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The Mad Poet Navarth's Corner

Original Alear

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I would LOVE feedback. But prepare yourself to receive an aesthetic justification for my actions if there was or is one I can come up with, though I may still submit to your suggestions and change accordingly.

Also, questions regarding sources, explanations etc will be answered with ridiculous levels of detail if requested, but I assume you want a superficial explanation (i.e., what I had in mind as what I consciously wanted to imitate rather than what I was using as aesthetic inspiration).

See wiki article for working description. Navarth is one of the more interesting minor characters by Jack Vance, one of the more brilliantly subversive science fiction writers of our time.

Here's my first entry.

Rich dove through the wreck seeking a drowned maid;

Now, carving in Attic depths for a cursed

Blade, I have found that which cut the tender

Throat of Iphigeniea, daughter of

Atreus, for whom he died. Attic men,

Seeking to lay blame, placed it, as always,

Upon a thing defenseless, voiceless. Now,

This knife, dread blade, my precious, is my voice...

If look to fight, then fighting look to die!

Death a fate you construct for yourself, you

With belief build a fate you need not fear.

If my life ends at your hands, you, too, shall

Like the knife, voiceless, be cast into sea:

Rust till you, too, become another's voice!

Though in Petrarchan sonnet form, vaguely, I did not try to rime, since I subscribe to the idea that rime schemes in english can sound quite absurd.

The line breaks are just AWFUL in a few spots, though I like to think that mostly they are good :( and if I read this out loud I would ignore the bad ones, which is what is best to do in some sonnets.

Edited by SeverIan
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Inspired by a person on Serenes Forest, though it has already been said elsewhere:

First they came for another,

And I spoke out,

Because I feared for myself.

Then they came for another,

And I didn't speak out,

Because I feared for myself

Then no one came for me,

Because I was the only one left.

(modified for better effect)

Edited by Loki Laufeyjarson
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  • 2 weeks later...

Atop a mountain peak sits a traveler. His ancient, forgotten lineage grants him great sight, such that he can view, from his solitary post, all the interactions in the wide world around him with great clarity, though perhaps not the clarity that those actually involved have of their own situations.

For all his vision, his heart aches to actually take part in the festivities which his fellows in the cities surrounding the mountain. However, the pebbles and trinkets he has collected on his journey are worth as nothing to those who are below, except insofar as they can each take part in an exchange in which he gains something rare and therefore potentially valuable to him in exchange. However, the recognition from this peak, that the exchanges are for valueless objects, means that he really lacks the heart to take part in the exchanges. He is worried, also, that people will pollute the peak upon which he sits when they realize he has brought valuable treasures from that locale, which he finds unique and therefore beautiful.

The belief in the value of the exchange, therefore, becomes the only valuable thing in his existence, and in all of theirs. When that is broken, the very distinction of order and chaos begins to unravel. Worrying that the treasures, common on the peaks of the mountain where he sits and rare in the city below, he chooses to make his living as best he can upon the peaks for fear of what bringing the truth downward might bring.

Then, with a surge of inspiration, he changes his mind for an instant and makes a spectacular throw of one single of these beautiful trinkets into the city, and waits to sees if anyone will climb up the peak towards him before he dies. The stone itself does little except, of course, somehow, beyond all expectation, unbalance an avalanche which destroys the peak on which he sits, killing him and raining hell on the city below. Or, perhaps he still lives, but without doubt the path upwards towards him has been smothered utterly.

(Improvisation of Echo and Narcissus, as I'm sure those with schooling in mythology will instantly recognize. BTW how the hell did SRD manage to write something so long and so worthwhile and actually try and peddle it for $$$. Who the hell was driving HIS illlusion. I want somma that action.)

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Don't really know much about th's and ye's, I just felt the feeling fit the poem better as a god long forgotten.

A tribute to Gene Wolfe, Severian, and the Book of the New Sun:

Every day the sun riseth not

Every day the sun shineth not

Every day the sun heateth ye not

Every day the sun burneth ye not

Every day the sun doth shine, it groweth ye food, and it is I who let it

Every day the sun doth shine, it bringeth ye heat, and it is I who let it.

Every day the sun doth shine, it bringeth ye energy to the reactors built by human hands, and it is I who let it.

Every day the sun doth rise, it bringeth ye hope, and it is I who let it.

Someday, long after we must worry over it, the sun will burneth to a smoldering dead pile of ash,

and I may well remain to guard you from it.

Who am I, to whom so few prayers are offered?

