Like every teen, I went through a phase where I wrote [really, really bad] poetry. And today, as I was cleaning my office, I found this tidbit. Please don't judge.
By the way, this isn't the entire poem. So you're starting kind of in the middle here. The first part of the poem is about the Archangel Gabriel growing impatient for Judgement Day. In the bit below, Gabriel has just blown his horn and God comes bursting out of His throne room and...
One fanfare bringing lightning,
One blare forcing tears,
And Heaven's gate was trembling;
The Rapture Day was here.
Then everything grew quiet.
Everything got still.
And Earth was left with nothing
But one tiny, grassy hill.
Gabriel frowned down on it;
Something had gone wrong,
And God folded his arms, saying,
"Well, what a lovely song—
But, Gabriel, that's not your trumpet."
The angel peered down at the
Instrument in his hand,
Saw Lucifer engraved on it
And began to understand.
"My Lord, can you forgive me?"
"Yes, of course I can.
But my world is now left empty,
And I'll have to start again.
"You've done me quite a favor,"
The Lord added with a wink.
"The men I create this time
Will be much improved, I think."
"Sure," said Gabriel, rising
To help Peter with the gate,
"But it's all the more million years
I'm going to have to wait."
😂 I still thought you had to capitalize every line! And that poems had to rhyme!
It's so weird to stumble across old work. I haven't written poetry since 2004, and this is a fair example of why.
10.31.2018
10.27.2018
Movies: BlacKkKlansman
Time for me to make an embarrassing confession: the only other Spike Lee "joint" I've ever seen is The 25th Hour. But I did really like that movie. And I really liked this one, too.
For those not in the know, BlacKkKlansman is an adaptation of the true story of Colorado Springs' first black police officer Ron Stallworth (played by John David Washington). In the early 70s, Stallworth infiltrated the KKK with the help of a white narcotics officer named "Flip" Zimmerman (portrayed here by Adam Driver). There is, as one might expect, a fair amount of tension in the situation. But it's been well tempered by lighter moments. In all, it's just a really good and engaging movie: well acted and thoughtfully composed.
Lee is a weensy bit heavy handed in the parallels to today's political climate, but the comparisons are justified. Unfortunately, a movie is unlikely to make a difference in people's ways of thinking or behaviors. The kinds of people Lee is preaching against are the kinds that won't be watching BlacKkKlansman anyway.
Then again, the movie also touches on the militancy of the other side, at least at that time. Stallworth attempts to reason with his activist girlfriend who insists all cops are racist pigs (without knowing that her boyfriend is a cop). She rejects his diplomacy with a very "for or against, no middle ground" kind of attitude. So maybe the message here is that neither side is correct, and that the truth and the good in the world lies in the middle, in the gray areas.
Still, the sides are not equivalent. There is a difference between sexual assault, shooting, and bombing and peaceful (if loud) marching and protests.
In all, the movie made me want to read Stallworth's book. And it was a really entertaining film in its own right.
For those not in the know, BlacKkKlansman is an adaptation of the true story of Colorado Springs' first black police officer Ron Stallworth (played by John David Washington). In the early 70s, Stallworth infiltrated the KKK with the help of a white narcotics officer named "Flip" Zimmerman (portrayed here by Adam Driver). There is, as one might expect, a fair amount of tension in the situation. But it's been well tempered by lighter moments. In all, it's just a really good and engaging movie: well acted and thoughtfully composed.
Lee is a weensy bit heavy handed in the parallels to today's political climate, but the comparisons are justified. Unfortunately, a movie is unlikely to make a difference in people's ways of thinking or behaviors. The kinds of people Lee is preaching against are the kinds that won't be watching BlacKkKlansman anyway.
Then again, the movie also touches on the militancy of the other side, at least at that time. Stallworth attempts to reason with his activist girlfriend who insists all cops are racist pigs (without knowing that her boyfriend is a cop). She rejects his diplomacy with a very "for or against, no middle ground" kind of attitude. So maybe the message here is that neither side is correct, and that the truth and the good in the world lies in the middle, in the gray areas.
Still, the sides are not equivalent. There is a difference between sexual assault, shooting, and bombing and peaceful (if loud) marching and protests.
In all, the movie made me want to read Stallworth's book. And it was a really entertaining film in its own right.
10.19.2018
Theatre: Miss Saigon
I finally saw this . . . I went in only knowing, er, Saigon, I guess? And that there was a helicopter. So I didn't really have any preconceived notions or expectations. And . . .
I didn't enjoy it at all.
It was bombastic and melodramatic. I could tell it had been written by the guys who did Les Mis (which I've only ever seen the film of). There was just . . . so much wrong with it, I can't even.
Okay, okay, I get that this play is nearly 30 years old. So sensibilities have changed. Even so, gah. The songs weren't catchy, and they repeated the same handful of information over and over again. The Engineer would sing about girls/whores and wanting to go to America. Kim would sing about being in love with Chris, and then about missing Chris and still being in love with Chris. Chris got to sing about being in love with Kim a few times, but then he was relegated to wallpaper status. We were told he tried to find Kim, but we don't see it. We never see his struggles except, like, one nightmare maybe? I couldn't tell if he was supposed to be a sympathetic character or not. I suspect not given that two French guys wrote this about America taking over Vietnam after they had it.
I cringed my way through most of the show. The actors we saw were amazing and had great voices. The dancers were terrific. But the show is just . . . It's not good. I kept wondering what my uncle who served in 'Nam would have made of it. While I understand they do (kind of?) show the horrors of war, the writers also romanticize it quite a bit. If most of the songs had not been about love and longing, and if they'd shown more of Chris' PTSD or his frantic attempts to go back to Vietnam/Kim only to be told he couldn't, maybe it would have been better? Who can say? I don't think those changes would have made it any worse anyway.
Ugh. I'm sure a lot of people love this musical. But let's face it, "You're sunlight and I'm moonlight" is super cliché. Like, were the writers even trying? Or did they look at each other after the success of Les Mis and say, "Let's expand on the prostitute character and just pick a different setting"? That's what it felt like to me. I couldn't stop rolling my eyes through a lot of it.
Oh! And the thing where she kills her betrothed? That really went a whole lotta nowhere. There's a plot thread that someone dropped for sure. I guess they felt we needed more songs about her loving Chris and loving her son and stuff.
Sigh. Just . . . not a fan. Maybe I'm missing something, or maybe I'm cold hearted. I dunno. But this show did nothing but irritate me.
I didn't enjoy it at all.
It was bombastic and melodramatic. I could tell it had been written by the guys who did Les Mis (which I've only ever seen the film of). There was just . . . so much wrong with it, I can't even.
Okay, okay, I get that this play is nearly 30 years old. So sensibilities have changed. Even so, gah. The songs weren't catchy, and they repeated the same handful of information over and over again. The Engineer would sing about girls/whores and wanting to go to America. Kim would sing about being in love with Chris, and then about missing Chris and still being in love with Chris. Chris got to sing about being in love with Kim a few times, but then he was relegated to wallpaper status. We were told he tried to find Kim, but we don't see it. We never see his struggles except, like, one nightmare maybe? I couldn't tell if he was supposed to be a sympathetic character or not. I suspect not given that two French guys wrote this about America taking over Vietnam after they had it.
I cringed my way through most of the show. The actors we saw were amazing and had great voices. The dancers were terrific. But the show is just . . . It's not good. I kept wondering what my uncle who served in 'Nam would have made of it. While I understand they do (kind of?) show the horrors of war, the writers also romanticize it quite a bit. If most of the songs had not been about love and longing, and if they'd shown more of Chris' PTSD or his frantic attempts to go back to Vietnam/Kim only to be told he couldn't, maybe it would have been better? Who can say? I don't think those changes would have made it any worse anyway.
Ugh. I'm sure a lot of people love this musical. But let's face it, "You're sunlight and I'm moonlight" is super cliché. Like, were the writers even trying? Or did they look at each other after the success of Les Mis and say, "Let's expand on the prostitute character and just pick a different setting"? That's what it felt like to me. I couldn't stop rolling my eyes through a lot of it.
Oh! And the thing where she kills her betrothed? That really went a whole lotta nowhere. There's a plot thread that someone dropped for sure. I guess they felt we needed more songs about her loving Chris and loving her son and stuff.
Sigh. Just . . . not a fan. Maybe I'm missing something, or maybe I'm cold hearted. I dunno. But this show did nothing but irritate me.
10.17.2018
Television: Doctor Who, "The Woman Who Fell to Earth"
I really agonized over whether to suck it up and watch the remaining Capaldi episodes or just pick up with this one. In the end, I wasn't interested enough to finish out Capaldi's season. I couldn't muster the enthusiasm, or even the basic sluggish energy, to pull it up on my DVR (where it has been sitting... and sitting... and sitting...) But people kept asking me what I thought of Whittaker as the Doctor, so I decided to fire this one up and dive in fresh.
Long story short, I don't have the Capaldi backstory, though based on this it hardly seems necessary?
In the interest of playing fairly, let me acknowledge that I'm one of the people who find Moffat to be a terrible show runner. And I really like Chris Chibnall's work. Well, I adored Broadchurch anyway. And Torchwood. So I was primed to really like this, too, because (a) sweet release from the Moffat era, and (b) Chibnall has shown to be competent and compelling in his work.
So, yeah, as expected, I really liked it.
Spoilers Ahead, Sweeties
Not just Whittaker's Doctor, but the entire supporting cast. And even though we'd only just met Grace, I felt the impact of losing her because she'd already left such an impression. This is what Chibnall does so well—characterization. And really good, tight stories.
What was this story about? Well, Ryan Sinclair is... I don't know how old he's supposed to be, actually, but seems like 20s? And he lives with his nan Grace and her second husband Graham. When Ryan discovers something strange, he phones in to the police, and they send Yasmin, who just happens to be someone Ryan went to school with way back when. Meanwhile, an alien attacks the train Grace and Graham are on, and the Doctor shows up, and things pretty much go from there at a fair clip.
Whittaker's Doctor is a tad manic, but many of them have been to some extent. And sometimes they start off that way after regeneration and then calm down a bit. We'll see what happens, but I don't mind this take on the character. It's fun. And she has a depth of compassion that we haven't seen in recent Doctors.
Mostly I'm just glad to be excited about Doctor Who again. To be enjoying it again because I honestly haven't liked it in years. It became more of a chore than something to look forward to, which is why I eventually quit watching at all.
Now I'm back, fresh, and it seems like I needn't worry too much about what I missed, which is good. It will allow new viewers to catch on, too, so that's a smart move. Looking forward to seeing more.
Long story short, I don't have the Capaldi backstory, though based on this it hardly seems necessary?
In the interest of playing fairly, let me acknowledge that I'm one of the people who find Moffat to be a terrible show runner. And I really like Chris Chibnall's work. Well, I adored Broadchurch anyway. And Torchwood. So I was primed to really like this, too, because (a) sweet release from the Moffat era, and (b) Chibnall has shown to be competent and compelling in his work.
So, yeah, as expected, I really liked it.
