so gang violence at work yesterday. swarms, broken glass, guys coming out swinging metal clubs. afterwords i give a guy with hand all cut up from the broken glass some neosporin, medical tape, & some soft medical gauze. then i go back to work, no rest for the wicked.
come in to school today, fuck around with c1-7 with a strict muslim lady, get my shit squared away with the bursars office & then get an id made up for brooklyn college. its my keycard past the angel with the burning sword. so uh, i guess most of my bullshit is on ice for now. sweet. it only took me 1000 years to get it handled.
the sky in those latter days hung like a jack o' lantern who's candle flaggered, a swelled mass of hydrogen, halloweenily lighting the clouds up like clusters of pumpkin guts, the pale hunter-killers raining down on hive-cities like seeds. at night, no moon shone, having long ago been brought to ruin, in the Great War of Succession. these starlight streets were prowled by the 7th race, & others, things both eyeless & lumenescent, blind to their own glory.
in the sheltered nook of a crater, a mass of organic algorithms tried to figure out just how to get her ration pack open. considered "unaware" by even the lowliest of the uplifted organisms, she was safely beneath the radar of entire civilizations. other more modern races had conquered her, of course- the nanites were inescapable on homeworld by then- but for all intents & purposes, to all Players, major & otherwise, the girl was a footnote tallied only remotely by their omniscience.
i still killed her personally. because that is the kind of hands-on mahdi i am.
this sour turn of a tuesday is clamoring at the door. the laces of my brain are soaked in lethargy; it's like turpentine soaked fabric. i can close my eyes & see the match, but have little to fear from this tame little world. people talk about freedom but not enough of them complain about the requirments of biology & its intendent, higher level concepts (viz. i fucking hate being alive). i'm a padlock away from venting some of the ichor, the poison in my veins, but i guess i'll save that dreary forge for another day. that heavy anvil of hate given the form of repetition.
today, meet my fist. fist, today. now shake hands & come out swinging.
i guess it could be worse. the last class i have is historical ecology. i...well, i guess i can almost describe it as popomo archeology. the instructor explains concepts like "viewshed" & "privileged view." like, lawns in olde englande. estate design features like the ha-ha (so called because if you fall in one people say "ha ha!"), & how its a ditch rather than a fence to give viewers from the castle an unbroken line of sight, while peasents on the other side see the dirt humps just fine. "time clocks" like nitrogen depletion, climate change, & partible inheritance. how plows build up lynchets, & so fields become not just abstractions of property but actual terrain features. stuff like that. on the downside, the class is three hours (3:00) long.