The atmosphere of the Earth.


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I would like to share with the two of you my dream.

It is my wedding day. I am being married in traditional Balinese style, not something I would ever dream myself fortunate to happen as I'm not Balinese and have never been to Indonesia, let alone the island in question. My favorite piece of Gamelan music, which goes 20 minutes without complete repetition, is being played by a combination of fellow college students who I played it with a few years ago and some other "professional" musicians. My father's best friend, who is a storyteller and universal life church celebrant, is officiating at the wedding, and he tells the best stories from cultures all over the world, especially that one where Persephone eats 6 pomegranete seeds and spends that many months in Hades with Hades, her new husband, leading to the onset of winter as a result of her mother, an earth goddess, mourning her loss. During the wedding, my favorite film, an Argentine independent film that runs for 4 hours, is shown, and everone cries, laughs, claps etc at appropriate moments as though everyone understands and loves the film with a passion exceeding mine.

Also, no one complains about the heat because they realize the heat is emitting from our passionate romantic triangle, and delight in it and renew their own romances and find new ones. My blind dog, as loyal as the blind dog Argos recorded by Homer, has somehow survived to the day of the wedding, and, following the teachings of Confucius, everyone older than her (most ppll since while old for a dog she's young in human years) rises up, and if they have to pass by her, they would do so hastily.

The brides, two of them, walk down the aisle hand in hand, perfectly in unison, assuming such a thing is standard practice in Balinese tradition. One is dressed like Zooey Deschanel on the cover of Lucky magazine, the one where she is in a snowy white dress, not the other one, the other one being the one that would be the most beautiful picture of the tied-for-first girl in the world except for the existence for the one with the white dress. As might be expected of one dressed like Zooey Deschanel, this bride would have a sort of natural, ordinary girl beauty, with a blush the most fair color of red spreading slowly across her cheeks, pale as her dress pale as snow. She would be in hysterics over the overwhelming emotions being placed upon her pure and innocent virginal heart, with tears crossing across lips echoing with laughter. Following her would be a train of 9 retainers, who would be beautiful to behold but for her presence before them, each bearing a weapon she has borne in battles where she faced incredible danger yet survived, beauty and innocence utterly unscathed.

The other is dressed in a beautiful Qi Pao embroidered with scenes from Sima Qian's Records of the Grand Historian, I am not yet sure what the best choice would be. Or maybe just embroidered with illustrations of the 4 beauties of ancient china, the only one of which who is likely to be familiar to you is Diao Chan from Dynasty Warriors, said to be so luminously lovely that the moon would shy away from her face, though surely all four beauties together would follow the moon's example if they found themselves so unfortunate as to be compared with either of you alone, let alone the two of you together garbed in all your finery. Compared to the bride in white's passionate outcries, this beauty, who cannot be compared with any but her new partner, decorated with lesser beauties, attempts a cool, dispassionate expression which fools all but those who know her best, who fully comprehend from small, out of the ordinary details that she is just as overcome with joy as her fellow bride.

The former bride is Snowy One, the latter Kanami. During the vows, you two swear an oath to make me delicious stew for breakfast, either beef or wild boar - if boar it shall be a beast slain in a hunt by me, and I shall have slain it on horseback with a lance like a Spanish knight on a royal hunt - every morning and I swear to become a hero the like of which has not been seen for 3 centuries, though I would not be so proud as to propose being a hero the like of which has not been seen for 4 centuries, and dedicate all my acts of heroism to the two of you.

Much like my favorite LOGH fanfic, the kiss would be explosive. Each of you would come to me in turn, Snowy first, then Kanami, this is important as first is the worst and second is the best.

SeverIan: I have a new order for you, [bride's name].

Bride: What is it, mein keiser?

SeverIan: ...Kiss me.

My face would inch closer, and the contact of our lips would unleash a power greater than any LOGH alliance fleet.

IF SNOWY: [bride's name], I will dominate your body, just as I dominate the universe, except harder. You shall follow my every command before I issue it, for obeying me shall be your solitary concern. SUBMIT TO ME!

These words would be delivered with gusto, regaining the pride and authority that awed and intimidated Snowy so, bringing her to unswerving loyalty.

A red hawk would fly out of SeverIan's eyes and into Snowy's.


SeverIan: [bride's name], I will not dominate your body, just as I dominate the universe. You shall rule hand in hand with me and as my equal. SUBMIT TO NO ONE!

A red hawk would fly out of SeverIan's eyes and into Kanami's, but Kanami's geass canceler would keep her from being affected.