Spoilers Ahead, Sweeties
Not just Whittaker's Doctor, but the entire supporting cast. And even though we'd only just met Grace, I felt the impact of losing her because she'd already left such an impression. This is what Chibnall does so well—characterization. And really good, tight stories.
What was this story about? Well, Ryan Sinclair is... I don't know how old he's supposed to be, actually, but seems like 20s? And he lives with his nan Grace and her second husband Graham. When Ryan discovers something strange, he phones in to the police, and they send Yasmin, who just happens to be someone Ryan went to school with way back when. Meanwhile, an alien attacks the train Grace and Graham are on, and the Doctor shows up, and things pretty much go from there at a fair clip.
Whittaker's Doctor is a tad manic, but many of them have been to some extent. And sometimes they start off that way after regeneration and then calm down a bit. We'll see what happens, but I don't mind this take on the character. It's fun. And she has a depth of compassion that we haven't seen in recent Doctors.
Mostly I'm just glad to be excited about Doctor Who again. To be enjoying it again because I honestly haven't liked it in years. It became more of a chore than something to look forward to, which is why I eventually quit watching at all.
Now I'm back, fresh, and it seems like I needn't worry too much about what I missed, which is good. It will allow new viewers to catch on, too, so that's a smart move. Looking forward to seeing more.
10.14.2018
Books: Faebourne
Those who enjoyed Brynnde will, I hope, enjoy this book as well. However, this one is less typical of the Regency romance genre. I call it a "Regency fairy tale" because there are fantasy elements to the story. Also, more conservative readers should know there is a homosexual relationship in this book. If that makes you uncomfortable, you might want to skip this one.
Blurb:
Duncan Oliver was in every respect an unremarkable gentleman.
When mild-mannered Duncan Oliver is abducted by the Milne brothers and taken to their legendary home of Faebourne, his unexciting life becomes much more interesting. Adelia Milne has been cursed, and Duncan is her chosen champion to break the spell. Duncan may not be a hero, but he is a gentleman, and he refuses to leave a lady in distress. He becomes determined to take on the quest on Miss Milne's behalf.
Meanwhile, an unlikely rescue team forms in the pairing of Duncan's best friend George and valet Davies. As they set out for Faebourne—and also perchance to learn more about Davies' obscured family history—what begins as an unequal partnership quickly blooms into friendship... and possibly something more.
10.12.2018
The Dream Cages: Update
I haven't forgotten you! (The, like, 11 of you who might even care.) I'm on a deadline with my current novel and will come back to TDC when it's done. Should be another week maybe? Thanks for your patience!
Television: FBI & The Good Cop
Tried the first episodes of both these new procedurals. Here are my thoughts:
FBI was incredibly generic. The characters were all so monotone, with no personalities whatsoever. I mean, maybe the show is written and directed by A.I. robots? I also had the sense that the episode I was watching was not the first one—like maybe they'd aired them out of order. (Too lazy to go look it up and see if that might be true.) Because there was no real introduction to the characters or anything. When done well, that can be fine. When you slowly show the characters' personalities, when the characters bloom open as it were. But that didn't happen here. Or if they're trying to do that, it's too slow for anyone to find it interesting. The difference between watching an actual flower grow in real time vs. time lapse. (Hint: people watch time lapse videos; they don't sit and watch flowers actually open.)
The storyline itself was fine. ::shrug:: Nothing very different from any other procedural, really.
Verdict: I took the series recording off my DVR. But the show got a full season pick-up, I think, so there must be some people who like it.
The Good Cop was . . . not as funny as I thought it would be? This show seems to be very self-aware of the fact that it's dragging up some old tropes. But it also doesn't seem to know what it wants to be when it grows up. Like, the title sequence is riffing on old 80s shows (and when you have Tony Danza, what else are you going to do, really?), and the music cues are over-the-top sitcom stuff. In fact, a lot of the show is over the top. The characters are all extreme versions of their types: the straight-laced, by-the-book cop; the ex-con cop; the buffoon sidekick; the dorky science guy, etc. They all seemed to be overacting a bit, and I couldn't tell whether that was intentional and, if so, why. Like, what effect the show was going for. A lot of it looks and feels very tongue in cheek, but it wasn't actually funny, so I couldn't tell if it was supposed to be or???
The plot was very basic, too. The titular good cop is framed for a murder that his ex-con cop dad may have committed. But there's an absolutely throwaway plot spur in which said dad confesses and goes back to prison. Something like that should add weight or tension, and here it didn't seem to have any impact on the story or the characters whatsoever.
Verdict: I'm still a little intrigued to see if this show finds its feet. So I'll probably try another one or two episodes.
FBI was incredibly generic. The characters were all so monotone, with no personalities whatsoever. I mean, maybe the show is written and directed by A.I. robots? I also had the sense that the episode I was watching was not the first one—like maybe they'd aired them out of order. (Too lazy to go look it up and see if that might be true.) Because there was no real introduction to the characters or anything. When done well, that can be fine. When you slowly show the characters' personalities, when the characters bloom open as it were. But that didn't happen here. Or if they're trying to do that, it's too slow for anyone to find it interesting. The difference between watching an actual flower grow in real time vs. time lapse. (Hint: people watch time lapse videos; they don't sit and watch flowers actually open.)
The storyline itself was fine. ::shrug:: Nothing very different from any other procedural, really.
Verdict: I took the series recording off my DVR. But the show got a full season pick-up, I think, so there must be some people who like it.
The Good Cop was . . . not as funny as I thought it would be? This show seems to be very self-aware of the fact that it's dragging up some old tropes. But it also doesn't seem to know what it wants to be when it grows up. Like, the title sequence is riffing on old 80s shows (and when you have Tony Danza, what else are you going to do, really?), and the music cues are over-the-top sitcom stuff. In fact, a lot of the show is over the top. The characters are all extreme versions of their types: the straight-laced, by-the-book cop; the ex-con cop; the buffoon sidekick; the dorky science guy, etc. They all seemed to be overacting a bit, and I couldn't tell whether that was intentional and, if so, why. Like, what effect the show was going for. A lot of it looks and feels very tongue in cheek, but it wasn't actually funny, so I couldn't tell if it was supposed to be or???
The plot was very basic, too. The titular good cop is framed for a murder that his ex-con cop dad may have committed. But there's an absolutely throwaway plot spur in which said dad confesses and goes back to prison. Something like that should add weight or tension, and here it didn't seem to have any impact on the story or the characters whatsoever.
Verdict: I'm still a little intrigued to see if this show finds its feet. So I'll probably try another one or two episodes.
10.06.2018
Movies: Won't You Be My Neighbor?
Oh, man. It's difficult to make me cry (unless there are animals involved), but I bawled through a lot of this documentary about Fred Rogers' efforts to reach children with his message of how they all have value. Like many kids growing up in the late 70s and early 80s, I spent my fair share of time in Mister Rogers' Neighborhood. I'm very sorry my kids were born just a wee bit too late to learn from him, too. Mr. Rogers was soothing, comforting, understanding. I believe his methods inform the way I speak to my children even today. Why, just yesterday I spoke to my youngest about how it's okay to be angry—normal, in fact—but the important thing is what we do with that anger. Mr. Rogers taught us that it's okay to make mistakes, something I think our society forgets far too easily.
WYBMN? focuses specifically on Rogers' mission, his television work. It's very well done and interviews a number of family members, cast and crew, and friends. It also makes extensive use of archival footage so that Rogers speaks for himself via old interviews as well.
That said, I'm not sure I learned anything about Rogers that I didn't already know or suspect. That he was more or less exactly how he came across on television, a good and caring person—that's nice to know, I think, because it allows me to maintain my faith in him and every lesson he instilled in me as a child. Still, I might've liked to hear about his childhood or family life, but that was beyond the purvey of this documentary.
The world could use a few more Fred Rogers, but alas, he was sui generis. He knew we had it in us to be better, but I fear we've let him down.
WYBMN? focuses specifically on Rogers' mission, his television work. It's very well done and interviews a number of family members, cast and crew, and friends. It also makes extensive use of archival footage so that Rogers speaks for himself via old interviews as well.
That said, I'm not sure I learned anything about Rogers that I didn't already know or suspect. That he was more or less exactly how he came across on television, a good and caring person—that's nice to know, I think, because it allows me to maintain my faith in him and every lesson he instilled in me as a child. Still, I might've liked to hear about his childhood or family life, but that was beyond the purvey of this documentary.
The world could use a few more Fred Rogers, but alas, he was sui generis. He knew we had it in us to be better, but I fear we've let him down.
9.21.2018
Movies: Ocean's Eight
I just . . . didn't care. About any of these characters. None of them charmed me* or made me want to cheer them on. And there was a noted lack of witty banter, which is usually the backbone of these kinds of films.
Between this and the all-female Ghostbusters, I feel like scripts are really giving female-driven movies the short end of the stick. Instead of playing to strengths, they just try to take male characters and plug women into them. The result is a mismatch, something that comes off as vaguely discordant.
I worked with Sandy Bullock, and she can be so funny and charming. This movie just didn't do her justice. Nor did it do much for any of the other wonderfully talented women involved.
For anyone who might not know, this girly version of the heist franchise centers on Bullock as Debbie Ocean, Danny's (you remember him as George Clooney) sister. Apparently the entire family are unrepentant criminals. Make a family reunion movie, guys. It'd probably be way more entertaining than this was.
Anyway, Ocean gets out of prison and immediately puts together a big job—stealing a famous necklace during a Met Gala. Because we all know women like jewelry, I guess.
The writers tried to shoehorn in some revenge-on-the-lover-who-put-her-away story, but though hinted at early on, it wasn't brought forward until much later, which gave the whole thing the feeling of, "Oh, we need something to thicken this plot soup." By then, we didn't care and it was too late to get us to start.
The short answer is, the movie took itself too seriously. Even in the moments I think it was trying to be lighthearted. There needed to be greater ease between the characters, a more relaxed atmosphere over all. Instead, everyone was stiff. Dour. It wasn't fun to watch, and these movie need to be fun. That's the point of them.
And we need to care. About the characters, and about whether or not they succeed. That's where tension comes from, and here there just was none. The whole thing was flat and uninteresting. Meh.
* I did kind of like Helena Bonham Carter's character?
Between this and the all-female Ghostbusters, I feel like scripts are really giving female-driven movies the short end of the stick. Instead of playing to strengths, they just try to take male characters and plug women into them. The result is a mismatch, something that comes off as vaguely discordant.
I worked with Sandy Bullock, and she can be so funny and charming. This movie just didn't do her justice. Nor did it do much for any of the other wonderfully talented women involved.
For anyone who might not know, this girly version of the heist franchise centers on Bullock as Debbie Ocean, Danny's (you remember him as George Clooney) sister. Apparently the entire family are unrepentant criminals. Make a family reunion movie, guys. It'd probably be way more entertaining than this was.
Anyway, Ocean gets out of prison and immediately puts together a big job—stealing a famous necklace during a Met Gala. Because we all know women like jewelry, I guess.
The writers tried to shoehorn in some revenge-on-the-lover-who-put-her-away story, but though hinted at early on, it wasn't brought forward until much later, which gave the whole thing the feeling of, "Oh, we need something to thicken this plot soup." By then, we didn't care and it was too late to get us to start.
