by draaal » Thu Sep 06, 2007 8:25 pm
Blizzcon was non-existant on day two; the act of working around attending any such events was dwarfed by the expectation of attending that eatery over on Red Brook Lane, the pizza becoming more of a symbolic lust than just a last minute meal and reason to get away from the shining and gluttening optisim and tribal affiliations that seemed to be the Main Event over at the Anaheim Convention Center.
That didn't sound right.
There was a train. This I remember. There was also a girl I met yesterday that I ran into again on the train. Greasepaint, a leotard, elf ears, and a tired reluctance to actually be there that caused her and the other invidiuals thus attired in the back of the train to sway and remain quiet. Actually doubtful that it was reluctance, maybe just the swinging chant of a celebration that has forgotten why its celebrating anything?
Creating an association between oneself and an expressed form of some kind is always tricky; maybe not, but the whole exposure reeks of a tired soul or maybe someone just enjoying themselves. Or maybe not. Just that the moment of saying "I want to be that!" to the moment of actual realization when you start pretending that you are that, is non-existant; what changes? Why is time and emotion considered an investment worth pulling around and slugging over your shoulder in a wooden sword and some sort of gummy accessary to your face, or some other association that contantly reminds you that its an association? An aspect of life that, in a dark room late at night, was decided was "Crucial to my existance!" and pounded into the fleshy innards of the brain?
So I'm on the train and around their are laptops a jingle, sloshing cell phones, razerd heads bobbing with the motion. Or thats a cliche, maybe? Anyway, I'm talking to a girl and there will be a moment on the way back from the "event" that I will realize that I didn't come for her, or for some scrabble of bodies being pressed around glowing windows into another world; I came for no reason at all. And here I was, talking to a slender woman in grease paint who was looking into getting her degree in physics fairly soon, and was concerned about why the clouds wouldn't gather around her.
"Its in the air, maybe? In the wind?" she asked.
I could paint her a landscape of Gods, the Infinite, a sorted place of ideally placed mushrooms, but here she is, asking me a question with a answer of "You arn't high enough" and me failing on the expected cue to deliver it. Or its just me. Or maybe its the whole event; centralized around a gimmick that is a touchy subject because its just another airy mess of ideas.
We slept, sharing a seat side by side, she falling asleep and rolling to her side until nearly in my lap, me pressing against the window as every conceivable notion of life flashes across.
On the way back.
The way forward (or to say, to an arbitrary point that has taken some semblance of reality in my head) started much the same, except without the sleeping and instead with the munching of various foods that we had agreed the day before to bring; pizza was delicious, if not at this point trite.
I'm sure other things happened, except I spent most of the day not being rammed at by flashing tiles and a mess of people with reasons for narrowing their scope and burning themselves on a single mission, idea, troupe, tribe, place or event, that they seemed compelled to attend.
Or not. I'm sure I played some games or something. Or maybe that was just me trying not to get lost?
The only memory that hasn't been wiped away by the unfathomable powers of the mind as being crucial to my existance, was snooping around an arched airplane hanger that I assumed was used to house blimps, then wandering over to a parking lot and talking until I remembered "Maybe I'd prefer a bed tonight?" pulling the car into neutral and taking off down the highway.
Blizzcon was non-existant on day two; the act of working around attending any such events was dwarfed by the expectation of attending that eatery over on Red Brook Lane, the pizza becoming more of a symbolic lust than just a last minute meal and reason to get away from the shining and gluttening optisim and tribal affiliations that seemed to be the Main Event over at the Anaheim Convention Center.
That didn't sound right.
There was a train. This I remember. There was also a girl I met yesterday that I ran into again on the train. Greasepaint, a leotard, elf ears, and a tired reluctance to actually be there that caused her and the other invidiuals thus attired in the back of the train to sway and remain quiet. Actually doubtful that it was reluctance, maybe just the swinging chant of a celebration that has forgotten why its celebrating anything?
Creating an association between oneself and an expressed form of some kind is always tricky; maybe not, but the whole exposure reeks of a tired soul or maybe someone just enjoying themselves. Or maybe not. Just that the moment of saying "I want to be that!" to the moment of actual realization when you start pretending that you are that, is non-existant; what changes? Why is time and emotion considered an investment worth pulling around and slugging over your shoulder in a wooden sword and some sort of gummy accessary to your face, or some other association that contantly reminds you that its an association? An aspect of life that, in a dark room late at night, was decided was "Crucial to my existance!" and pounded into the fleshy innards of the brain?
So I'm on the train and around their are laptops a jingle, sloshing cell phones, razerd heads bobbing with the motion. Or thats a cliche, maybe? Anyway, I'm talking to a girl and there will be a moment on the way back from the "event" that I will realize that I didn't come for her, or for some scrabble of bodies being pressed around glowing windows into another world; I came for no reason at all. And here I was, talking to a slender woman in grease paint who was looking into getting her degree in physics fairly soon, and was concerned about why the clouds wouldn't gather around her.
"Its in the air, maybe? In the wind?" she asked.
I could paint her a landscape of Gods, the Infinite, a sorted place of ideally placed mushrooms, but here she is, asking me a question with a answer of "You arn't high enough" and me failing on the expected cue to deliver it. Or its just me. Or maybe its the whole event; centralized around a gimmick that is a touchy subject because its just another airy mess of ideas.
We slept, sharing a seat side by side, she falling asleep and rolling to her side until nearly in my lap, me pressing against the window as every conceivable notion of life flashes across.
On the way back.
The way forward (or to say, to an arbitrary point that has taken some semblance of reality in my head) started much the same, except without the sleeping and instead with the munching of various foods that we had agreed the day before to bring; pizza was delicious, if not at this point trite.
I'm sure other things happened, except I spent most of the day not being rammed at by flashing tiles and a mess of people with reasons for narrowing their scope and burning themselves on a single mission, idea, troupe, tribe, place or event, that they seemed compelled to attend.
Or not. I'm sure I played some games or something. Or maybe that was just me trying not to get lost?
The only memory that hasn't been wiped away by the unfathomable powers of the mind as being crucial to my existance, was snooping around an arched airplane hanger that I assumed was used to house blimps, then wandering over to a parking lot and talking until I remembered "Maybe I'd prefer a bed tonight?" pulling the car into neutral and taking off down the highway.