These words would be delivered with gusto, regaining the pride and authority that challenged Kanami so, bringing her to new heights of unrivalled power.

Kanami: I will, mein keiser, but first, I must tell you something.

A smirk forms on Kanami's face.

SeverIan: [barking] What is it! Make it quick!

Kanami: I...I was spy all along!

Kanami losted her disguys and BACKSTABBED SeverIan, then BURNED HIM WITH FIRE.

But then she reveals she stabbed him, not with the poison knife she had prepared the day before, but an arrow coated with the poison of Aphrodite, and the fires were like the fires of a Rapidash's mane, unable to burn SeverIan as a result of the power of Kanami's love for him. Or like the fires which Persephone's mother, Demeter, tried to bath that royal Greek child of Meteneira in. The point is, she loved him so much that she would never hurt him, nor he her.

Kanami: I have penetrated you harshly and rapidly in your heart, my Sevvy-Poo, so that it will bleed forever with love for me, for my heart is such that it cannot stand to bleed for you while yours does not for me. After all, should we not drown in love together, with Snowy as our toy? I have charred you in the fires of either Rapidash's mane or Demeter's hearth, so that your love for me will be, like a steak, potentially deadly to consume and unmarred when raw and rare, red and fierce with flavor when rare, enjoyable by anyone due to its moderate and admirable qualities when medium, and marked by experience - such that, though we regard each others flaws, or "burns," as more reason to love each other - when well cooked.

Kanami: SeverIan, I was going to kill you and take power over the universe for myself. But then I realized your magnificence. I wish to rule as your equal.

SeverIan: KAAAAANAAAAMIII as he collapses in unrivalled joy.


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its sweet but intense! I like it! NewYearsEmoticon.gif

My favorite part is this:

During the wedding, my favorite film, an Argentine independent film that runs for 4 hours, is shown, and everone cries, laughs, claps etc at appropriate moments as though everyone understands and loves the film with a passion exceeding mine.

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First they came for another,

And I spoke out,

Because I feared for myself.

Then they came for another,

And I didn't speak out,

Because I feared for myself

Then no one came for me,

Because I was the only one left.

I've read a book with a similar idea to this.

I quite like this poem.

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I've read a book with a similar idea to this.

I quite like this poem.

Just remember this. Coming out of the womb, most children cry for their own pain first. Though, if I remember right, I may have been unable to cry well due to an oxygen deficiency.

Also, no offense, but I would say that many books have ideas similar to this.

Edited by Loki Laufeyjarson
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  • 1 month later...

One day I prayed to god,

not knowing what god was,

not knowing if god was,

asking merely to find out.

My gaze fell upon a woman,

standing in a park

by her daughter's lemonade stand

keeping the secret of all secrets

that the cost benefit analysis of the stand

resulted in a slight deficit for the family through the summer,

knowing that by next summer's end the daughter

would be on to some other more or less trivial pursuits.

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  • 3 months later...

This is an alternate, lamer, and much shorter ending to The Book of the New Sun. It can't even properly be called an ending to something called The Book of the New Sun since it fails to presage The New Sun adequately and instead focuses on the mundane political affairs of the Autarchy of Severian's Urth.

If you like the fanfic, I suggest purchasing the whole of the series, usually comprised of two volumes: Shadow of the Torturer and Claw of the Conciliator together as Shadow and Claw, and Sword of the Lictor and Citadel of the Autarch together as Sword and Citadel. There is also a sequel to the series called The Urth of the New Sun which I have not yet read, though it's currently sitting on my sofa nearby.

This story begins at page 261 of my copy of The Claw of the Conciliator, in Chapter 8: The Cultellarii. It comes immediately after the paragraph which ends "the final war of Urth" and, in a manner of speaking, ungratefully effaces - as though one of the greatest epics of all time were worthy of erasure rather than promulgation - all the adventure that follows. Severian seems fully conscious of the fact that the reader, likely a member of this forum who is largely unaware of The Book of the New Sun, needs some catching up and has explained some, though not all, of what the reader will need to follow the events of this branch chapter (in other words, this text is not fully accommodating to the reader unfamiliar with the Book of the New Sun and is, simultaneously, more clunky than it needs to be for anyone who has read that text - an unhappy median). The reader may also find that the meaning of some words looked up in dictionaries do not accord with how they are used in the text: this is also a result of Severian's story being the product of futurity. As reflected in the Jungle Garden of Nessus, we may find that these future apparitions will be erased and replaced by our cleaving to (or, as I like to think, rebelling against) the Increate, blessed and cursed be all his names.