The short answer is, the movie took itself too seriously. Even in the moments I think it was trying to be lighthearted. There needed to be greater ease between the characters, a more relaxed atmosphere over all. Instead, everyone was stiff. Dour. It wasn't fun to watch, and these movie need to be fun. That's the point of them.
And we need to care. About the characters, and about whether or not they succeed. That's where tension comes from, and here there just was none. The whole thing was flat and uninteresting. Meh.
* I did kind of like Helena Bonham Carter's character?
9.16.2018
My YouTube
So, I started putting videos on YouTube. Nothing major, and it was not really planned as a "channel." Thing was, when I uploaded my videos to Facebook, the audio sync kept getting messed up. So I started shelving my videos on YouTube instead.
There are only four there atm. But it's where I'll be putting all my videos from now on, so if you want to keep up with me talking about books and writing subscribe here. Or just look up M Pepper on YouTube. You'll get a lot of Dr Pepper ad videos, I think, but I'm in there somewhere.
I'm not very techie. I don't have cool graphics or edits or whatever. Maybe I'll learn more of that as I go along. In the meantime, ICYMI, here is my most recent video:
There are only four there atm. But it's where I'll be putting all my videos from now on, so if you want to keep up with me talking about books and writing subscribe here. Or just look up M Pepper on YouTube. You'll get a lot of Dr Pepper ad videos, I think, but I'm in there somewhere.
I'm not very techie. I don't have cool graphics or edits or whatever. Maybe I'll learn more of that as I go along. In the meantime, ICYMI, here is my most recent video:
Minchiate Etruria
I was meant to have these cards, and here's how I know:
When I ordered them, I didn't realize they were limited edition and numbered. So I was surprised when I opened the box and found this:
All my life, the numbers 1, 8, and 0 have continually turned up in myriad ways and combinations: addresses, phone numbers, dates, and even the style number on my wedding dress (I'd picked the dress before seeing the style number and was floored). Later in life I learned that 18 is a significant number in Judaism, meaning in an alpha-numeric shorthand "life." In short, this number and variations thereof have followed me my entire life. So when I opened the Minchiate box and saw this, I took it as a sign.
I first heard of the Minchiate when I picked up a book called The Creative Tarot by Jessa Crispin. She described a deck that, instead of the usual 78 cards, had 97. I looked it up and it just so happened Llewellyn and Lo Scarabeo were recreating a Minchiate deck. Out of curiosity, I ordered it.
What makes the difference between these cards and a standard tarot deck? Well, there are 41 Major Arcana cards in the Minchiate. The usual suspects are there (excepting the High Priestess), though reordered somewhat. Then there are four Virtues, four Elements, and the twelve Zodiac.
How does one read these additional cards? No idea. The booklet that comes with the deck is thin and offers no information on how to use the cards. I'll be doing some online research soon, but I also think this might be a case where I study the cards for a bit and get a feel for what each wants to tell me.
The pip cards in this deck are plain, rather like the Marseilles tarot decks. They offer no extra visual input, so for those who like to read their pips by the artwork (like the woman in the walled garden on the 9 of Pentacles, say), this deck won't work for you. That said, the artwork, such as it is, is quite lovely and detailed. If you're a collector—which I am; I don't use many of the decks I own, but I keep them because I love the art—you might enjoy adding this one to your shelf. Or wherever you keep your cards.
When I ordered them, I didn't realize they were limited edition and numbered. So I was surprised when I opened the box and found this:
All my life, the numbers 1, 8, and 0 have continually turned up in myriad ways and combinations: addresses, phone numbers, dates, and even the style number on my wedding dress (I'd picked the dress before seeing the style number and was floored). Later in life I learned that 18 is a significant number in Judaism, meaning in an alpha-numeric shorthand "life." In short, this number and variations thereof have followed me my entire life. So when I opened the Minchiate box and saw this, I took it as a sign.
I first heard of the Minchiate when I picked up a book called The Creative Tarot by Jessa Crispin. She described a deck that, instead of the usual 78 cards, had 97. I looked it up and it just so happened Llewellyn and Lo Scarabeo were recreating a Minchiate deck. Out of curiosity, I ordered it.
What makes the difference between these cards and a standard tarot deck? Well, there are 41 Major Arcana cards in the Minchiate. The usual suspects are there (excepting the High Priestess), though reordered somewhat. Then there are four Virtues, four Elements, and the twelve Zodiac.
 |
| Ace of Pentacles, Sagittarius, Water cards from the Minchiate |
How does one read these additional cards? No idea. The booklet that comes with the deck is thin and offers no information on how to use the cards. I'll be doing some online research soon, but I also think this might be a case where I study the cards for a bit and get a feel for what each wants to tell me.
The pip cards in this deck are plain, rather like the Marseilles tarot decks. They offer no extra visual input, so for those who like to read their pips by the artwork (like the woman in the walled garden on the 9 of Pentacles, say), this deck won't work for you. That said, the artwork, such as it is, is quite lovely and detailed. If you're a collector—which I am; I don't use many of the decks I own, but I keep them because I love the art—you might enjoy adding this one to your shelf. Or wherever you keep your cards.
9.12.2018
The Dream Cages #16
"It's not intentional," Adam said, more to himself than to Matthew. It didn't take much to convince himself Ronan hadn't realized what he was doing, what Cabeswater was doing. After all, Ronan had come after them and had seemed as confused as they'd been.
Ronan... Adam hoped wherever Ronan had woken up, he hadn't been too bloodied. It occurred to him Ronan might try to return. They needed to get out before Ronan got back in, else the cycle might be endless. It was already vicious.
Adam extended his hand to help Matthew to his feet. Then he regarded the dragon. Some ten to twelve feet tall, but not as impeccably designed as most of Ronan's dream creatures. Because, of course, this wasn't one of Ronan's.
This one was his.
Or, rather, it had come from the spaces he frequented when he scried. Adam didn't make those things, they simply existed in the black. Spirits or demons or... He didn't know. He sometimes caught glimpses in the candlelight, but he'd never seen one so exposed.
Yet it wasn't totally bare to scrutiny. The leathery skin that was the color of dried blood, the bat-like wings, the claws, the beakish maw, the yellow eyes—Adam could discern these features, but they were were somewhat obscured, as though the creature kept a cloud of dark smoke around it that prevented it from being seen clearly. The dragon was not a fully formed idea.
"I think it can only take us one at a time," Adam said.
Matthew shrugged. "It's all right. I'm not going."
It took a moment for the words to penetrate. Even still, Adam couldn't trust what he thought he'd heard. "What?"
"I'm fine here," Matthew insisted. "I like it."
"If I don't get you home, Ronan..." Will never forgive me. Will come back here and get himself killed.
But Matthew only shrugged again. "He can visit, can't he? He was just here."
"He thinks you're dead."
"Then me staying should be a relief," Matthew reasoned. "I mean, at least I'm here."
"Matthew..."
"Look," Matthew said, and though his signature smile remained fixed, something other than his usual sparkle showed behind his blue eyes. "I'm not smart like Declan and Ronan. I never really expected to be or do much of anything in life. And the truth is, I don't really have to. I'm not saying I just want to live off the money Dad left, but..." His gaze drifted toward the cows. "I'm not really fit for anything else."
Adam swallowed the lump in his throat. It wasn't his place to tell Matthew that his flaws were not his fault. That they came from a three-year-old's inability to shape the intricacies of humanity. When Ronan had dreamt Matthew, he hadn't been looking for "smart." He'd been looking for happiness. And Matthew was that, made flesh.
Yet there was no such thing as pure happiness. Because happy didn't exist without sad as a contrast.
Could a dream be self-aware?
But even as Adam wondered, the moment passed, and Matthew returned to his uncomplicated, smiling self. "I'll stay," he said again. "You go tell Ronan that I'm all right."
It was, Adam decided, an argument for another time. And Matthew was in less immediate peril than he was anyway. Dream bodies slept. They didn't die.
"Okay," Adam said. He turned to the dragon. "Lead the way."
Ronan... Adam hoped wherever Ronan had woken up, he hadn't been too bloodied. It occurred to him Ronan might try to return. They needed to get out before Ronan got back in, else the cycle might be endless. It was already vicious.
Adam extended his hand to help Matthew to his feet. Then he regarded the dragon. Some ten to twelve feet tall, but not as impeccably designed as most of Ronan's dream creatures. Because, of course, this wasn't one of Ronan's.
This one was his.
Or, rather, it had come from the spaces he frequented when he scried. Adam didn't make those things, they simply existed in the black. Spirits or demons or... He didn't know. He sometimes caught glimpses in the candlelight, but he'd never seen one so exposed.
Yet it wasn't totally bare to scrutiny. The leathery skin that was the color of dried blood, the bat-like wings, the claws, the beakish maw, the yellow eyes—Adam could discern these features, but they were were somewhat obscured, as though the creature kept a cloud of dark smoke around it that prevented it from being seen clearly. The dragon was not a fully formed idea.
"I think it can only take us one at a time," Adam said.
Matthew shrugged. "It's all right. I'm not going."
It took a moment for the words to penetrate. Even still, Adam couldn't trust what he thought he'd heard. "What?"
"I'm fine here," Matthew insisted. "I like it."
"If I don't get you home, Ronan..." Will never forgive me. Will come back here and get himself killed.
But Matthew only shrugged again. "He can visit, can't he? He was just here."
"He thinks you're dead."
"Then me staying should be a relief," Matthew reasoned. "I mean, at least I'm here."
"Matthew..."
"Look," Matthew said, and though his signature smile remained fixed, something other than his usual sparkle showed behind his blue eyes. "I'm not smart like Declan and Ronan. I never really expected to be or do much of anything in life. And the truth is, I don't really have to. I'm not saying I just want to live off the money Dad left, but..." His gaze drifted toward the cows. "I'm not really fit for anything else."
Adam swallowed the lump in his throat. It wasn't his place to tell Matthew that his flaws were not his fault. That they came from a three-year-old's inability to shape the intricacies of humanity. When Ronan had dreamt Matthew, he hadn't been looking for "smart." He'd been looking for happiness. And Matthew was that, made flesh.
Yet there was no such thing as pure happiness. Because happy didn't exist without sad as a contrast.
Could a dream be self-aware?
But even as Adam wondered, the moment passed, and Matthew returned to his uncomplicated, smiling self. "I'll stay," he said again. "You go tell Ronan that I'm all right."
It was, Adam decided, an argument for another time. And Matthew was in less immediate peril than he was anyway. Dream bodies slept. They didn't die.
"Okay," Adam said. He turned to the dragon. "Lead the way."
9.07.2018
Movies: Destination Wedding
I can't . . . Like, I can't even . . .
Sigh.
I love Keanu and it's been great seeing Winona have a kind of renaissance thanks to Stranger Things. They work fairly well off one another here, but the material is a bit clunky at times.
