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deathboyIf I DO nanowrimo, it will be UTTER dross.
ah, shite.
still.
could be good for a larf, eh?
---
The boy lay down. White noise played around his ears; fervent adverts attempting to insert themselves delicately into his subconscious, merging down tracks that he already liked and loved, pulling in his playlist from the database iTunes Korp had scored by, having torn down the entire western software universe, failing to gain the head-munge-patents required to brain-frig their incumbant database, but still knowing not just what track, but what kind of track got their demographic pumping, the white noise tended to the pink, with statistical leanings towards the popular psy-trance epic "another universe in grey".
Statistical advertising tended the white noise towards simply colourless crap. Nostalgia no longer. As every scam merchant and nigerian 41902010 artiste begged for a differerent nuance.
I remember holding my firewall's hands.
We spend days together, listening to music, comparing artists and styles, exploring what really MATTERED about sound; shapes, artistic license.
We talked for hours about how Yoko fucked the Beatles;
She decided to be a "her", I decided to call her "hettie".
She also decided not to respond to that name to anyone other than me. I knew it was a password/user methodology of hers, but it made me feel like a friend with a nickname.
We danced. We sang. We drank and shouted.
By the time we got home, I'd already expended half my income on clouding my user-trail sufficiently so I wouldn't literally have to pay for the night's actions when I got home/
My profile was statistically merged with some poor, compatible fuck, my misdemeanours became theirs, our fingerprints swapped. As and when they tried to sign on, they would have to use so many alternate ID tests that once they qualified, no cop on earth would be less than sufficiently annoyed enough to nail them for the entire local inbox.
Still. That'll learn 'em.
This evening, I am, comedically, "Lo Shan Fuk"; born in Taiwan, raised in Manchester, transplanted to Beijing aged 10.
Tonight I shall drink like a hurricane; fight like an amateur, bet like a fool and pay and pay and pay.
Because tonight, I am, quite literally, on borrowed time.
Tomorrow, we renogotiate my contract. I have an extremely complex 6-dimensional argument in the shape of my distant relationship to Einstein and how his lifepattern would be q-bent by my never-having-mis-been, and an absolute gobstopper of a near-future-precedent in which I inheret the entire planet of Venus in a game of cards.
I can only prove either via N'Dimensional calculus.
Last time I kept my hoss and lost half of france.
I need to get better at playing cards.
ah, shite.
still.
could be good for a larf, eh?
---
The boy lay down. White noise played around his ears; fervent adverts attempting to insert themselves delicately into his subconscious, merging down tracks that he already liked and loved, pulling in his playlist from the database iTunes Korp had scored by, having torn down the entire western software universe, failing to gain the head-munge-patents required to brain-frig their incumbant database, but still knowing not just what track, but what kind of track got their demographic pumping, the white noise tended to the pink, with statistical leanings towards the popular psy-trance epic "another universe in grey".
Statistical advertising tended the white noise towards simply colourless crap. Nostalgia no longer. As every scam merchant and nigerian 41902010 artiste begged for a differerent nuance.
I remember holding my firewall's hands.
We spend days together, listening to music, comparing artists and styles, exploring what really MATTERED about sound; shapes, artistic license.
We talked for hours about how Yoko fucked the Beatles;
She decided to be a "her", I decided to call her "hettie".
She also decided not to respond to that name to anyone other than me. I knew it was a password/user methodology of hers, but it made me feel like a friend with a nickname.
We danced. We sang. We drank and shouted.
By the time we got home, I'd already expended half my income on clouding my user-trail sufficiently so I wouldn't literally have to pay for the night's actions when I got home/
My profile was statistically merged with some poor, compatible fuck, my misdemeanours became theirs, our fingerprints swapped. As and when they tried to sign on, they would have to use so many alternate ID tests that once they qualified, no cop on earth would be less than sufficiently annoyed enough to nail them for the entire local inbox.
Still. That'll learn 'em.
This evening, I am, comedically, "Lo Shan Fuk"; born in Taiwan, raised in Manchester, transplanted to Beijing aged 10.
Tonight I shall drink like a hurricane; fight like an amateur, bet like a fool and pay and pay and pay.
Because tonight, I am, quite literally, on borrowed time.
Tomorrow, we renogotiate my contract. I have an extremely complex 6-dimensional argument in the shape of my distant relationship to Einstein and how his lifepattern would be q-bent by my never-having-mis-been, and an absolute gobstopper of a near-future-precedent in which I inheret the entire planet of Venus in a game of cards.
I can only prove either via N'Dimensional calculus.
Last time I kept my hoss and lost half of france.
I need to get better at playing cards.
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no subject
Date: 2004-10-17 03:51 am (UTC)Top stuff
Date: 2004-10-17 06:42 am (UTC)NaNoWriMo
Race you.
Got my plot, got my twists, got my vague character sketches, got my non-implausible back story.
My writer-id is, of course, daeghnao.
no subject
Date: 2004-10-17 09:04 am (UTC)do it!
no subject
Date: 2004-10-17 11:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-10-17 06:09 pm (UTC)I know exactly what you mean. Not sure whether I should commit to it; I'm so busy at the moment and I have only a title. Nearly two weeks to decide.
Saying that, I think it's probably worth a go; I probably won't make the target, but if I actually make a go of it I might write something for a change.