The Amphitheater of the New Sun:

The man who came to me to bring a request for my services as an executioner could hardly have known of the egotistic import which I took the news that I would be executing Vodalus of the Woods (also known as Ike-Mike) to have for my person, my fate, and my values. I was, on the surface of things, a public servant presumed to have ties and loyalty to the Autarchy, separated and exalted above the masses. My height also may have brought forth expectations of Exultancy, a fact of which I had become aware during my travels outside the guild of torturer's Matachin Tower. And I had already practised the arts of the lictor, often seen as grossest of all those taught by the guild perhaps because the aim - to bring the conclusion of life as instantaneously and painlessly as possible - so contradicted the natural tendency of all our other professional exercises, upon a mere servant of Vodalus, so the tragicomic reality that I, a Vodalarii, faced as a result of the Autarchy's request for my intercession on their behalf in the case of bringing to a terminal point the life of Vodalus. Who was he to place any special importance on my role in what was to follow? I could also ask who am I, but surely every man believes in his own capacity for judgment - or at least surely long-memoried Severian, making such a statement, do.

Bearing Terminus Est, my large executioner's sword with hydrargyrum embedded in the spine, I followed the messenger through town towards my destination. I mostly dissuaded attempts at conversation, my contemplation of my current course of action blurring my thoughts. I thought chiefly of Thecla, and how the role I had played in her suicide - which I had so recently been deluded into thinking was a myth due to Agia's machinations - of her had ended my brotherhood in the Guild of Torturers, how I now would bring to an end the loyalty I had to Vodalus and his ideals for change and reinvigoration of the Autarchy. As we entered a thoroughfare the man drew my attention with a gesture and a shout over the traffic to a large stone wall. As we drew closer, he lead me to right, and as the end of the wall came more clearly into sight another wall, parallel to the first, came into view. As we entered the barricade round the structure I saw that it was what one might describe as an arched gate, fallen Urthward, with corridored interiors with vigilants at windows, armed with artillery, at the ready to fire on the noisy and potentially - for the identification of a coin bearing the Autarch is not identification of loyalty to the Autarch, as is proven by my chrisos which I accepted in return for loyalty to Vodalus - unruly crowd.

A detachment of lance-bearing dimarchi cleared a way through the crowd for me, sometimes shoving those singles or clusters whose steps were too slow. Because it is my wont to vaunt up the stage as my first gesture to the crowd as the chief enactor of a ritual important to the Autarchy's functioning, I had the guards lead me to rim closest the center of the stage. It was there that I determined that I would be unable to do so here - the stage was simply too high for me to attempt such a task, I believed. So, duly chastened and even a little humiliated under my fuligin cloak by the efforts of some probably long-dead architect, I climbed the steps on the edge of the stage and strode to that center rim and stood sentinel, Terminus Est unsheathed and held perpendicular to the stage's surface, awaiting the presence of my liege and subject.

Unlike myself, he was brought, along with the Alcade who would be ministering over the proceedings, out from one of several arches that surrounded the stage on the curved sides that touched the fallen archway. Presumably, he had been held in some prison here prior to my arrival. Had it been ruled, I would have ministered to him in my finer arts of torture in such a cell, possibly monitored by the alcade. I suspect that the lack of such punishments was due to the haste they felt was necessary in removing the captured Vodalus from our midst as soon as possible, before his escape could be effected - possibly the same reason his transport to the Matachin Tower had not been affected: as I have reflected elsewhere in my narrative, the demands of the campaign against the Ascians left us little in the way of a military presence in Nessus's proper to maintain order.

Reader, if you have followed my tale from beginning to end, you will have probably not chanced to miss that I have reflected oftentimes upon my uncommonly skillful memory, which allows me to recall and swoon within much of what my fellow men say and do, and more besides. I have also spoken of how falling back into these memories leaves me in a drunken reverie - indeed, to be more exact, the experience and contemplation of past memories in painful detail is the one thing that brings my memory to a dull failure to capture the reality ensuing around me. It was at this time, as Vodalus was issued by guards like a subject into my presence again, that I found myself in an experience similar yet completely obverse to that harrowing moment by the stone sink where I wondered at my sanity and the world around me as a phantasm - rather, the realization that full realization of Vodalus' presence, and my role - brought about by my treachery of the guild for the sake of his consort's sister, though not for reason of that relation - as his executioner was like an unwelcome anodyne, bringing reality to the fore and making it impossible to deny; I was about to uphold the rites of the guild which had - not at all to my dismay - cast me out and in so doing end my loyalty to the man I had held higher than the Autarch. The contemplation of this matter engulfed me until I realized that I had missed all of what Vodalus had to offer to his audience - was his farewell proud? apologetic? vituperative? The Alcade lacked the innovative spirit to make use of Vodalus's words in his own reply, so I never came to know - and some of the Alcade's words as well, though I had maintained a steadfast stand by the block. The crowd had gone quiet and listened to the Alcade's response.