In this film, Winona plays Lindsay and Keanu plays Frank, who find themselves thrown together at the titular destination wedding in Paso Robles. (I actually enjoy Paso Robles, so . . .) Lindsay is the ex-fiancée of the groom, and Frank is the groom's half brother (? if I understood correctly?). The "fun" starts when they meet at the airport while waiting for the same tiny plane. They argue then predictably get stuck sitting beside one another.
Things go on from there, also in expected fashion. The entire movie is Lindsay and Frank having a series of conversations in various locations during the wedding weekend. There are some genuinely funny moments, but on the whole the story is thin and every event foreseeable. Except maybe the mountain lion.
The tone is reminiscent of Woody Allen. Not sure if that's intentional, though I don't know how it couldn't be. From the stylized title treatments to the music to the very absurdness and cynicism of the discussions between Lindsay and Frank, the whole thing smacks of trademark Allen. Yet if you like that sort of thing, I don't think you'd find this a fulfilling substitute. This is the lo-cal version.
Part of me wondered as I watched whether it was maybe originally planned as a stage play? Only Keanu's and Winona's characters have any lines; everyone else are mere extras. The result is something that feels like a classic two-hander.
Bottom line is, I can't decide if I liked this movie. It's cute, but maybe tries too hard? And fails to be very original. Yet somehow, despite these flaws, I still kind of enjoyed it. Even as my rational side insisted I shouldn't. So I don't know. It's definitely not for everyone, but I wouldn't necessarily warn people away either. Your mileage in traveling to this wedding may vary. Probably depends on where you're starting from.
Sigh.
I love Keanu and it's been great seeing Winona have a kind of renaissance thanks to Stranger Things. They work fairly well off one another here, but the material is a bit clunky at times.
In this film, Winona plays Lindsay and Keanu plays Frank, who find themselves thrown together at the titular destination wedding in Paso Robles. (I actually enjoy Paso Robles, so . . .) Lindsay is the ex-fiancée of the groom, and Frank is the groom's half brother (? if I understood correctly?). The "fun" starts when they meet at the airport while waiting for the same tiny plane. They argue then predictably get stuck sitting beside one another.
Things go on from there, also in expected fashion. The entire movie is Lindsay and Frank having a series of conversations in various locations during the wedding weekend. There are some genuinely funny moments, but on the whole the story is thin and every event foreseeable. Except maybe the mountain lion.
The tone is reminiscent of Woody Allen. Not sure if that's intentional, though I don't know how it couldn't be. From the stylized title treatments to the music to the very absurdness and cynicism of the discussions between Lindsay and Frank, the whole thing smacks of trademark Allen. Yet if you like that sort of thing, I don't think you'd find this a fulfilling substitute. This is the lo-cal version.
Part of me wondered as I watched whether it was maybe originally planned as a stage play? Only Keanu's and Winona's characters have any lines; everyone else are mere extras. The result is something that feels like a classic two-hander.
Bottom line is, I can't decide if I liked this movie. It's cute, but maybe tries too hard? And fails to be very original. Yet somehow, despite these flaws, I still kind of enjoyed it. Even as my rational side insisted I shouldn't. So I don't know. It's definitely not for everyone, but I wouldn't necessarily warn people away either. Your mileage in traveling to this wedding may vary. Probably depends on where you're starting from.
9.02.2018
The Dream Cages #15
When Ronan disappeared—woke up, Adam supposed—the creature did not cease to attack. Only, as it turned out, it hadn't been attacking at all. Well, it had been attacking Ronan. Which was par for the course in Ronan's dreams; horrifying creatures assaulted him quite regularly while he slept. But the... "dragon," for lack of a better word... did not seem intent on hurting Adam. It only wanted to take him somewhere, and its method for that was to dig in its claws and drag him.
The more Adam fought its grasp, the tighter the talons became, until finally Adam yelled up at it, "Okay, I get it! I'll come with. But you're hurting me."
He could almost feel it thinking as it carried him another yard. But in the end, it relented and released him. Adam landed unceremoniously on his ass in the dirt and the dragon landed just behind him. Not with a thud or the shuddering of the earth, but silently. The only reason Adam knew it was there was because its shadow fell over him.
Adam sat looking at the farmhouse in the distance. He turned to look at the cows in the pasture. "Matthew?" he asked.
The dragon let out a low growl but then lifted off again and glided with remarkable grace to circle over the cows. The cows didn't appear bothered. Maybe dream creatures had some kind of understanding? When a dream thing meets a dream thing coming through the rye...
Am I a dream thing?
No, he wasn't. He was only a consciousness caught in a dream. Ronan's dream. Ronan's recreated Cabeswater. He thought about what Ronan had said, about creating a dream Barns to fit over the real one. Two planes meshed into one. If it worked, could the sleeping creatures be awakened? Could the Barns become an extension of Cabeswater?
Ronan had said he didn't want to make a bigger cage, but maybe he'd become that desperate. Or maybe this was a stop-gap solution until he could fix the underlying problem.
But why am I here?
Screaming brought Adam's attention back to the immediate moment. The dragon was returning, this time with Matthew in its clutches. Matthew kicked and shouted things Ronan would not have liked hearing his innocent, sweet little brother say. The dragon ignored him and dropped him beside Adam. Matthew looked at Adam, wide-eyed, then scrambled to his feet to run, but Adam said, "Don't."
Matthew sat back down. He made more of a thud than the dragon had.
"It doesn't want to hurt us. It wants to take us somewhere."
"Back to its nest to feed us to its young or something," said Matthew.
"I don't think so. Do the numbers six and twenty mean anything to you?"
Matthew's brow wrinkled but a moment later he jolted where he sat as though physically struck with a thought. "Sure, it's Ronan's favorite verse."
"Verse?" Adam asked. "Like a poem?"
Matthew laughed. "Nah. I found a book of poems by Shelley under his bed once, though." He laughed again. "He was so pissed."
"The verse, though?" Adam prompted.
"Matthew 6:20. Something like, 'Store up your treasures in heaven, where moths nor rust corrupts, and where thieves do not break in and steal.'"
Adam thought about this a moment. "Shit," he said. He looked at Matthew—a little dirty, but none the worse for wear. No wounds where the dragon had grabbed him, no blood. He looked at his own shoulders. Same. "Shit," he said again.
He stood up and turned to the dragon, which waited patiently for them to figure things out. "You're trying to take us back," he said.
"Back where?" Matthew asked.
"To the waking world," Adam told him. "We've been... imported here. Not on purpose, but still, we can't stay. We have to get back to our bodies. If we're gone too long, they'll die."
"I feel fine," Matthew said. "I feel like me. If my body dies, then can't I just stay here?"
"If your body dies, so does your consciousness." Well, mine does, anyway. But Adam could hardly tell Matthew his brother had dreamt him. "That's what's here now. If your body dies, and your consciousness dies, there won't be anything else to stay here."
"So how did our consciousness end up here? We're having the same dream?"
"Not exactly. We're part of someone else's dream. Ronan wants to keep us safe, and in some backward way, this is how Cabeswater is granting his wish." When Matthew still looked confused, Adam said, "We're Ronan's treasure."
The more Adam fought its grasp, the tighter the talons became, until finally Adam yelled up at it, "Okay, I get it! I'll come with. But you're hurting me."
He could almost feel it thinking as it carried him another yard. But in the end, it relented and released him. Adam landed unceremoniously on his ass in the dirt and the dragon landed just behind him. Not with a thud or the shuddering of the earth, but silently. The only reason Adam knew it was there was because its shadow fell over him.
Adam sat looking at the farmhouse in the distance. He turned to look at the cows in the pasture. "Matthew?" he asked.
The dragon let out a low growl but then lifted off again and glided with remarkable grace to circle over the cows. The cows didn't appear bothered. Maybe dream creatures had some kind of understanding? When a dream thing meets a dream thing coming through the rye...
Am I a dream thing?
No, he wasn't. He was only a consciousness caught in a dream. Ronan's dream. Ronan's recreated Cabeswater. He thought about what Ronan had said, about creating a dream Barns to fit over the real one. Two planes meshed into one. If it worked, could the sleeping creatures be awakened? Could the Barns become an extension of Cabeswater?
Ronan had said he didn't want to make a bigger cage, but maybe he'd become that desperate. Or maybe this was a stop-gap solution until he could fix the underlying problem.
But why am I here?
Screaming brought Adam's attention back to the immediate moment. The dragon was returning, this time with Matthew in its clutches. Matthew kicked and shouted things Ronan would not have liked hearing his innocent, sweet little brother say. The dragon ignored him and dropped him beside Adam. Matthew looked at Adam, wide-eyed, then scrambled to his feet to run, but Adam said, "Don't."
Matthew sat back down. He made more of a thud than the dragon had.
"It doesn't want to hurt us. It wants to take us somewhere."
"Back to its nest to feed us to its young or something," said Matthew.
"I don't think so. Do the numbers six and twenty mean anything to you?"
Matthew's brow wrinkled but a moment later he jolted where he sat as though physically struck with a thought. "Sure, it's Ronan's favorite verse."
"Verse?" Adam asked. "Like a poem?"
Matthew laughed. "Nah. I found a book of poems by Shelley under his bed once, though." He laughed again. "He was so pissed."
"The verse, though?" Adam prompted.
"Matthew 6:20. Something like, 'Store up your treasures in heaven, where moths nor rust corrupts, and where thieves do not break in and steal.'"
Adam thought about this a moment. "Shit," he said. He looked at Matthew—a little dirty, but none the worse for wear. No wounds where the dragon had grabbed him, no blood. He looked at his own shoulders. Same. "Shit," he said again.
He stood up and turned to the dragon, which waited patiently for them to figure things out. "You're trying to take us back," he said.
"Back where?" Matthew asked.
"To the waking world," Adam told him. "We've been... imported here. Not on purpose, but still, we can't stay. We have to get back to our bodies. If we're gone too long, they'll die."
"I feel fine," Matthew said. "I feel like me. If my body dies, then can't I just stay here?"
"If your body dies, so does your consciousness." Well, mine does, anyway. But Adam could hardly tell Matthew his brother had dreamt him. "That's what's here now. If your body dies, and your consciousness dies, there won't be anything else to stay here."
"So how did our consciousness end up here? We're having the same dream?"
"Not exactly. We're part of someone else's dream. Ronan wants to keep us safe, and in some backward way, this is how Cabeswater is granting his wish." When Matthew still looked confused, Adam said, "We're Ronan's treasure."
8.31.2018
Television: Can Sherlock Be Saved?
I'm going to pause here for a second and go back to something rather old at this point. It's no secret I really, really disliked the last couple series of Sherlock. And I came off the fourth series sort of assuming that was the end of it. Like, they seemed to have wrapped it up in a bow, right? But people keep talking about how to fix the show in the next series, and I just keep thinking, Is there going to be one? Is it even worth trying to fix and keep going?
The show's stars are busy with other things now, and Moffat and Gatiss have talked about doing Dracula or Frankenstein or something, haven't they? So I don't really know that there will be more Sherlock. But for the sake of argument, let's say there will be. Someday. And that the show needs to be course corrected. Because, Jesus, that last episode in particular was just so, so awful. But honestly, it's been going downhill for a while, yeah? Starting with the third series? With the making fun of the fans while simultaneously doing random fan service that felt pulled straight from bad fan fiction?
