January 10th, 2004

Thoughtful

TimeMachineGo

Lots and nothing going on in my head all at once. From the top...

The magic worked. Or at least, the part for me worked. If you don't know, log in. If you still don't know, you aren't meant to.

This job might just be worth it after all. I've been talking with my parents about transport options, and it was mentioned that a scooter might be a good idea. Thus we spent the afternoon looking at the things. Saw a nice 50cc model going new with helmet, lock, rain gear and insurance for £1700. £200 more would get me a 100cc bike, but for that I would need to do a day's training. Pros and cons, power vs. money. But after my first week of work I should a) know and b) be riding. Here's hoping, at least. Images when I can.

Looking through my phone's memory for icon ideas. There's one of the Keyboard, after it was LARTed. So that's going to be for computing (and thus probably job) related stuff. And now it's hit that the damn thing is getting in close. No more weekdays.

The Siberia Project is finally out of the brainstorming stage and into the "We have a plan, let's get writing" stage. So if you want to write some of Rage Across Siberia, go and see.

Going back to the subject line, there's a reason I chose it. There are certain linguistic constructs that seem to set off bits of my mind I'm not aware of. This manifests as both inspiration and an evoked feeling of wonder. To most people, these linguistic constructs mean nothing. I don't know *why* they fire up things in my brain, just that they do. The thing with these constructs is that they often take forms which are good enough to be titles, which I why I write from titles. When writing, I attempt to crystalise what I find evoked in the title into a form which evokes similar feelings and thoughts in others. Thus why things like Midnight Radio are stories I personally dislike, even though lots of people like them. The lack of evocation means I've missed my personal goal.

I'm not sure at what point I realised that this was why I wrote from titles. I'm pretty sure that it was while I was reading The Invisibles and saw the word "TimeMachineGo". Things just started to crystalise, a meta-evocation, a linguistic spell, call it what you will. Cascades in my mind, new ways of thinking and realisations I would otherwise have missed. Whatever Grant Morrison set out to do with that word it worked, at least for me.

And such, yeah.
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Angry

Here to Vent

Fucking hell, sometimes my family makes me wonder. What part of "Could you just knock the door shut please?" means "I hate you and everything you stand for you fucking worthless pile of human excrement"? Because I can't fucking see it. Apparently my mother can, because when I'm sat in the middle of typing up a couple of thousand on Taint-related diseases and she's just lazing around on the sofa she sure as buggery acted like it. Screamed her head off at me and stormed off. Over being asked if she could close a door.

Then of course my dad comes in and goes off at me for being rude to her and for being a lazy waste of space. Then of course he tells me that the matter is over and there shouldn't be any quibbles because we should be "amicable". Sure, I can be fucking amicable as well if I ignore everything even close to the truth in pursuit of some excuse to rant at something for something they didn't do. And to prove how non-petty they are, they're... sat in the next room from me, watching the same as I am on a cheap portable telly and not talking at me when I attempt communication. What the fuck is wrong with these people that I'm supposedly descended from? Grargh.

Went looking at more bikes earlier. Have an idea of which to get.

Other than that, nothing to report. Go comment on the damn thought-construct evocation stuff, or something else that requires you to use your brain before commenting. This moronic shit doesn't warrant comments.
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