"...It is customary that, when bringing a life to a period as we do now, the caloyer says Increate, it is known to us that those who will perish here are no more evil in your sight than we. But today the Autarchy has a different kind of criminal brought to the block for termination - a megalomaniac who dared above his standing to exult himself beyond exultancy, far unlike all of us who willingly serve and service the Autarchy. We have a man who constantly offended, constantly brought chaos to the realm in a time of unrest and war. He demanded a return to the opulent ways of past times, and a disciplining of the overabundant classes who he felt offended the ideals he holds concerning how men should be governed and govern themselves. He demanded the place of the Autarch while the present Autarch and his servant, Father Inire, denied him. Instead of taking up arms against the Ascians he has taken up arms against his own countrymen of Nessus. He complains to you now of staled olden traditions - but without those traditions, would you not treasure and serve the world around you less? He complains to you of our stagnation - but is it our place to thrive before the coming of the New Sun? Furthermore, it is customary that when a man commits a crime, he be tried before he is punished. But do you really expect the Autarchy to give such leniency to a man who commits crimes not against its subservients, but against the body of the Autarchy itself? If you would protest this perceived injustice, by all means - rise against the Autarchy that defends you from the Ascians, clothes and feeds many of you, the Autarchy that stands between you and this man with lances held high in defense of the punishment to be visited upon him!"

So saying, the Alcade finished the speech, and it was in my hands to likewise finish the ceremony. The Alcade's words had given me something to focus on, to take my mind away from my felt commitments to Vodalus. Though I found myself hardly in agreement with anything he had said, the fact of the matter is that my loyalty to Vodalus was something more of the sentimental loyalty I had had towards Triskele, that 3-legged dog of the beast masters' tower, than a logical and well-thought out propositional-based loyalty of a man-at-arms. If I had not seen him fight in the graveyard of the citadel, had not fought for him myself, I would never have been swayed by the words of his followers to consider a life in his footsteps. And so it was that I felt myself being freed from my commitments to the Vodalarii and their master without really being free of my attachments to them and him. I raised Terminus Est. There was no brilliant gleam, the old sun being obscured by clouds. The crowd stirred mildly, not disrupting but becoming a part of my concentration on the prone form of Vodalus. "Strike and fear not!" I almost seemed to hear from the nonpresent maid of our ritual feast. The parting of my patron's head from his shoulders was a relief that came of the flowing down of the hydrargyrum, the weight of which far overmatched the resistance of Vodalus's (Ike-Mike's) outstretched neck. I discerned the crowd's roar as joyous - perhaps the Alcade had more reason to warn me of the Autarchy's willingness to meet resistance with violence than the crowd, which apparently had no loyalty to the cause of the Vodalarii. As I performed capers round the stage with the basketed head, a I wondered what my concerns were upon this earth with both my loyalty to the guild and my loyalty to Vodalus bereft and broken.

Reader, my journey here is not what it was meant to be - have I finally remembered falsely? - so which journey was it that prevailed? Might it be both? - a pox on tongue and teeth alike if you dare so far as to say "neither!" Here it ends, unless you would renew your readership.

Edited by BlueMartianKitty
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  • 1 year later...

For the record, there should be a period after print. Get rid of "but" entirely and capitalize the next word to get rid of the run-on sentence. I'd also suggest changing the comma that's already there to hyphen and insert an "I" afterwards to get a proper second sentence.

If you shorten every sentence that much, well, I'm just gonna localize it to my universe.

(to the tune of some stanzas/versions of Pure Imagination)


Hold your grammar

Say a prayer

Speak "1, 2, 3."

