ntd mnfd

-Physics quote: "I forgot the joules"-

Probably the most interesting dream I had this week was last night's (this morning's?). In it I had the usual interpersonal problems as well as schizophrenia, which for some incomprehensible reason meant that I had to wear a rather annoying set of goggles. I ended up taking these off rather rapidly, but this action made me have a sudden irrational urge to walk to someone's house in the middle of the night -- what that has to do with schizophrenia is beyond me. On the other hand, it did make sense in a real-life context, as I spent yesterday evening watching a movie with an enormous coterie of friends in this person's apartment (how she suddenly upgraded to a house in my dream is also beyond me).

However, part of the reason I had such an interesting dream last night was because I slept in until 1 pm, which is I think a personal record (discounting babyhood). Unfortunately, this also means I have very much to do in very little time this weekend... and so this post comes to an untimely end.

Reality check. Exeunt.

q7tq

-Speech notes quote: "...we will have to make several major modifications"-

Not much interesting in the way of dreams this week, as I had a weird sleep schedule, which always messes up the dream memory horrifically.

I think there is some sort of rule among science fiction writers that states that there must be some degree of telepath in every novel. It doesn't matter if it's only a tiny cameo appearance by some obscure alien race, but there must be at least one telepath.

Furthermore, the second cardinal rule appears to be that telepaths must be severely emotionally troubled. At the risk of going out on a limb here (and indirectly insulting some of my favorite authors), I think that this is kind of sloppy.

Based on what I observe, most people would probably be happier and more secure if they could read people's minds. I mean, what do humans do half the day but worry what other people think of them? Even if it is bad, wouldn't it be much more comforting (and efficient) to just KNOW for sure, one way or the other?

Furthermore, I think people would be pleasantly surprised at how "un-badly" people view them. I mean, you're always thinking that people hate you every minute of the day, but really, do YOU even THINK about a single person that often? Exactly. Neither do they.

Reality check. And then of course if everyone was a telepath, they could catch the fallacies your brain tells itself (by comparing the conscious mental "words" to the subconscious "texture").

jft,

-Brother quote: "maybe just over an hour"-

Well, I had a rather disconcerting dream this week involving filling out a form to bust a terrorist... which thoughtfully included a box to check if I wanted to be an organ donor (it's gruesome enough to check that box on one's ID card in real life -- though I do personally have a pink donor dot, and I highly recommend it. After all, you wouldn't be needing those organs anymore, and there's a real shortage of them). I also had another dream in which I was in a conference room and talking with people I know. As is often the case in dreams, I said something I would probably not in real life -- not bad, just somewhat more confrontational and straightforward than the norm. Which led to some interesting stuff happening, again not bad but not things I or the others involved would actually do in real life.

And yet, I still didn't get that it was a dream. I am SO dense.

It took a bit longer to notice than it probably would in other regions of the country, but I managed to pin down the odd language quirk of Colorado folk. Specifically, where a normal individual would say "frankly", "to tell you the truth", or "can I be honest with you?" (though these phrases are generally not preferred because it makes one sound less honest in general, but that's beside the point), a Coloradoan would substitute the phrase "not gonna lie".

Ooooooooookay. I suspect that this phrase is now so devoid of its original meaning that it could lead to conversations like this:

Starling Moon (from The Great Domesticated Desert of Doom^TM): So, like, I totally wish people would, like, be just a little more open about stuff, you know? Like not be embarrassed about their age or whatever.

Lisa (from CO): Not gonna lie, I get a rush from lying about my age.

Reality check. Really should do reality checks more often, not gonna lie.

q/ q/

-Water bottle quote: "ORC"-

It appears that the only dream I remembered significant amounts of this week was one about going to some sort of outdoor fair (which was inexplicably held in the very late evening, and it was kind of dark) and talking. Who I was talking with, and what the conversation was, will remain classified, but apparently I found it interesting enough for it to come rushing back to me when I awoke.

Oh, I suppose I could be induced to believe that it is time for another story. Perhaps.

Daughters

In my village, there were once two daughters born on the same day, so like in appearance that the one could not be distinguished from the other. They grew and crawled and walked and spoke, and when they spoke, they became friends.

Once more they grew, speaking much and thinking little, but still they spoke to each other, if sometimes angrily now. As they grew and spoke, so their speaking grew different. Though the wisest sage still could not tell one from another on sight, yet now if they spoke, the villagers would say, Ah, it is she, or she.

So it was that as they grew, they were named. The older one they called Beautiful, and the younger one they called Sensible. And it happened that both were satisfied with their own names, but each secretly hated the other's. For Beautiful said to herself "Why must Sensible trust so in knowledge?" and Sensible to herself "Why must Beautiful trust so in sentiment?"

Yet in all this, they were still the closest kin in the village.

It was Sensible that first taught Beautiful to sing, for she had investigated the matter. Beautiful was delighted to learn such a skill, though truth be told, had she been alone, she would never have gathered together herself and studied it. Beautiful likewise showed Sensible the best plot of fragrant flowers outside the village, and Sensible was delighted, though she did not show it. Many days hence did Sensible spend examining the flowers, thinking about this and that.

Once more the daughters grew, and their childish chattering quieted into thoughtfulness. Now their appearance was unlike enough that the villagers could divide them if they looked carefully, though each was still taken for the other now and then.

