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Assorted filksongs. From there, I got the song that's been in my head: "Glass Half Full (of the Sea)" -- a nicely subtle mermaid song.

I know there's something that's supposed to come bursting out of my forehead soon, something about duality, about spanning incompatible worlds. Mermaid is nicely symbolic of this, the old story of the mermaid who walks knives, unable to make the choice between equal loves.

I have about five books' worth of material in my first novel (unfinished), the novel that turns out to be a re-telling of the Little Mermaid story. It's not ready to be talked about quite yet. It's a little too raw to even think about, whatever it is. I can talk about the novel all day long, but I can't really talk about why I need to write it.

Irresponsibility with camera, memory.

One of the things I really want to do is take good photos of the places I go, the buildings I deal with, the plant life, the landscape, the sky. I want to remember how these things look for after I leave. There are so many photos of the people, and I write so much about the events -- what I want my eyes to remember is the lay of the land, the way that building sat right in front of those trees, the way the little mountain was, the rocks, the crack in the sidewalk...

What I'd really love to do, if I were feeling particularly irresponsible and cheery, is take photos of the beats I walk, then put them on Petridish with Google map link complete with satellite photos and exact coordinates. You could find the places I stood, years later, with a GPS and my photos for a guidebook.

... That's what I'd like. A mobile device that knows where it is at all times, GPS and compass in one, complete with camera and upload system. Take photos, tag them with location, date, time, direction, people, keywords, commentary.

In the discussion about memory technology in the Harry Potter universe, there was a comparison between Obliviation (and similar things) and rape -- and the follow-up that rape is more vandalism, desecration, and invasion than it is theft, really. A physical assault is an attack that "takes" feelings of security and safety, yes, but it accomplishes this by creating traumatic memories that override previous experience, rather than actually removing events that had led to the feelings of safety. An Obliviation takes away memories, rather than creating new memories that change emotion.

Tangent much? Yes. Sort of. I've been puzzled by the intense feelings of traumatic violation I get when someone or something has messed with my data. I pride myself on my memory, but I know my good memory is an illusion, carefully crafted by the fact that I keep very detailed records of what I'm doing, where I've been, who I know, and who I am. I keep my memories on my computer. An invasion of my computer is not only an invasion onto a personal body part, but risks damaging my memories. Keep your memories in your shoes.

I read Cyteen too young, I think, because once I'd read it, I started hoarding information about myself -- not quite the way an obsessive and mentally ill person might save old pizza boxes and assorted garbage, but with a disturbing dedication and fervor. I want immortality, but I don't think I'm going to get it in this body. I want to be remembered -- more than that, I want to remember me. I want some girl in the future to be able to look through my memories, look through my eyes, and use where I left off as a point where she can leap into places where I won't be able to reach quite yet, but I can almost see if I stretch hard enough...

Language

It seems that the more means of expression I find myself knowing, the closer to telepathy I feel like I'm getting. The other night, trystan_laryssa and I were within line of sight of each other at work, and we proceeded to have a conversation in utter silence, spelling words back and forth to each other with our fingers, and making commonly-understood gestures. We knew what we meant, even if no one else around us did. Very little of it was standard sign language, but that was quite all right, because while I can spell almost anything that doesn't require a P or a Q, I don't have many other words of ASL.

If I can't say it in English, I might know a word for it in Chinese. I might wind up learning a word for it in Spanish. If I can't say it, I might be able to sing it, dance it, sign it, make it into a sign, paint it, or combine everything into a frustrated and rapturous mental explosion, trying to bridge the gap between hearts with message intact.

Sometimes my language leaves me, so the more of it I have, the more I have to fall back on when the main sets float higher than head depth.

Rain

There was a reasonable amount of stormclouds and general raininess on Friday night, and my camera and I went outside at the end of break. The series of photos starts here.

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I compose lovely shots with my eyes, but the photos shake and blur. Maybe this means I need a better camera.

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I think I read too much Nukees when I find myself seriously wanting a GavCam. Exhibitionist much? Bloggers scare me.

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130 characters, typed at less than breakneck pace. Miss Lunatic & technology = OTP.

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My schedule is all messed up.

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I'm actually surprised I don't see more dead pigeons.