeling: incensed

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Going to go Do A Thing, that is not any of the Things that desperately need doing, to distract myself from my continued inability to knuckle down to doing any of the Things-that-desperately-need-doing.

If spring would ever frickin' come, maybe I could break out of this...

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feeling: scared scared

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Dangerously unmotivated. It's not for lack of things that I desperately need to take care of; more the generalised lack of faith that taking care of them will amount to anything, either in the short or the heat-death-of-the-universe timescales.

(At least half of that has to be the fallout from the lingering suspicion that I am not the one who screwed up regarding the change-of-address notice And Yet. It's not as if I had much ability to suspend disbelief about the probability of people actually doing their jobs before.)

Not sure what to do. I need therapy; theoretically I'm now in a position where I could obtain something resembling therapy; obtaining said therapy would involve finding the motivation to sort out at least one of the things I can't find the motivation to sort out. And that's setting aside previously-mentioned hangups about having any underlying sense of self-worth regarding the probability of receiving therapy. It's the usual Brainweasel pickle, IOW...

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feeling: gloomy gloomy

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It isn't every day you find out which crack your life slipped down twenty years ago.

A change-of-address form. Which either didn't get sent, or wasn't noticed if it did, who knows at this remove. But it turns out that that was why my college never contacted me to explain What Happens Now after I took some time off to regroup; no exit interview, no here's where you could go from here, and no by the way this is the paperwork for a $500 loan you may not have been told that you actually received that you'll have to settle at this point Because The Reasons.

You may be getting an inkling of where this story is going.

Contact was reestablished at least one intervening move later, by which point said forgotten loan was in collection and we wrote to ask College why we were getting letters about that when neither of us could recall seeing paperwork to the effect it had actually gone through in the first place. Oh, College said, we can't lay hands on your file, it might have been for this? (But I never did the this.)

We went into the office. College still couldn't find the file to sort out whether this was even my loan. So the question sort of... got left there, Eh, well, paperwork, what can you do. And there matters stood for a couple more moves, and twenty-two years, and $1200 in penalties-and-interest, until I finally got annoyed enough at having to explain this in response to the periodic collection letters that I went all the way into Mum's files and combed through the actual College paperwork such as we had myself.

And found the loan. Or at least something resembling it in the right amount on one obscure printout. And we went into College's office again, and they produced my file at long last, and in the file was the original unopened undelivered this is due now please letter that anyone could have shown us at any time since we started asking about this in 1994.

Some days it just does not pay to chew through the straps.

I'm not sure where this goes from here; we're talking to College about how to resolve this, starting with why didn't (several-finance-officers-ago) actually explain HOW to clear this as a disability case, which is where I'm currently hung up trying to figure out who my medical chain-of-command to prove any of that even is. (To sum up: Plan dropped $DOCTOR, I dropped Plan, New Plan said 'sure, have $DOCTOR', and then assigned me someone who's not $DOCTOR. Cue phone-tag hell...) I'd just go ahead and pay it off if I was remotely in any position to; College does seem willing enough to shoulder some blame for the part of the fees that have accrued since we originally tried to resolve this 20-odd years ago (the most recent offer from Collection is in the neighbourhood of $1200 instead of $1800 -- do other people's lives get so wrecked over amounts a CEO wouldn't even wipe their arse with? Or is that a stupid question these days?). But right now I'm at a spoonless ebb just trying to think about which thread of this to start unpicking first...

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feeling: frustrated frustrated

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