Got Busy

Oct. 16th, 2003 11:26 pm
mishalak: A fantasy version of myself drawn by Sue Mason (scruffy)
[personal profile] mishalak
So here is the deal. I want something closer to my usual content for the journal rather than all these god write-ups I got myself busy with. I'm determined to work through them all, though if it gets more than six ahead of me I'm going to cut it off.

First there is this bad guy talking to me at night. He's the self styled Lord of Cables, a nasty piece of work who lived in Denver in the streetcar era. I'm thinking he's the sort that Arlie Grossman might have to go up against. He's whipcord thin, not like me, I'm just thin, while this guy looks like his nom de guerre. He's moderately short with an unpleasant sneer always near to the surface. I think I'll have to write about him before he does something nasty to me for not telling his story.

Oh an for anyone who's not read about Arlie and the rest I've put a lot of my posts into a sort of index in my memories section. I think most of the titles there like conreports are pretty self-explanatory. The only two that might not be are Ministry of Memory and Culture which is all my Denver stories and fans win which are just memorable stories by or about other fans.

(no subject)

Date: 2003-10-17 12:58 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] the-enthusiast.livejournal.com
I'm not sure I understand this- is there actually a vaguely menacing elderly man speaking to you at night, or is he a fictional character metaphorically speaking to you. I would like to think there is some strange, drunken cable-car operator hanging around outside of your apartment rattling off his life story.

(no subject)

Date: 2003-10-17 01:17 pm (UTC)
ext_5149: (Default)
From: [identity profile] mishalak.livejournal.com
Do you really bleed gravey? Well there's your answer. I'm sure that my life is just as real as yours. But I think the Lord of Cables is dead, so if he's really outside my window then he's undead.

(no subject)

Date: 2003-10-17 01:36 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] the-enthusiast.livejournal.com
Here's the deal: I will imagine that there is a real elderly zombie cable-car operator shouting at you (belligerently, natch) outside your window at night, and you will imagine me crying with gravy pouring out of my mouth after a jealous man punches me in the face (I'm imagining the Bishop dismemberment scene in Alien but the fluid is thicker, more viscous). See, we both win, or lose...I forget.

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