It happened then that a stranger came into the village, full of tales. One tale of these stirred in Beautiful's soul of romance -- the tale of the silent forest. For indeed there was a silent forest, where no animals called and no huntsmen walked and the fall of dying leaves and boughs shivered from one end of the wood to the other, never overlain. And it was said that the trees of the silent forest had been planted many, many generations ago by one woman. She herself lived in a forest, though it was not silent, no! Perhaps it had been before she had come, but her presence was said to keep it alive. Indeed, her presence kept her alive, for once she entered the forest, she could not depart but once a year.

Beautiful was enthralled at this tale, and she said as much to Sensible. Yet the younger one spoke harshly, and told Beautiful that both she and the forest woman were fools. "What is there in the forest that is worth such bondage?" she demanded. Yet Beautiful, though rash in knowledge, was wise in the ways of hearts, and she had noted one thing. For the stranger had mentioned in passing that within each forest were secrets of nature that could be found no where else. It was this that Beautiful told to Sensible, and Sensible's soul awoke. There was no sense in leaving her village for mere forest sweetness, but for knowledge! Beautiful knew this. How often had she heard Sensible mourn that her mind was enclosed between the village walls to the east and the west. How Sensible longed to see and to know and understand all to the west and to the east of these walls!

As Sensible had grown in wisdom, she learned much, and indeed much more beyond the walls. It was then that she realized that there was not much knowledge to be had in the wide world. Though she knew this, she felt again enclosed, as if there was more to find. And though she had Beautiful for a friend, this thought made her feel lonely.

So it was that both daughters set out to find the silent forest; Beautiful to see its majesty and Sensible to see its wisdom.

Many days into the journey, they came upon the edge of a forest. When they arrived, lo, there was an ancient woman standing there! "Are you the maiden of this forest?" asked Beautiful. "No," replied the crone, "my home is in another forest. Yet one day of a year I may walk to this one, and see and to test if any girls have come brave enough to inhabit it. Are you?" Sensible and Beautiful were silent for five blinks, for they knew within themselves how badly the other wanted to enter the forest. Beautiful spoke first, "I am willing to try," she said. At this, Sensible knew she must leave, for never did a wood take two maidens. Yet when she saw how downcast Sensible appeared as she left, Beautiful planned.

Thus it was that when the crone asked her name, Beautiful replied that she was called Sensible. At this the woman rapped the ground with her staff, but did not challenge the name. Instead, she asked, "What can you do for this dying forest?" Beautiful knew by her soul of romance that the forest would cease its silence at a song, so she sang. As the first melodies dewed onto the barren forest soil, the trees stiffened and greened. Flowers blossomed and poured forth nectar. And she sang there until midnight. At this, the old woman stopped her. "Very good. I must leave now, but return here in one year."

And so Beautiful returned to the village and told all that happened to Sensible, save what she had called her name. Sensible was delighted for Beautiful, though she was sad in her soul that it could not be her. Yet Beautiful still planned.

When the next year had overturned itself, Beautiful urged Sensible to go instead of her. "For," she said, "how can the woman tell us one from the other? I do not want the forest so much as you." Sensible disliked the deception, but she saw that Beautiful could not be satisfied if she refused. And truth be told, her rebellious mind grasped for the opportunity.

So it was that she went to the forest in the place of Beautiful. The crone was waiting there. She said, "Ah, are you the brave maiden worthy of this forest?" Sensible knew then that she could not lie, and she told the woman plainly, "My name is Sensible." But the woman challenged her name! "No," she countered, "Sensible I know -- she I tested one year ago. You I do not know, but your name is not Sensible."

At once, Sensible realized what Beautiful had done. "You are right," she said, acting as if caught in a lie, "my real name is Beautiful." The woman nodded in agreement, and Sensible turned for home. The crone banged her staff. "Stop. I see you want to enter the forest." And Sensible replied, "I do, but can you not see that I am unworthy? I tried to steal in on the merits of another!" For Sensible knew that if she could not enter, she could convince Beautiful to come the next year. "That is of no consequence," the woman retorted, "now, what can you do for this dying forest?" And Sensible perceived that one song in a year was not enough to hold the forest, for it once again lay desiccated. She answered honestly, "I cannot sing, but I know the ways of plants, how they grow. I know where to cut them so life flows back in and I know how to persuade them into bearing flowers and fruit." At this, the woman hit Sensible hard with the staff, so she fell.

So she fell into the forest. Sensible scrambled up to leave, but she found that she could not. She shouted for the woman, but the gnarled trees obscured all outside.

Sensible knew then that she was maiden of the forest, and set off to care for it. With soft hands she plucked and cajoled at the few green shoots, and they grew. With hard work over many months, a ghost of living overshadowed the forest, though it was not green in any great way.

And as time passed, Sensible grew more and more regretful that she had taken what Beautiful had so badly wanted. When the next spring came, Sensible's soul fell, and she sang of mourning.

Then, then! The wood leaped from shadows of life to vibrance. Yet Sensible was downcast, and though she found the knowledge she sought and her songs brought joy to the forest, their melodies never brightened.




Reality check. Well, there are plenty of depressing folktales!