Read of me

And you'll see

Just how small

Is my imagination

Take a look

You might dreamt

On the worth, of your imagination

I've begun

With a spin

Traveling in,

A world of Gene's* creation

What I've seen

Still de-fies-my-expec-tay-shuuuuuuuuuuuuuuun

When I wish to forge


All that I have wrought becomes it

Wanna change the time

Can't do it

There's nothing for it

There is no

Wordplay I make

I compare

To my pen put to paper

Now like this

I must talk

As I truly

Wished to speak

*Both Gene Wolfe and Gene Wilder

Edited by Mouse
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  • 1 month later...

This is not "creative" except insofar as taking a dream to text is "creative." Some things were lost before transcription even occurred to me. However, I do think (haha by my own measure) I did a good job of preserving how I felt having the dream, as opposed to how I felt after.

I'm including a youtube link to a song that ends the first season of the wire, that (after I started working on this summary) came to represent some of the things going on in this dream. I am confident it is not "needed" as background for reading this overly long post, I just felt like it might be good context since I mention it later.

I had a very long dream before waking up today, so I think it might be worthwhile to describe some of it. I will say that while the descriptions are not graphic, there is some violent and sexual content. If this comes across as a series of semi-connected but surreal vignettes, that's because I lost some of the connections pretty quickly. And if it seems like the last scene got the most "attention," it's only because it seemed so strong a picture to me that I was thinking more about it than about other parts (just as something in and of itself) that I feel I remembered more about the thing itself than about post-thing re-thing analysis.

And when I say something like "my character," or "me" I mean most that I understood the certain perspective as mine because I felt I was feeling from that character's perspective.

A good way of expressing it, as I hit upon later, is that I feel like I mindread from the "protagonist" of the dream, and see things from his angle rather than from others, but still feel like a very different person from him.

The first scene was my character on a plane. It was a passenger plane, and we had a military escort during our landing. I think I knew that I knew one of the escorts (my character did, that is), and this "turned out" to be true. We landed, and I met the escort, a female officer who has some sort of deployment orders, fairly soon. I think - and this is a bit of a guess - that me, or my character, understood the upcoming fight to be important, did not really know the importance, and saw a competent adult - that is shorthand for a hero - who has a role in it to confirm its importance.

The next set of interactions, which I do not remember at all, really, were between me, this officer, and a male character who I think of as an older brother. I think there were definitely romantic undertones between the brother and the officer, and also a "your duty and mine" sort of understanding between them (the brother is not felt to be in the military, or serving in it, and maybe does not care much).

(It doesn't seem unrealistic to say that my character's perspective is that the officer was trying to get the brother to join the army, and that the brother was trying to get the officer to quit the army. Not that they were talking about such things, but that each was trying to draw the other into their own sphere. Analyzing whether these attempts were selfish or selfless, caring or care-lacking, etc.,. would probably be not only presumptuous, but unrealistic, given this things nature as a dream.)

I do have a sense that the next thing that happened was some sort of decision for the older brother, the officer, and me, to visit the brother's estranged wife. I don't particularly get the feeling this was to address the dynamic seen above, or to complicate things. It was a "normal" visit. I.e., whatever was between the officer and the brother, and the estranged wife, and me, for that matter, it was natural that it was a good time to see the estranged wife again.

The next thing I can only speak of as an interjection in my character's narration. It's sexual so I've spoilered it, but I feel like content like this has been in the dream thread before?:

(Additionally, for those here who read The Gap series, this actually has the name of a character from that here.)

A man - whom I do feel I'm "living" in now - is having a dream, he is making love to his lover, wakes up, goes looking for her, finds her, and there's a feeling or emotion of "oh, thank god" or something like that, as well as a question - rather verbal, I think - "do you remember the kiss?" that I can't assign to either the man or the woman.

That is, the "relief" is definitely "mine" and I am the "man," but the question is something being asked of me, but I don't feel like I'm the "man" anymore. A better way of putting it....would be that that question feels to have been encouraged by the romance, but not really connected to it, or the rest of the dream, but yet it still might be, that one actor asked another that question.

The impression I had would be like...I had been given a vision as a "leadup" to a question which doesn't have any clear or direct tie to the vision.

I had a fairly strong impression that the woman is Liete Corregio - that's the 3rd in command of Captain's Fancy, who alters the attack plan on Sorus to an attack plan on an amnion ship in order to save Nick Succorso and the other capn's fancy off-boaters (and Angus, but I don't think she knows he exists, and I think Milos Taverner is already captured). I wouldn't mind interpretations that look to assign any character, or me, an aspect of Succorso's identity or anyone else's from that series, but I didn't get any other impressions of "Gap centered existences" in this dream. There is an image that uses "gap" very soon, but I don't think it has much to do with the Gap series.