What made Sherlock good in the beginning was the very careful amalgam of plot + character. What made it slowly go bad—like takeaway left out to spoil—was the shifting imbalance of those things. 1. Plot became less important and often less concise, which is the kiss of death when telling mystery stories in particular. 2. Character also became less well defined as the characters began to behave in odd ways that seemed not to fit the way they'd been originally established. So: viewers who had come for the plots were disappointed. And people who'd come for the characters were equally unhappy. It just all went off the rails, really.
When we left the show, where were we? Sherlock had an even smarter sister who . . . was criminally insane? And was upset, I guess, that Sherlock had forgotten her? She's apparently orchestrated his entire life, or at least the last several years of it, by injecting Moriarty (now very definitely dead?) into it. I'm surprised we weren't told she was the one who introduced John to Sherlock in some backward way.
Okay, but the sister is all safe and sound now, and the Holmes family is somehow quite fine with . . . whatever the f*** happened there, and based on the coda to that last episode, John and Sherlock are happily raising a baby together and solving crimes and teaching a baby to solve crimes.
Yeah, that feels like an end to me. I don't see a path forward there short of something really, really awful like: it was a novel John wrote that was so bad it never found a publisher. Or even a series of novels John wrote, and they did get published, but it was all fantasy. So let's reset to . . . when? How far back would we have to go to make Sherlock good again? I think we'd have to start back at series three. I think we'd have to explain how he survived the fall (and we all know that the writers don't know, which is why they didn't answer that question and instead chose to make fun of the fans for asking). I think we'd have to change Mary or remove her entirely. Because, honestly, the whole mercenary thread? It was pretty awful. I think, if we go with the idea John was writing novels, that was John writing a wish fulfillment/attempt at a James Bond thriller. I think if he's got a girlfriend or a wife, she's probably something fairly normal and not half the fun Sherlock is, which is why John wrote her as way more exciting.* Because he missed Sherlock while Sherlock was "dead."
This is a stretch, I realize. This is Dallas' "all a dream" or St. Elsewhere's snow globe to the maximum. But it's the only way back to good that I can see.
Still, it seems far more likely they'll just leave it and move on. Viewers keep hoping for "one more miracle"—that the show will come back from the dead and redeem itself—but I'm not sure it has any left.
* John's actual wife: "But, dear, why did you kill off the wife?"
John: "The readers didn't like her."
The show's stars are busy with other things now, and Moffat and Gatiss have talked about doing Dracula or Frankenstein or something, haven't they? So I don't really know that there will be more Sherlock. But for the sake of argument, let's say there will be. Someday. And that the show needs to be course corrected. Because, Jesus, that last episode in particular was just so, so awful. But honestly, it's been going downhill for a while, yeah? Starting with the third series? With the making fun of the fans while simultaneously doing random fan service that felt pulled straight from bad fan fiction?
What made Sherlock good in the beginning was the very careful amalgam of plot + character. What made it slowly go bad—like takeaway left out to spoil—was the shifting imbalance of those things. 1. Plot became less important and often less concise, which is the kiss of death when telling mystery stories in particular. 2. Character also became less well defined as the characters began to behave in odd ways that seemed not to fit the way they'd been originally established. So: viewers who had come for the plots were disappointed. And people who'd come for the characters were equally unhappy. It just all went off the rails, really.
When we left the show, where were we? Sherlock had an even smarter sister who . . . was criminally insane? And was upset, I guess, that Sherlock had forgotten her? She's apparently orchestrated his entire life, or at least the last several years of it, by injecting Moriarty (now very definitely dead?) into it. I'm surprised we weren't told she was the one who introduced John to Sherlock in some backward way.
Okay, but the sister is all safe and sound now, and the Holmes family is somehow quite fine with . . . whatever the f*** happened there, and based on the coda to that last episode, John and Sherlock are happily raising a baby together and solving crimes and teaching a baby to solve crimes.
Yeah, that feels like an end to me. I don't see a path forward there short of something really, really awful like: it was a novel John wrote that was so bad it never found a publisher. Or even a series of novels John wrote, and they did get published, but it was all fantasy. So let's reset to . . . when? How far back would we have to go to make Sherlock good again? I think we'd have to start back at series three. I think we'd have to explain how he survived the fall (and we all know that the writers don't know, which is why they didn't answer that question and instead chose to make fun of the fans for asking). I think we'd have to change Mary or remove her entirely. Because, honestly, the whole mercenary thread? It was pretty awful. I think, if we go with the idea John was writing novels, that was John writing a wish fulfillment/attempt at a James Bond thriller. I think if he's got a girlfriend or a wife, she's probably something fairly normal and not half the fun Sherlock is, which is why John wrote her as way more exciting.* Because he missed Sherlock while Sherlock was "dead."
This is a stretch, I realize. This is Dallas' "all a dream" or St. Elsewhere's snow globe to the maximum. But it's the only way back to good that I can see.
Still, it seems far more likely they'll just leave it and move on. Viewers keep hoping for "one more miracle"—that the show will come back from the dead and redeem itself—but I'm not sure it has any left.
* John's actual wife: "But, dear, why did you kill off the wife?"
John: "The readers didn't like her."
8.24.2018
The Dream Cages #14
"Jesus," said Gansey.
Ronan's body had pitched itself from the chair onto the floor, and as the blue eyes opened, rents appeared in the back of Ronan's shirt, in his flesh, copious amounts of blood spilling onto the scuffed hospital linoleum.
"Henry, no!" Blue shouted as Henry dove for the emergency call button.
"But..." said Henry, gesturing broadly to the expanding puddle.
"It's fine," Gansey said, "he'll be fine." Though, truth be told, it sounded a bit like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.
"This is normal?" Henry asked.
"None of this is normal," said Blue.
"And all of it is," Gansey added.
Henry threw his hands up in defeat. "Okay, man. You the boss."
"We need to clean it up, though," Blue said. "Henry, go get some paper towels from the bathroom."
"Why me?" Blue just looked at him. Gansey had bent to check on Ronan, though he was careful to stay outside the margins of the gore. "Fine," Henry muttered, and again, "Fine," before disappearing into the hallway.
"What happened?" Gansey asked Ronan.
For a little longer, Ronan didn't move. Couldn't, Gansey suspected; Ronan always came back paralyzed from dreaming. Only the blue eyes roved in the direction of Gansey's voice. And then, suddenly, Ronan was bolt upright. It happened so fast Gansey didn't even see it; Ronan had been flat out on his stomach, then he was sitting up, then he was on his feet and next to Adam's bed.
"Where is he?" Ronan asked.
"He's right there," said Blue.
"No," Ronan told her. "He was at the Barns. With Matthew."
Gansey's brow folded into confusion or concern; the two looked the same on him. "The Barns?"
"Dream Barns," said Ronan. "That thing..." His words came fast and his hands went to his head in the universal sign for someone who is overwhelmed and doesn't know where to start. "I need to check on Matthew."
Henry reappeared with two fistfuls of paper towels. He looked to Blue, then Gansey, neither of whom noticed him. With a sigh, he dropped the towels over the blood. "That's all I'm doing," he announced. "I'm not scrubbing this stuff. I've got both my shoes."
When no one answered, Henry said, "Hello? Cinderella? Shoes? Is this thing on?"
But Ronan and Gansey just stared at each other until finally the latter sighed and pulled out his cell phone. "I'll call Dec—"
Ronan took his phone out, too, and swore. "Don't bother. I have about fifty messages from him." He handed the phone to Gansey. "I can't."
Gansey pocketed his phone and took Ronan's. "Speaker?" he asked and Ronan shook his head. So Gansey hit play and held the phone to his ear. Ronan watched the way Gansey's throat moved as he swallowed. The way his hand shook just a little as he looked at the screen, moved to the next message, on and on through about five of them before he stopped and handed the device back.
"Same," Gansey said.
"What does that mean?" Blue asked.
"As Adam," Gansey clarified. "Declan found him in his room this morning. Breathing but unresponsive."
Ronan swore in a long and impressive stream before demanding, "Why? Why didn't they come back with me? Adam said—"
"You saw him," said Gansey, and when Ronan just stared, "We weren't there, remember? I think you'd better start from the beginning."
"It was dark, and there was a hall, and a voice, and then I fell to the Barns—"
A high-pitched noise cut Ronan's Cliffs Notes recap short. For a moment, he thought it was Matthew screaming again, somehow. Then he thought it was Adam. Because it was coming from the bed, this sound. He turned, expecting to see Adam's eyes open, to hear Adam trying to speak, even if it only came out as this thin stream of sound. But Adam was as still and silent as ever.
And still he didn't understand until Gansey said, "Shit."
Adam wasn't screeching, and it wasn't an errant night horror, and it wasn't some PTSD memory from the dream he'd just had. The equipment was shrieking. One long, ear-piercing blast.
Someone grabbed Ronan and hauled him back away from the bed.
"What?" Ronan asked, but feet coming down the hall like troops distracted him. Suddenly the room was full of people in coats and scrubs, one of them skidding precariously on the paper towels strewn across the floor, more wheeling a cart.
"Out!" one of them shouted. "All of you, out!"
"What?" Ronan asked again because it still hadn't sunk in. Too much had happened, and he was no dummy, but his brain just could. Not. Keep. Up.
Gansey dragged, Blue pushed, and then they were out in the hall.
One more time, the only word he seemed to be able to summon: "What?"
"Ronan," Blue said, and she used that soft and gentle voice that people used when they were about to give you bad news. Ronan glared at her, but she had become immune to his particular brand of venom.
"Ronan," she said again. "Adam just flatlined."
Ronan's body had pitched itself from the chair onto the floor, and as the blue eyes opened, rents appeared in the back of Ronan's shirt, in his flesh, copious amounts of blood spilling onto the scuffed hospital linoleum.
"Henry, no!" Blue shouted as Henry dove for the emergency call button.
"But..." said Henry, gesturing broadly to the expanding puddle.
"It's fine," Gansey said, "he'll be fine." Though, truth be told, it sounded a bit like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.
"This is normal?" Henry asked.
"None of this is normal," said Blue.
"And all of it is," Gansey added.
Henry threw his hands up in defeat. "Okay, man. You the boss."
"We need to clean it up, though," Blue said. "Henry, go get some paper towels from the bathroom."
"Why me?" Blue just looked at him. Gansey had bent to check on Ronan, though he was careful to stay outside the margins of the gore. "Fine," Henry muttered, and again, "Fine," before disappearing into the hallway.
"What happened?" Gansey asked Ronan.
For a little longer, Ronan didn't move. Couldn't, Gansey suspected; Ronan always came back paralyzed from dreaming. Only the blue eyes roved in the direction of Gansey's voice. And then, suddenly, Ronan was bolt upright. It happened so fast Gansey didn't even see it; Ronan had been flat out on his stomach, then he was sitting up, then he was on his feet and next to Adam's bed.
"Where is he?" Ronan asked.
"He's right there," said Blue.
"No," Ronan told her. "He was at the Barns. With Matthew."
Gansey's brow folded into confusion or concern; the two looked the same on him. "The Barns?"
