Entries tagged with geek out

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LJIdol / LPF: Week 10: Nadir

Singularity

She hadn't heard from User51 in weeks. Meta4 kept the burner phone with his last number in it. She had circulated their hashtags on all of the usual places. She’d agreed when he wanted go.

It was only a side quest, he'd said, an easter egg.

She had tried to find her own access point after he hadn't returned. Her only clue was "Apogee." She’d found it on a sticker in the 4th stall of the women’s restroom in the bus station in Someplace, Nevada.

It was like trying to do a jigsaw puzzle while not knowing if you even had all the pieces.

Apogee was also the name on the highest score of the Addams Family pinball machine in Toledo, Nowhere. Above the name GoSting. That was the same night she’d smoked her last joint and solved Time Cube theory but couldn't quite remember it the next day. Stuck with this sense of deja-vu and feeling like a fixed point on a map between her feet and the sky. Above and Below. An exponent in a world of sleeping NPCs.

Do you still believe in it all? U had asked her once when they had retreated into the matrix, found a loophole in the code and stayed for almost a month in an unoccupied cabin in Thisplace, North Carolina. They’d read excerpts of all the books they were each carrying and left them all behind when they left.

U called it poetic terrorism. Like the weekend they stayed in a condo in St.Louis,Somewhere while the rich old couple who owned the place were out of the country. U hacked into the guys on-line gambling account and convinced her it was karma when she won big money on her first try. They only dumped half into their own pay-pal account before U wiped away the rest of their digital footprints.

I was in the honeymoon of my life… Meta hums to herself as she hangs string of lights over a fairly clean mattress she had found and pushed up against a wall in the empty 2nd floor office where she was currently squatting.

She’d also found an old sewing machine in a storage closet and it was on the floor next to an old microwave. The place still had power but no water. She reaches for one of the gallons she carried all the way from the gas station gasping as an automatic reflex makes her rear back, then she laughs at herself and the tiny light bulb of the old sewing machine, the familiar texture of something that could cause her pain. Like tall wiry boys in woolen caps with deep southern accents like caramel dripped on apples.

She’d broken character at least four times now. Picked up the blue handset of each old coin operated telephones she passed by and spoken into the silence: I’d like to speak to User51, please / User51 can you hear me?/ This is Meta4 calling for User51 / I would like to establish a connection / Please!

She dropped dimes and quarters that never came back. Pressed the lever that never caused a dial tone. And one time when she was quite sure she was alone she smashed the receiver against the brassy metal buttons of the numbered keypad repeatedly before hanging it back in it’s cradle, retrieving her pack from the ground and walking away.

___________________

A/N: This is the continuation of an entry I posted last season:

Intersubjectivity

I'm not sure if it stands alone but none of my other ideas for the topic this week came together. I enjoyed revisiting this world anyhow.

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LJ Idol 10: Week 15: Patchwork Heart

Intersubjectivity

She shoulders her laptop bag and steps into the aisle joining the off boarding line.

When she makes it to the side of the bus she retrieves her pack, checking to be sure Mimzy her stuffed traveling companion is secured to the side, before hoisting the large pack up onto her shoulder and following the crowd into the passenger waiting area inside. She scans the inside of the station noting the restroomsand,the closed for the night food counter.

She checks the clock on the wall and the time on her ticket. She’ll have to wait here for an hour before the next bus north.

She sets her pack on the floor up against the one long bench seatand sits back, sprawls out her legsand stretches her arms.

She reaches into the back pocket of her denim cutoffs and pulls out the worn paper folded in fourths; smooths it out on her knee. It looks like one of those trope movie ransom notes, cut and pasted words in different styles and colors and, she supposes, in a way it sort of was. It was a map that would lead to the answer. It was more than a game for her it was the only thing she knew.

( Read more... )

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geek out,
ljidol

LJ Idol 10: Week 6: Heel-Turn

The Few Will Become Many

To save the people of Earth, The Few must join as one.
The Final City will rise from the ashes of the old world.
All among the few who have survived The Final War and swear allegiance to The Final City will be become a part of the whole and reside in adherence to the Law of Conformity.
This is the Final Great Act of Humanity.