And I feel it might be useful to say I didn't have a N.E. before someone cracks a joke. I hope I didn't have a nocturnal omission.

The next thing involves my character knock/ring/openening a door to a house. This is the first time in a while I get a sense of place. This is a somewhat expansive 1 story house. I don't know anything about architectural styles. I think it could be brick. I guess it's sort of a ranch style, insofar as the door area feels slightly "enclosed" in a corner of the home's construction, rather than along the center of a long exterior wall that's fairly straight in each direction outward from the door. As I'm let in, the officer is not very far behind, the older brother is a ways further back, but approaching. The woman who lets me in is the wife.

I didn't have any sort of impression of her as a person like I did in the spoilered sex scene just prior, but I will say that it seemed "obvious" that the brother was the man and that she was Liete (or the woman who seemed to be her). As only a dream can do, since I was following my character now, this was like a note I and he tucked in our pocket. Some sort of argument - not that loud or disturbing - occurred between the brother and the wife.

In the next scene, myself, the officer and the older brother are in some sort of club, performance venue. I dunno the names for different kinds of stage and floor constructions, but it's one of those big stage, some curtains, and a lot of floor room with small tables, dance space, and the like. There's a family running this place. There's a little girl who goes missing. It's in a funny way. There's sort of this hole, in the wall, that seems to small for her, and she goes through, and my character doesn't know where she goes. We're calling out "little fellow, little one, where did you go" and others in the room, some of them worry and call out, and some of them don't care.

We then just do something as simple as going towards the front, and there's an open window, and we look out (it's on the same side as the hole in the wall) and the girl is outside playing in some ho-hum alley. We feel relieved and ready to turn away.

Here's one of the odder things that happens in the dream. Someone just tells us something in a gobbledygook language, that we instantly understand as meaning "little one are you ok?" but not in english, so we go to the window and shout that - understanding exactly why we would, to communicate our concern - and she shouts back something that isn't understood but means "yes, don't worry." So then we turn away just as relieved.

The next thing is pretty instantaneous and almost corny. A van drives up and toughs come out. They are after the older brother. It is obvious. A debt is to be paid or something. They threaten us with the little girl to get the brother to come out, and then intend to take the brother. The next thing is something neither good nor bad that I believe I had no role in (except as the dreamer) - my character goes out and beats them all up. All his blows are just punches to their face. There doesn't seem to be any danger for him in doing this whatsoever. However, they're all "fine," and now some additional debt has been incurred.

So then I (and my character) ask if we can be used as debt in place of the brother, temporarily. We're taken.

The next scene is probably the most powerful for me. There will be a bit of description that I think creates "impressions" that resembled what I was gonig through, but may be creative. I don't think they are, however.

I am let out of the car, and there are many people getting out of cars. We are in the midst of tall buildings in a city (perhaps not coincidentally, we had this feeling at the club when looking out into the alley). Many many people. They are probably still toughs. But it's not clear this is crime, or conscious organization, or anything, nor is it felt that. We walk about a block from the car and there is a grassy field and a fairly tall fence (maybe about 1 story of a building, chain link.

Incidentally, with us is now one Omar Bell, from the Wire. I feel confident this was something we knew as we were getting out of the car. At the time he was thought to be just our guide. Like the Char's Counterattack thing (see below) and Liete Corregio, it was "obvious" who he was even before he was someone we saw in this dream (but maybe only once we saw him in the dream).*

But there is the chain link fence. At this point, Omar is now actually piggypacked on me (that is, I'm carrying him). It is my goal to climb the fence, and also to use Omar as a source of information for how to climb it. He offers both encouragement and a certain amount of taunting, but overall remains quite affable. It is refreshing to hear any voice. The other climbers seem to have moved beyond sound.

It becomes obvious that because of our arrangement, I can't climb the fence. It's not that Omar is too heavy - in fact, his weight is not someting I'm conscious of at all. Something has gone on with my hands, and feet, and my movement is in some way restricted.

It's also an odd thing that there are gaps enough in the fence to pass through. As though someone took a great slashing clever and cut from the top of the fence to the bottom, and there were chasms of non-fence in between, and the cleavers gathered the bits in between the gaps so there was no detritus of metal. Not many people are using them to go through. Strangely, there seem to be "enforcers" who close the gaps. At first, I can only notice certain large figures moving to and from the gaps, practically flitting, and then, where it seems they just were, "intermeshes of new fence," new chain, keeping me from going through. As time passes - not much time, just the notice of a couple more gaps - their method becomes more realistic. At first, I catch them putting forearms against each side of the fence (the gap, rather), somehow "enlarging" themselves, and then new sets of chain abruptly forging in between the gaps.