"Dream Barns," said Ronan. "That thing..." His words came fast and his hands went to his head in the universal sign for someone who is overwhelmed and doesn't know where to start. "I need to check on Matthew."
Henry reappeared with two fistfuls of paper towels. He looked to Blue, then Gansey, neither of whom noticed him. With a sigh, he dropped the towels over the blood. "That's all I'm doing," he announced. "I'm not scrubbing this stuff. I've got both my shoes."
When no one answered, Henry said, "Hello? Cinderella? Shoes? Is this thing on?"
But Ronan and Gansey just stared at each other until finally the latter sighed and pulled out his cell phone. "I'll call Dec—"
Ronan took his phone out, too, and swore. "Don't bother. I have about fifty messages from him." He handed the phone to Gansey. "I can't."
Gansey pocketed his phone and took Ronan's. "Speaker?" he asked and Ronan shook his head. So Gansey hit play and held the phone to his ear. Ronan watched the way Gansey's throat moved as he swallowed. The way his hand shook just a little as he looked at the screen, moved to the next message, on and on through about five of them before he stopped and handed the device back.
"Same," Gansey said.
"What does that mean?" Blue asked.
"As Adam," Gansey clarified. "Declan found him in his room this morning. Breathing but unresponsive."
Ronan swore in a long and impressive stream before demanding, "Why? Why didn't they come back with me? Adam said—"
"You saw him," said Gansey, and when Ronan just stared, "We weren't there, remember? I think you'd better start from the beginning."
"It was dark, and there was a hall, and a voice, and then I fell to the Barns—"
A high-pitched noise cut Ronan's Cliffs Notes recap short. For a moment, he thought it was Matthew screaming again, somehow. Then he thought it was Adam. Because it was coming from the bed, this sound. He turned, expecting to see Adam's eyes open, to hear Adam trying to speak, even if it only came out as this thin stream of sound. But Adam was as still and silent as ever.
And still he didn't understand until Gansey said, "Shit."
Adam wasn't screeching, and it wasn't an errant night horror, and it wasn't some PTSD memory from the dream he'd just had. The equipment was shrieking. One long, ear-piercing blast.
Someone grabbed Ronan and hauled him back away from the bed.
"What?" Ronan asked, but feet coming down the hall like troops distracted him. Suddenly the room was full of people in coats and scrubs, one of them skidding precariously on the paper towels strewn across the floor, more wheeling a cart.
"Out!" one of them shouted. "All of you, out!"
"What?" Ronan asked again because it still hadn't sunk in. Too much had happened, and he was no dummy, but his brain just could. Not. Keep. Up.
Gansey dragged, Blue pushed, and then they were out in the hall.
One more time, the only word he seemed to be able to summon: "What?"
"Ronan," Blue said, and she used that soft and gentle voice that people used when they were about to give you bad news. Ronan glared at her, but she had become immune to his particular brand of venom.
"Ronan," she said again. "Adam just flatlined."
8.23.2018
The Dream Cages #13
Sorry for the long wait.
Adam froze to his chair, but Ronan shot up and out the door without hesitation. The piercing noise sounded not at all human, and Adam didn't even comprehend at first what he was hearing. Even when the truth sank in, he couldn't move for several seconds more. By then, Ronan had begun shouting as well.
"Leave him alone, you ugly bastard!"
Finally, Adam unstuck himself from the chair and forced his feet to take the steps to the screen door. His legs didn't want to. They were stiff, leaden. Not from fear; it seemed like Cabeswater itself was trying to hold him back. Like a huge, invisible hand pushed back against his chest as he advanced. But he was stronger—or his will was. The place that usually worked to help him struggled when his desire ran counter to its own.
Adam made it to the door, though the seconds it took to get there felt like minutes. The screaming had stopped, but Ronan continued to yell no longer intelligible words, just angry sounds of vexation. When Adam stepped out, Ronan shouted one word: "No!"
Adam didn't even have time enough to see what had happened, was happening. A shadow fell over him, and then a searing pain like light and heat penetrated his shoulders.
His feet had left the ground, he realized, but whatever had its claws in him seemed unable to climb very high. Adam heard the snap of huge wings like an oversized flag in a fierce wind.
A night horror?
If so, it was either injured or incompetent. Or perhaps Cabeswater was trying to restrain it, too. Adam's feet dangled no more than a foot from the ground, and they'd only traveled a yard or so when Ronan hurtled into his legs and pulled him free.
The pain was immense. Almost intolerable. The creature's talons ripped through Adam's shirt, his flesh, then he landed hard on his back in the dewy grass, Ronan on top of him.
"It got Matthew," Ronan said in a strangled voice.
Adam turned his head, trying to see the field where the cows dawdled, where Matthew had been, but he was at the wrong angle. And what did he expect to see? A rent body? A heap of torn clothes and bloody blond curls that had been Matthew?
Except it wasn't Matthew. Not really.
If they died here . . . Their wandering consciousnesses would what? Disappear? That didn't happen to Ronan. He woke with wounds but didn't die.
Except that one time.
Could he, would he, create a second self? (A third self, if Adam counted the one already dead and buried.) Could Ronan make another Adam, another Matthew?
Adam thought about the old superstition, that if you died in a dream, you died in real life.
He looked up at Ronan, not sure of how long his mind had been loose. Ronan's eyes were squeezed shut, his arms on either side of Adam as he held himself up. And blood . . .
Blood . . .
Pouring off Ronan as the creature ripped at him. Not a night horror. At least not any kind Adam was familiar with. But something nightmarish all the same. Four clawed feet, two leathery wings that extended beyond Adam's limited view. The whole thing the color of dried blood. It didn't screech like a night horror, either. It roared like a T-rex in a movie.
Adam knew he should be afraid, but he felt oddly detached. Outside of himself. Which, he supposed, he was.
He studied the lines of Ronan's face, pinched with pain. Jaw set to keep from screaming. Ronan's sweat dripped onto Adam's face—maybe tears, too, though it was hard to tell—the blood onto Adam's shirt. Ronan's breath came in gasps and went in gusts. This was Ronan, saving him, protecting him. Dying for him.
And for what?
Adam reached up and put his hands on Ronan's cheeks. Ronan's eyes tightened.
"Ronan."
Ronan shook his head just a little.
"Ronan, open your eyes."
A sliver of blue appeared between the eyelids.
"I'm not here," Adam told him. "And neither are you."
Adam froze to his chair, but Ronan shot up and out the door without hesitation. The piercing noise sounded not at all human, and Adam didn't even comprehend at first what he was hearing. Even when the truth sank in, he couldn't move for several seconds more. By then, Ronan had begun shouting as well.
"Leave him alone, you ugly bastard!"
Finally, Adam unstuck himself from the chair and forced his feet to take the steps to the screen door. His legs didn't want to. They were stiff, leaden. Not from fear; it seemed like Cabeswater itself was trying to hold him back. Like a huge, invisible hand pushed back against his chest as he advanced. But he was stronger—or his will was. The place that usually worked to help him struggled when his desire ran counter to its own.
Adam made it to the door, though the seconds it took to get there felt like minutes. The screaming had stopped, but Ronan continued to yell no longer intelligible words, just angry sounds of vexation. When Adam stepped out, Ronan shouted one word: "No!"
Adam didn't even have time enough to see what had happened, was happening. A shadow fell over him, and then a searing pain like light and heat penetrated his shoulders.
His feet had left the ground, he realized, but whatever had its claws in him seemed unable to climb very high. Adam heard the snap of huge wings like an oversized flag in a fierce wind.
A night horror?
If so, it was either injured or incompetent. Or perhaps Cabeswater was trying to restrain it, too. Adam's feet dangled no more than a foot from the ground, and they'd only traveled a yard or so when Ronan hurtled into his legs and pulled him free.
The pain was immense. Almost intolerable. The creature's talons ripped through Adam's shirt, his flesh, then he landed hard on his back in the dewy grass, Ronan on top of him.
"It got Matthew," Ronan said in a strangled voice.
Adam turned his head, trying to see the field where the cows dawdled, where Matthew had been, but he was at the wrong angle. And what did he expect to see? A rent body? A heap of torn clothes and bloody blond curls that had been Matthew?
Except it wasn't Matthew. Not really.
If they died here . . . Their wandering consciousnesses would what? Disappear? That didn't happen to Ronan. He woke with wounds but didn't die.
Except that one time.
Could he, would he, create a second self? (A third self, if Adam counted the one already dead and buried.) Could Ronan make another Adam, another Matthew?
Adam thought about the old superstition, that if you died in a dream, you died in real life.
He looked up at Ronan, not sure of how long his mind had been loose. Ronan's eyes were squeezed shut, his arms on either side of Adam as he held himself up. And blood . . .
Blood . . .
Pouring off Ronan as the creature ripped at him. Not a night horror. At least not any kind Adam was familiar with. But something nightmarish all the same. Four clawed feet, two leathery wings that extended beyond Adam's limited view. The whole thing the color of dried blood. It didn't screech like a night horror, either. It roared like a T-rex in a movie.
Adam knew he should be afraid, but he felt oddly detached. Outside of himself. Which, he supposed, he was.
He studied the lines of Ronan's face, pinched with pain. Jaw set to keep from screaming. Ronan's sweat dripped onto Adam's face—maybe tears, too, though it was hard to tell—the blood onto Adam's shirt. Ronan's breath came in gasps and went in gusts. This was Ronan, saving him, protecting him. Dying for him.
And for what?
Adam reached up and put his hands on Ronan's cheeks. Ronan's eyes tightened.
"Ronan."
Ronan shook his head just a little.
"Ronan, open your eyes."
A sliver of blue appeared between the eyelids.
"I'm not here," Adam told him. "And neither are you."
8.16.2018
The Dream Cages #12
"I just landed on my ass in a cow pasture," Ronan declared. "What the fuck do you do when you scry, man?"
Ronan knew he was being loud. He knew his anger was irrational. But anger was always first in line when he expressed himself. When he was sad, it came out as anger. When he was scared, it came out as anger. When he was relieved—and Jesus Mary was he relieved—it came out as anger.
Lucky for him Adam had learned to read the shades of his anger. The relief Ronan felt reflected back at him in Adam's expression.
"You want some grilled cheese?" Matthew asked from his station at the stove.
"Fuck no. What are you even doing here?"
Matthew shrugged, ever unperturbed. Ronan had forgotten to give him anger when he'd dreamed him. He'd kept it all for himself.
"And why is there death metal playing in the barn?" Ronan went on.
"I thought the cows would like some music," said Matthew. "And that's the only thing that boombox plays." He brought a plate of grilled cheese to the farmhouse table. "Soup coming right up."
"Don't bother," Ronan told him. He folded himself into a chair and grabbed a sandwich. Adam took a seat more slowly and showed no interest in the food.
"We need to get out of here," Adam said.
"You think I don't know that?"
"This isn't really the Barns."
"You think I don't know that?"
"What's it doing here? In Cabeswater?"
Ronan sighed and used his full mouth as an excuse to stall. But he couldn't chew forever. "I thought if maybe I fit this one over the real one... If I brought the dream world and the real world together..." He sighed again. He couldn't explain it. But it made perfect sense in his head.
