She showed me the magazine: dragonfly corp. The claim was that actual dragonflies were modded and responded to radio frequency signals, and on command were flown to a central headquarters where they were vacuumed, their heads detached, and the impressions on their compound eyes associated with coordinates, a picture of the world generated.
The heads were replaced by lab grown ones, and dragonflies released again.
They were a nuisance, like mayflies, but the least of worries in a world of carbon rain.
"what the fuck"
"Yeah?" I said.
"Your eyes are dilated. I.. I'm calling the.. are you?"
I saw eyes through black and gold lines, and recognized Yes.
"I feel okay." I am lucid and not worried, and I pace around and spin around in a circle just to show I'm fine.
"So, here's the thing. I am hallucinating"
In a moment where there should have been a WHAT, Yes knew better, shared my calm. "You're hallucinating? Is it bad?"
"What does that mean"
Calm. Speak clearly. [tbc]
Like instead of a "stupid" random like a randomized game of solitaire, or a randomized fruit basket that mixes and matches fruit, it takes things that belong to entirely different categories.
Like if you consider the the randomness of letters to be "bad" randomness, but then consider the interesting almost-association of "S" with snakes, sharpness, tactile experience of drawing an S in preschool, whatever faint haze of association is cast over all of those is a Kludge, that's "good" randomness.
here's the actual kludge
now how does one tie that kludge together?
I'm already thinking some amount of DNA + black mirror social reputation dystopian stuff maybe. I don't know how to include something like "okay boomer" (that was from a reddit thread called /r/shittysuperpowers). But Kludge Rolls are only fun if you force yourself to role with them.
Maybe I abstract that to a feeling of generational awareness/generational confrontation.
But then there's taking a walk and saying maybe and that scent?
I just generated a "kludge", which is a list of lists on a spreadsheet of interesting things that are dissimilar from each other, that present a puzzle in trying to combine them. So I go to random.org and draw a number to select a list, then draw another number to pick a thing from that list. The list includes a list of smells, a reference science book, a subreddit of superpowers, lists of software etc. THIS is what I generated this time"
Actually I'm over the character limit, so follow me to the next toot!
my nanowrimo voice keeps going psychedelic on me. I have a scene were a person is perfectly lucidly aware that they have a hallucination, and it's a hallucination of a babel library. They are still physically and spacially aware, but everything has been deep-dreamed into rows of rooms and books. And a person is there with them and they will have to have a conversation about the fact that this is happening.
a whole babel of hexagons unfolding to infinity, with depth I understand to be artificial, here in my room, my lower back pain, my quiet breathing as I look to the stack of socket cards at my side.
They too, have bloomed and become edges, like a screen of glass in front of vast shelves, a library I would love to visit.
I know it is not really there, and am not too quick to move to figuring it out. I am clearly lucid and that will come.
I look at Yes, somehow too dreamed up from the ground #microfiction
I stand and stare through a window, and am almost so delighted that I could cry. My dreaming eyes do indulge and reach for the feeling but only are halfway there.
Through the bars of this window to pale fall light outside, I see grey branches and twigs unpack and become shelves to books, that overlap and resolve into each other at echserian angles. A shelf tilted backwards in rows of brown and gold paperback stretch off into infinity and the dark between each book is a twig. Many and many, a whole babel of
I knew that there was a blending of dimensions and meanings in my mind, someway separate from itself had a conversation that there was another side of.
I wake into something that I know is wrong, and am lucid in a way that doesn't match what is in front of me. I had wanted hallucinations if I am honest. To be scared by, defined by. You get a brute stupid strength from everything being mundane and a readiness for them. And I am not scared to see what I see now. I know that my eyes dream.
I had further imaginings for my #nanowrimo idea.
firstly, it has to break back out into a real world, can't just be that weird Hall of mirrors funhouse. And perhaps the most amazing real world type thing I came up with that was mundane but silly but fun, was the idea that all molds grown from Monsanto developed strawberries were property of Monsanto, and febreze nanobots sending data back to febreze headquarters about the molds were violating terms, and the molds could get 'turned off' remotely.
latest idea with my microfiction is that the character trapped in the moire prison (my term for walls that are very fine needle-like and grind and slice up anything that would touch them)... realizes that he is one of many, himself one of many instances of a kaliedoscopic pattern. There are many of him in many cells and they all move simultaneously.
One version of himself has to reach into the wall, but in other, a pattern changes, something can be done.
waking from a dream, over and over.
a voice, a song
white walls, a shadow not mine
I turn like in a dream tearing and losing the wall, the moire mist.
Do you remember? How I gouged a chair into the white and it ground to dust.
How the wall, every wall, was jagged, glinting salt crust, and up close, barely examinable, a grid of changing snowflake patterns?
I want to be able to walk through. Next I tried my forearm. soft like nothing happened at all, I pulled back and it was an oval of red, then white
It was cheaper to magnetize and pave entire deserts. Some settled into the desired stable structures, some collapsed into glimmering blackened sand, rolling with ripples like coiling snakes unsettled and awakened.
Some rose and became lost in the atmosphere, particles held in wobbling but stable patterns, folding like starlings, hanging in the earth's magnetosphere.
I know something is going on here and want to pull it down, some part that belongs to me that we can both understand. #microfiction