( Continue Reading.... )

Update: Here's the link to the poll for this round: http://www.livejournal.com/poll/?id=2061865

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I might regret this in the morning

Spoiler Alert:

Peeta spends most of the second half of Mockinjay voluntarily in handcuffs because he’s been brainwashed to kill Katniss and pulling on the handcuffs helps him remember what is real and what is not real and Katniss is totally still trying to save him and even treats the wounds on his wrists but lets him keep them on. Is it weird that I find this sweet?

( Read more... )

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LJ Idol Week 9: Keep Calm and End This Meme

Part One: Frodo Lives!

It’s called Fandom.

It’s basically an addiction at this point.

You are obsessively enthusiastic about certain characters and stories.

You can’t stop even when it affects your well-being.

Even when you know you should.

Even when you are thinking, this isn’t even really making me happy anymore.

Other people doing it too tell you this is how it works, so it’s okay…

But unlike an addiction to hard drugs or hard drinking you can’t really explain it in a way that makes any sort of sense.

You decorate your room with posters and references only you understand and get weepy when a song on the radio makes you think of a certain character.

You spend an entire summer reading almost nothing but male/male slash (that means sex) based on fictional characters rewritten in all sorts of the most amazing and interesting scenarios and realize that it’s truly the Rule #34 of the internet that if you can think of it there is porn of it.

Whenever someone asks what you are reading you say, The Hunger Games and almost get caught in the lie when you have still only read the first chapter over a month later. It’s like candy that will rot your brain but for you it’s a quick and easy fix.

You go for long stretches where you stay away. Sometimes for even months at a time until the night you’re up until two in the morning reading that one “Space Pirates AU fanfic” and are strung out at work the next day and then spend hours reading comments on forum boards when you get home.

You search the internet looking for just the right fan inspired t-shirt to wear in public hoping you might someday run into someone who says, “You do the thing too!”

Maybe you can form a support group. It’s like a book club. A really twisted book club.

You have a dream that you are standing in a giant round room that is like a library of your absolute favourite fan written works in small paperback editions and categorized on shelves. You’re excited and also confused because this is the wing of the gorram akashic records you get to visit?

When you are awake you applaud yourself for resisting digital hoarding and have a pretty good memory anyway and then think, shit if this is what your mind palace looks like you’re screwed.

You resign to read something different and reach for Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep.

You wonder why you immediately start writing your own rule 34 reinterpretation of it in your head. It’s called a plot bunny you’re told. They hide under the bed. Aren’t they cute?

Part Two: Kill Your Television!

I recently started accidently stalking this cute boy who lives in my neighbored; he’s a clerk at the bakery and the deli. I’m sort of doomed. I write a million different scenarios in my head. I long to be Rory Gilmore but I’m much too old now and I was once told by the director of my college drama program that while I was indeed a talented actress I was not pretty enough to play the ingénue.

I am Rajesh Koothrappali with a vagina.

I’m in a relationship with my kindle and my pillow. I don’t have time for cute people.

Did I use the word cute already? That’s bad writing.

It is though. It’s all so damn cute. It’s a meet cute.

It’s chic lit.

It’s wanting to interrupt my best friend when she says she loved the “Shades of Grey trilogy” to tell her that Anastasia Steele was raped and is in an unhealthy and abusive relationship but hey I could email her plenty of links to much better written BDSM erotica if that’s something she’d be like, interested in…or whatever.

I get stoned and invoke the spirit of the beat poets and consider buying a vintage typewriter and taping every damn word I write all over walls of my little room in the boarding house in some sort of fight for authenticity.

Remind me to tell you about the time I was dosed at a party and hallucinated for hours and then ended up in the hospital. At one point I thought I was Jesus, I’m not frelling kidding.

It’s maybe, kind of, sort of, believing in The Matrix forever after that.

It’s reading Vigilant Citizen and listening to Creepy Pasta podcasts.

It’s: how do you feel about gay male love stories being written by women?

It’s all the things you’d never admit to in polite society.

Does that even exist anymore?

It’s writing down everything because there’s a story in there somewhere.

It’s keeping calm and carrying on no matter what happens.