Adam seemed to understand anyway. "Even if it worked," he said, and he had that careful tone Ronan hated because it was the tone that meant bad news was coming, "it wouldn't really achieve your goal of making them truly alive and independent. Would it?"
The final question was fake, Ronan knew. Because Adam already knew the answer to it. Ronan threw his back against the back of the chair, just to expend the energy his irritation gave him. "No. But it might work as a temporary measure until I can figure something else out."
Adam's mouth worked in a way that suggested he wanted to say something but was stopping himself. Fine. Good. Ronan didn't want to hear all the reasons it was a bad idea or wouldn't work.
Matthew set cups of tomato soup in front of each of them, spoons sticking out like garnish, then sat down and began to eat as placidly as the cows. Ronan watched him with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. "Why are you here?" he asked again.
"I don't know," said Matthew. "I figured I was dreaming. Am I?"
Ronan's brow furrowed, and he turned to Adam. "Why were you scrying? And what the hell is that place?"
Adam shook his head, not as negation but to indicate the questions caught him off guard. "I wasn't. And what place?"
"I tried to go where you go when you scry. Wait, you weren't? Then how are you here?"
"Jesus," said Adam. "And no, I was just reading a textbook. Then everything went... wrong. What do the numbers six and twenty mean to you?"
"Six two oh," said Ronan. "That's what the whatever in the scrying space said."
"It spoke to you?"
"Doesn't it to you?"
Matthew's gaze darted between them as he followed the conversation. "This dream is really kinda boring," he said. "But I like seeing you guys and being home." He got up and set his cup and spoon in the sink.
"Wash it out," Ronan told him, but Matthew was already pushing the screen door open.
"I cooked. You clean." He went out.
Ronan watched him go then turned back to Adam. "You're in the hospital." Adam jolted where he sat, and Ronan went on, "I got a call. You made me your emergency contact?"
Adam only stared.
"Gansey and Blue and Henry... Gansey's managing the doctors. I came in to find you. We thought you'd been scrying and got lost or something."
"My body is still...?"
"The doctor said you had no brain activity or whatever. But the rest of you is working."
Air rushed out of Adam. "Where are you?"
"In the hospital room."
Adam nodded thoughtfully. "I'm sorry," he finally said. "I don't know why Cabeswater snatched me. And I don't know how to get back."
Ronan looked over his shoulder out the screen door. He could see the green of the fields, smell the grass and livestock. "This isn't Cabeswater, not in the way we know it," he said, as much to remind himself as to inform. "This is the dream version of it. At some point it bleeds into the real world, but..." He turned back to Adam. "If you imagine them in layers, this one above the physical world..."
"Like you were saying, about slipping this one over the real thing."
Ronan loved that Adam understood him so quickly.
"So how do we line them up?" Adam asked.
"I don't know, I—"
And then, carried on the fresh, sweet air, came the sound of Matthew screaming.
Ronan knew he was being loud. He knew his anger was irrational. But anger was always first in line when he expressed himself. When he was sad, it came out as anger. When he was scared, it came out as anger. When he was relieved—and Jesus Mary was he relieved—it came out as anger.
Lucky for him Adam had learned to read the shades of his anger. The relief Ronan felt reflected back at him in Adam's expression.
"You want some grilled cheese?" Matthew asked from his station at the stove.
"Fuck no. What are you even doing here?"
Matthew shrugged, ever unperturbed. Ronan had forgotten to give him anger when he'd dreamed him. He'd kept it all for himself.
"And why is there death metal playing in the barn?" Ronan went on.
"I thought the cows would like some music," said Matthew. "And that's the only thing that boombox plays." He brought a plate of grilled cheese to the farmhouse table. "Soup coming right up."
"Don't bother," Ronan told him. He folded himself into a chair and grabbed a sandwich. Adam took a seat more slowly and showed no interest in the food.
"We need to get out of here," Adam said.
"You think I don't know that?"
"This isn't really the Barns."
"You think I don't know that?"
"What's it doing here? In Cabeswater?"
Ronan sighed and used his full mouth as an excuse to stall. But he couldn't chew forever. "I thought if maybe I fit this one over the real one... If I brought the dream world and the real world together..." He sighed again. He couldn't explain it. But it made perfect sense in his head.
Adam seemed to understand anyway. "Even if it worked," he said, and he had that careful tone Ronan hated because it was the tone that meant bad news was coming, "it wouldn't really achieve your goal of making them truly alive and independent. Would it?"
The final question was fake, Ronan knew. Because Adam already knew the answer to it. Ronan threw his back against the back of the chair, just to expend the energy his irritation gave him. "No. But it might work as a temporary measure until I can figure something else out."
Adam's mouth worked in a way that suggested he wanted to say something but was stopping himself. Fine. Good. Ronan didn't want to hear all the reasons it was a bad idea or wouldn't work.
Matthew set cups of tomato soup in front of each of them, spoons sticking out like garnish, then sat down and began to eat as placidly as the cows. Ronan watched him with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. "Why are you here?" he asked again.
"I don't know," said Matthew. "I figured I was dreaming. Am I?"
Ronan's brow furrowed, and he turned to Adam. "Why were you scrying? And what the hell is that place?"
Adam shook his head, not as negation but to indicate the questions caught him off guard. "I wasn't. And what place?"
"I tried to go where you go when you scry. Wait, you weren't? Then how are you here?"
"Jesus," said Adam. "And no, I was just reading a textbook. Then everything went... wrong. What do the numbers six and twenty mean to you?"
"Six two oh," said Ronan. "That's what the whatever in the scrying space said."
"It spoke to you?"
"Doesn't it to you?"
Matthew's gaze darted between them as he followed the conversation. "This dream is really kinda boring," he said. "But I like seeing you guys and being home." He got up and set his cup and spoon in the sink.
"Wash it out," Ronan told him, but Matthew was already pushing the screen door open.
"I cooked. You clean." He went out.
Ronan watched him go then turned back to Adam. "You're in the hospital." Adam jolted where he sat, and Ronan went on, "I got a call. You made me your emergency contact?"
Adam only stared.
"Gansey and Blue and Henry... Gansey's managing the doctors. I came in to find you. We thought you'd been scrying and got lost or something."
"My body is still...?"
"The doctor said you had no brain activity or whatever. But the rest of you is working."
Air rushed out of Adam. "Where are you?"
"In the hospital room."
Adam nodded thoughtfully. "I'm sorry," he finally said. "I don't know why Cabeswater snatched me. And I don't know how to get back."
Ronan looked over his shoulder out the screen door. He could see the green of the fields, smell the grass and livestock. "This isn't Cabeswater, not in the way we know it," he said, as much to remind himself as to inform. "This is the dream version of it. At some point it bleeds into the real world, but..." He turned back to Adam. "If you imagine them in layers, this one above the physical world..."
"Like you were saying, about slipping this one over the real thing."
Ronan loved that Adam understood him so quickly.
"So how do we line them up?" Adam asked.
"I don't know, I—"
And then, carried on the fresh, sweet air, came the sound of Matthew screaming.
8.13.2018
The Dream Cages #11
Ronan was not there.
Matthew was.
Adam paused in the doorway of the barn and watched as Matthew opened a stall and coaxed a black and white cow out with nothing more than an encouraging wave of his hand and his brilliant smile. Matthew was something of a cuckoo in the Lynch nest; he had his mother's golden hair, and his smile was softer than his brothers'. But Adam had seen the same smile on Ronan, rarely, and usually when Ronan thought no one was looking. Matthew was Ronan's gooey center made flesh, as though Ronan, when dreaming him, had wanted to put his vulnerability elsewhere so that he could safeguard it and not carry it with him. It hadn't worked; Ronan still had plenty of soft spots if one knew where to prod. Adam suspected he was one of those spots, a bruise waiting to manifest on Ronan's heart.
Don't break him, Adam.
But high school sweethearts seldom lasted forever. Especially when one left home and one adamantly refused to.
Later. Every time Adam started to board this train of thought—and he found himself at the station more often than he liked—he decided to wait for the next one. There were always other things that took priority: like school work, or being stuck in Cabeswater.
The cow followed willingly as Matthew turned and walked to the back of the barn where another door stood open. Adam saw the boombox set on a hay bale nearby. The cow's ear flicked as it passed the music (if it could be called music), and Matthew stepped aside to allow the cow to pass out into the pasture beyond. "Atta girl," he told the cow. "Go play." Then he turned to look down the row of stalls. "Who's next?"
Matthew spotted Adam then, their eyes meeting, though Matthew didn't immediately register any recognition. For a split second Adam thought maybe his body wasn't physical after all, that Matthew couldn't see him. But then Matthew said, "Hey."
"Hey," Adam echoed. He stepped inside the barn and eyed the cows, all of which he recognized. But now they were awake. "Where's Ronan?"
Matthew shrugged. "No idea. Haven't seen him."
"What are you doing here?"
"Cows," said Matthew.
"Yeah, but..." Adam frowned. "You know this isn't actually the Barns, right?"
Matthew shrugged. "It is, though. I mean, it's here and I'm here, so it's real to me."
"But you... Your body, your physical self... Where are you really?"
"As far as I know, I'm here. Home is where the consciousness is, I guess. Want to help me get these ladies out into the pasture?"
Adam didn't want to; he wanted to go look for Ronan. But he felt bad saying no, so he did his best to help. It took more cajoling from him than Matthew. The cows clearly had misgivings when they saw Adam and were slow to move. Only when they saw their fellows going out did they follow.
"Lunchtime," Matthew said cheerfully as the last brown cow swished through the back door, and Adam wasn't sure whether he meant for them or the bovines. "Come on," and Matthew said it to Adam the same way he had to the cows. "Let's wash up and eat."
"Aren't you worried?" Adam asked as they trailed toward the house.
"About what?"
"Yourself. How you got here. How to get back to your body and your life."
"Nah," said Matthew. He pulled open the screen door and held it for Adam.
"Well, are you worried about Ronan?"
The door snapped shut behind Matthew like a trap, and for the first time the youngest Lynch appeared something less than happy. Not concerned, exactly, but maybe doubtful. "Should I be?"
"I don't know! Where is he?"
Matthew shook his head. The doubt began to morph into fear.
Adam knew Ronan would never forgive him if he made Matthew cry. So he said, "I'm sure he's fine." After all, he's not stuck here like us. But that would be saying too much.
Matthew's expression cleared and he walked past Adam to the kitchen sink. "I'll make us grilled cheese and soup," he pronounced, then paused and looked over his shoulder. "Is that okay?"
"That's fine," said Adam. It's fine. This is all just fine.
The screen door creaked open again, and Adam turned to see Ronan standing there, countenance thunderous.
"What the fuck is going on?"
Matthew was.