Eventually, a few more gaps noticed (me running to them just to late, now really trying to get through) where the linkers just stretch and add enough strands from gap to gap. It becomes strange to realize that I've been bonded to Omar with some kinda tie (oh btw, never got any reason to think it was a fence), that keeps me from undoing these links, which are held practically and only by their own stretching and tension, and if I could get my fingers around them, I could bend the fences closer together until I could remove some of the links. But I can't, because my hands are tied.

One other "geographic" thing of importance is that the fence is like a hard 90 degree angle along a corner of the city I'm in, with some grassy space in between. The people who have climbed now follow along the fence, using it as a guide, a perimeter around which they currently walk.

I don't really remember the details of my conversation with Omar, but as I've been trying to make it past the fence, I've been trying to understand why he's with me, and why he won't give a great deal of advice to me about some kind of process I figured he would have insight on. The end of the dream comes, shortly after I realize that my bond with him prevents us both from doing anything whatsoever regarding my current predicament, that he says to me

"I just felt like taking a gamble on unprotected loyalty and sex."

I actually do feel confident I got "vocals" from Omar for this line, and I'm not confident that unprotected didn't come before sex, but this was one of the "seemingly unshaped but possibly shaped" aspects of the dream - that I could only remember it as "unprotected loyalty".

It is funny that this description I've given "seems" to draw strongly from the themes of "Step by Step" by Jesse Winchester, which ended the 1st season, and I do think of that song sometimes, but it's funny to think it influenced this dream image. I mean, it only occurred to me as I transcribed it.

INTERPRETATION: Or at least clarification.

At this point (not in the dream) I feel it's obvious it "isn't" Omar, or at least it seems intolerable that Omar would retain Omar's unflappability in this kind of situation, because I don't think Omar would relish impending death in such a carefree way. I know there's no such threat in the dream that I constructed - I guess I mean failure as much as death, or something, I don't know or care very much. Maybe I am wrong however.

In a sense, the piggyback image reminds me far more of the tale from the sinbad stories (IIRC) where Sinbad cares for an old man who treats him quite terribly, and eventually kills the old man in order to leave (he was more or less plotting to all along). This isn't to suggest, however, that such an emotion was present for me. For me, during the fence seen, there was simply a strong yearning not to live or to die, or whatever, but simply not to hold the others back - including the one on my own back.

There was even a worry that my absence would stall the officer in some way, because there was a strong feeling that her involvement was motivated by concern. If the crowd left at the club knew of my predicament, would they leave the comfort to find me because I had stood up there? Less so the brother, for reasons I can only vaguely understand. Maybe since he wasn't a woman, his concern was less important. Maybe because he was seen as more tied in personal struggles, my own worries were a burden he should not be involved in. It's also true that as far as the officer goes, ultimately, the importance of the dream was placed in the military struggle to which there was no connection, and her importance in that struggle - and the importance of every fighter - seemed undeniable. It would have been "criminal" to divert focus from such a conflict. In that sense, it was the decision to interpose myself for the older brother, to both acknowledge some kind of agreement and natural flow AND to disrupt it and control it, that seemed to have been quite bad. Yet, there was relief at the end, because even watching the dream, there was a feeling that this would be the end.

It may seem that these are all rationalizations, but I think it would be more accurate to say that they were influences felt constantly during the dream.

The other "editorial comment" I'll make is it may be worthwhile to understand the opening "title" of this dream for me was "Mobile Suit Gundam: Char's Counterattack." I don't think any of the events in this dream really make use of this film in an exclusive or important way. However, there was a feeling of an imminent, world-spanning disaster for me as I was dreaming, and that this had to do with military action on a grand scale (at least on the level of near-earth colonials and earth), and I did sort of have a strong feeling of the words "Char's Counterattack" very, very early on, which probably influenced this feeling.

(but the effect was similar to Liete Corregio and Omar Little, where the assignation did not seem consciously matched, and so well fitting it was undeniable)

(In the movie, a longstanding conflict generally seen as being fought between earth and its orbiting colonies is temporarily resolved, and the two most pronounced "larger than life" single-unit fighter pilots whom the viewers of the metaseries have presumably followed somewhat carefully more or less kill each other.)

Edited by Mouse
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