Adam paused in the doorway of the barn and watched as Matthew opened a stall and coaxed a black and white cow out with nothing more than an encouraging wave of his hand and his brilliant smile. Matthew was something of a cuckoo in the Lynch nest; he had his mother's golden hair, and his smile was softer than his brothers'. But Adam had seen the same smile on Ronan, rarely, and usually when Ronan thought no one was looking. Matthew was Ronan's gooey center made flesh, as though Ronan, when dreaming him, had wanted to put his vulnerability elsewhere so that he could safeguard it and not carry it with him. It hadn't worked; Ronan still had plenty of soft spots if one knew where to prod. Adam suspected he was one of those spots, a bruise waiting to manifest on Ronan's heart.
Don't break him, Adam.
But high school sweethearts seldom lasted forever. Especially when one left home and one adamantly refused to.
Later. Every time Adam started to board this train of thought—and he found himself at the station more often than he liked—he decided to wait for the next one. There were always other things that took priority: like school work, or being stuck in Cabeswater.
The cow followed willingly as Matthew turned and walked to the back of the barn where another door stood open. Adam saw the boombox set on a hay bale nearby. The cow's ear flicked as it passed the music (if it could be called music), and Matthew stepped aside to allow the cow to pass out into the pasture beyond. "Atta girl," he told the cow. "Go play." Then he turned to look down the row of stalls. "Who's next?"
Matthew spotted Adam then, their eyes meeting, though Matthew didn't immediately register any recognition. For a split second Adam thought maybe his body wasn't physical after all, that Matthew couldn't see him. But then Matthew said, "Hey."
"Hey," Adam echoed. He stepped inside the barn and eyed the cows, all of which he recognized. But now they were awake. "Where's Ronan?"
Matthew shrugged. "No idea. Haven't seen him."
"What are you doing here?"
"Cows," said Matthew.
"Yeah, but..." Adam frowned. "You know this isn't actually the Barns, right?"
Matthew shrugged. "It is, though. I mean, it's here and I'm here, so it's real to me."
"But you... Your body, your physical self... Where are you really?"
"As far as I know, I'm here. Home is where the consciousness is, I guess. Want to help me get these ladies out into the pasture?"
Adam didn't want to; he wanted to go look for Ronan. But he felt bad saying no, so he did his best to help. It took more cajoling from him than Matthew. The cows clearly had misgivings when they saw Adam and were slow to move. Only when they saw their fellows going out did they follow.
"Lunchtime," Matthew said cheerfully as the last brown cow swished through the back door, and Adam wasn't sure whether he meant for them or the bovines. "Come on," and Matthew said it to Adam the same way he had to the cows. "Let's wash up and eat."
"Aren't you worried?" Adam asked as they trailed toward the house.
"About what?"
"Yourself. How you got here. How to get back to your body and your life."
"Nah," said Matthew. He pulled open the screen door and held it for Adam.
"Well, are you worried about Ronan?"
The door snapped shut behind Matthew like a trap, and for the first time the youngest Lynch appeared something less than happy. Not concerned, exactly, but maybe doubtful. "Should I be?"
"I don't know! Where is he?"
Matthew shook his head. The doubt began to morph into fear.
Adam knew Ronan would never forgive him if he made Matthew cry. So he said, "I'm sure he's fine." After all, he's not stuck here like us. But that would be saying too much.
Matthew's expression cleared and he walked past Adam to the kitchen sink. "I'll make us grilled cheese and soup," he pronounced, then paused and looked over his shoulder. "Is that okay?"
"That's fine," said Adam. It's fine. This is all just fine.
The screen door creaked open again, and Adam turned to see Ronan standing there, countenance thunderous.
"What the fuck is going on?"
8.11.2018
The Dream Cages #10
Adam was tired. He didn't know how souls worked, exactly, but apparently they could wear themselves out. The body he inhabited didn't physically exist in the real world, but it was physical enough in this place to operate accordingly, and he'd been walking for what felt like, as Ronan would call it, for-fucking-ever.
And all he saw were trees. The cottage had been the one difference. Adam imagined a road sign stuck outside the clearing: LAST EXIT FOR ∞ MILES.
He wondered if, as he thought it, it had come into existence. Not that he was going back to find out.
Cabeswater, though, was often slow to react to thoughts and wishes. You usually had to concentrate, focus, ask outright. Every now and then, however, it picked up something from the subconscious and pulled it forward into view. Adam still didn't completely comprehend what made the difference. It was one of the reasons he'd chosen to take psychology; he wanted to understand how people worked, how he worked, and maybe by extension places like Cabeswater.
Though at the moment, Cabeswater didn't seem to be working at all. It had provided the path as requested, but he felt like he was getting literally nowhere. Yet Adam kept walking because he couldn't think of a better option. Or any other option, for that matter.
How much time had passed? Had he missed his Latin quiz? How long before someone came looking for him and found his body? Adam had been made an RA—he was reliable like that—and one of the perks was a single room to yourself, so he couldn't count on a roommate tripping over him. But Ronan would notice when he didn't call, though that would be almost an entire day...
What if my body is already beyond saving?
He'd know, though, wouldn't he? He'd be able to tell?
He trudged on, and finally the trees began to thin, the line of them pulling back from the trail, which now looked more like an actual road. When had that happened? It didn't matter; it was a change, it was something. Adam pushed his legs to move a little faster.
Then a couple things happened at once: music and numbers.
He felt the music before he heard it, something that had become commonplace for him since losing the hearing in his left ear. The thudding vibrations ran through him like tiny waves. He couldn't tell where it came from, but based on the beat it was one of Ronan's loud and angry electronica songs. A good sign.
At about the same time as he noticed the music, Adam started seeing the numbers on the trees. Faint at first but clearer as he continued down the road. They were scratched into the bark, on the last few trees deeply enough to cause sap to weep from the wounds. Sixes on some trees and the number 20 on others.
Adam's mind immediately flew to tarot. Six was the Lovers. Twenty was Judgement. Together they meant... what? A clear choice, perhaps. Coming to an understanding about something. The revival of a relationship. He needed more information to know for sure, and he didn't have his cards so asking Cabeswater directly was impossible.
The road began to climb, and suddenly Adam knew exactly where he was.
But I'm not really here.
His soul had not been transported hundreds of miles. He was not walking in the physical world. He kept telling himself this like a litany, else he'd forget because it looked so real. It even smelled right—the scent of the grass and the trees and the cows.
The gray, plasticky sky overhead broke into something weathermen would call "partly cloudy." The still air began to move in a cooling, comfortable breeze. From somewhere overhead a raven cried out.
Adam crested the rise in the road and took a deep breath of the brisk air. The music was louder now and clearly originated from the open door of one of the many barns that dotted the yawn of grass. Islands of flowering clover nodded sleepily in the scudding light as the sun played peek-a-boo behind the clouds. Definitely spring here.
Home.
But not really, and not only because this was Cabeswater and not the Barns. The Barns was Ronan's home, not his, even if he used it like one. Ronan would disagree, which was why Adam never said it aloud. But he still longed for things that were his.
Something borrowed, something...
His gaze snagged on something not right. His subconscious caught it before his conscious did, so it took him a minute to understand why he was staring, fixed, at the house. His eyes didn't want to let it go. His mind insisted he look, see, discern. It was like one of those games in kiddie magazines: What's Wrong with This Picture?
The numbers again. On the house this time in big, tarnished metal figures. 620.
Adam didn't think the Barns had a street address, but even if it did, he knew that wasn't it. Those numbers didn't belong on the house.
Somehow, it came as a relief. Proof that he wasn't truly at the Barns, that this wasn't real. A touchstone, like a pinch when you were dreaming.
He started down toward the open barn and the pounding music. Ronan would be there. All would be well.
And all he saw were trees. The cottage had been the one difference. Adam imagined a road sign stuck outside the clearing: LAST EXIT FOR ∞ MILES.
He wondered if, as he thought it, it had come into existence. Not that he was going back to find out.
Cabeswater, though, was often slow to react to thoughts and wishes. You usually had to concentrate, focus, ask outright. Every now and then, however, it picked up something from the subconscious and pulled it forward into view. Adam still didn't completely comprehend what made the difference. It was one of the reasons he'd chosen to take psychology; he wanted to understand how people worked, how he worked, and maybe by extension places like Cabeswater.
Though at the moment, Cabeswater didn't seem to be working at all. It had provided the path as requested, but he felt like he was getting literally nowhere. Yet Adam kept walking because he couldn't think of a better option. Or any other option, for that matter.
How much time had passed? Had he missed his Latin quiz? How long before someone came looking for him and found his body? Adam had been made an RA—he was reliable like that—and one of the perks was a single room to yourself, so he couldn't count on a roommate tripping over him. But Ronan would notice when he didn't call, though that would be almost an entire day...
What if my body is already beyond saving?
He'd know, though, wouldn't he? He'd be able to tell?
He trudged on, and finally the trees began to thin, the line of them pulling back from the trail, which now looked more like an actual road. When had that happened? It didn't matter; it was a change, it was something. Adam pushed his legs to move a little faster.
Then a couple things happened at once: music and numbers.
He felt the music before he heard it, something that had become commonplace for him since losing the hearing in his left ear. The thudding vibrations ran through him like tiny waves. He couldn't tell where it came from, but based on the beat it was one of Ronan's loud and angry electronica songs. A good sign.
At about the same time as he noticed the music, Adam started seeing the numbers on the trees. Faint at first but clearer as he continued down the road. They were scratched into the bark, on the last few trees deeply enough to cause sap to weep from the wounds. Sixes on some trees and the number 20 on others.
Adam's mind immediately flew to tarot. Six was the Lovers. Twenty was Judgement. Together they meant... what? A clear choice, perhaps. Coming to an understanding about something. The revival of a relationship. He needed more information to know for sure, and he didn't have his cards so asking Cabeswater directly was impossible.
The road began to climb, and suddenly Adam knew exactly where he was.
But I'm not really here.
His soul had not been transported hundreds of miles. He was not walking in the physical world. He kept telling himself this like a litany, else he'd forget because it looked so real. It even smelled right—the scent of the grass and the trees and the cows.
The gray, plasticky sky overhead broke into something weathermen would call "partly cloudy." The still air began to move in a cooling, comfortable breeze. From somewhere overhead a raven cried out.
Adam crested the rise in the road and took a deep breath of the brisk air. The music was louder now and clearly originated from the open door of one of the many barns that dotted the yawn of grass. Islands of flowering clover nodded sleepily in the scudding light as the sun played peek-a-boo behind the clouds. Definitely spring here.
Home.
But not really, and not only because this was Cabeswater and not the Barns. The Barns was Ronan's home, not his, even if he used it like one. Ronan would disagree, which was why Adam never said it aloud. But he still longed for things that were his.
Something borrowed, something...
His gaze snagged on something not right. His subconscious caught it before his conscious did, so it took him a minute to understand why he was staring, fixed, at the house. His eyes didn't want to let it go. His mind insisted he look, see, discern. It was like one of those games in kiddie magazines: What's Wrong with This Picture?
The numbers again. On the house this time in big, tarnished metal figures. 620.
Adam didn't think the Barns had a street address, but even if it did, he knew that wasn't it. Those numbers didn't belong on the house.
Somehow, it came as a relief. Proof that he wasn't truly at the Barns, that this wasn't real. A touchstone, like a pinch when you were dreaming.
He started down toward the open barn and the pounding music. Ronan would be there. All would be well.
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