Disturbing Nocturnal Visions
Yohaun
terribly unusual. This particular one keeps plaguing me...
There is a group of us in a small doorless, windowless room. It is in
complete, permanent isolation from the outside world. We are all wearing
heavy monks' cloaks, and our faces are completely hidden by the large
hoods. We all sit on the cold floor playing some ridiculous never-ending
card game. We are all drinking and smoking copiously; the stench
of stale cigarette smoke and the gentle cloying aroma of spilled beer
permeates this surreal atmosphere. The alcohol allows us to forget why
we've been sent to this room, the cigarettes provide us with much needed
poison and nobody really knows why we're playing this card game that keeps
getting more and more complicated (in an obscure kind of way) with every
round. There is no clock in the room so one of us attempts to keep time by
drawing large gouges in his arm with a yellowed, sickly fingernail.
Needless to say, the arm is a bloody, scarred mess.
One scholar sits apart from the card game. Scribbling frantically in an
old, stained notebook, this lost soul is translating "Oh my god! There's
an axe in my head" in every language ever known to man. The title "Book of
Knowledge" is written in blood on the cover of the frail book.
So how about those worms?
Regards,
Yohaun.
(Yes, I really should try and get some more sleep...)
--
\|/ Imagine this living carcass, screaming. \|/
-- * -- screaming endlessly into the anechoic void... -- * --
/|\ /|\
Denise Lacombe
You say all this like there's something wrong with it...Luxury! We
used to dream about having nights like that!
Grabthroat Skinkicker III
If chaos were lightning, he would be the one standing on a hilltop in the
storm, wearing wet copper armour, holding a sword aloft and shouting,
"All gods are bastards!"
Gothmech
DLAC...@CHEMISTRY.watstar.uwaterloo.ca (Denise Lacombe) writes:
This really is irrelevant, but this whole message brought back memories of
my time with Air Force Intelligence. I always tried to work straight mids,
of course, we were in this windowless building behind three steel doors,
in a workspace with no overhead lights, that was lit only by desk lamps
that I never used and the light of the computer screens and radios LEDs.
And this really huge machine that was codenamed "Bilbo" that did
absolutely nothing, as far as we knew, except look like it belonged in a
James Bond flick. Ah well, if only they paid better and didn't have drug
tests...
Midnight
In article <Ct88x...@watserv2.uwaterloo.ca>, jjun...@sciborg.uwaterloo.ca (Yohaun) writes:
|> My mind has been awash in disturbing visions of late, but that's nothing
|> terribly unusual. This particular one keeps plaguing me...
|>
|> There is a group of us in a small doorless, windowless room. It is in
|> complete, permanent isolation from the outside world. We are all wearing
|> heavy monks' cloaks, and our faces are completely hidden by the large
|> hoods. We all sit on the cold floor playing some ridiculous never-ending
|> card game.
Sounds familiar...
|> We are all drinking and smoking copiously; the stench
|> of stale cigarette smoke and the gentle cloying aroma of spilled beer
|> permeates this surreal atmosphere. The alcohol allows us to forget why
|> we've been sent to this room, the cigarettes provide us with much needed
|> poison and nobody really knows why we're playing this card game that keeps
|> getting more and more complicated (in an obscure kind of way) with every
|> round.
Yup. Sounds very familiar. I ran a tournament of Magic - The Gathering
at a Calgary gaming convention a few months back... Tone down the alcohol
and throw in a little more Star Trek, and that's exactly the heck I sat
through. And all because I'm just sick enough to think that it's fun.
|> There is no clock in the room so one of us attempts to keep time by
|> drawing large gouges in his arm with a yellowed, sickly fingernail.
|> Needless to say, the arm is a bloody, scarred mess.
Well, maybe not... Although there was no clock in the room, and gamers
aren't universally known for cleanliness.
|> One scholar sits apart from the card game. Scribbling frantically in an
|> old, stained notebook, this lost soul is translating "Oh my god! There's
|> an axe in my head" in every language ever known to man. The title "Book of
|> Knowledge" is written in blood on the cover of the frail book.
Yup... that would have been me. Except that I wasn't translating, I was
debugging C++ code. And I think that the cover would have said 'CPSC 413'.
|> So how about those worms?
Stop dreaming about things that happened to me! That's my job.
(Of course, if you do happen to dream about a woman named Cary, then
try to get her number for me... I lost it last time. ;) )
-D
--
Midnight is... | "Perfect little dream
gop...@bnr.ca, or more often... | The kind that hurts the most
ro...@cpsc.ucalgary.ca, or even... | Forgot how it feels
David C. Ross@real_life.edu. | Well almost..."
--
If I spoke for BNR, would they still be in business?
John R McCluskey
Gothmech <goth...@aol.com> wrote:
>This really is irrelevant, but this whole message brought back memories of
>my time with Air Force Intelligence. I always tried to work straight mids,
>of course, we were in this windowless building behind three steel doors,
>in a workspace with no overhead lights, that was lit only by desk lamps
>that I never used and the light of the computer screens and radios LEDs.
>And this really huge machine that was codenamed "Bilbo" that did
>absolutely nothing, as far as we knew, except look like it belonged in a
>James Bond flick. Ah well, if only they paid better and didn't have drug
>tests...
Ah, but the knowledge.. the sweet, sweet taste of secret information. Admit
it, it was sexy as hell to have access to that echelon above reality kind of
information. A good image always makes the air in the scif taste better...
From whence comes the name 'Gothmech' BTW?
John
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
jrmc...@magnus.acs.ohio-state.edu Multi-Media Goth Extraordinaire
jmcc...@nyx.cs.du.edu Assembler of the net.goth compilation
| # # | * * * * *
\ " / * "The night is my companion and solitude my guide..." *
iii * --Sarah MacLachlan,_Possession_ *
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Gothmech
jrmc...@magnus.acs.ohio-state.edu (John R McCluskey) writes:
>This really is irrelevant, but this whole message brought back memories
of
>my time with Air Force Intelligence. I always tried to work straight
mids,
>of course, we were in this windowless building behind three steel doors,
>in a workspace with no overhead lights, that was lit only by desk lamps
>that I never used and the light of the computer screens and radios LEDs.
>And this really huge machine that was codenamed "Bilbo" that did
>absolutely nothing, as far as we knew, except look like it belonged in a
>James Bond flick. Ah well, if only they paid better and didn't have drug
>tests...
Ah, but the knowledge.. the sweet, sweet taste of secret information.
Admit
it, it was sexy as hell to have access to that echelon above reality kind
of
information. A good image always makes the air in the scif taste
better...
From whence comes the name 'Gothmech' BTW?
OK, I admit it... I loved having the access to the irrelevent information
that the rest of you will never know... even though I'll never talk the
sme way on a cellular phon again. (oh the stories I could tell, if only
they wouldn't send me to Leavenworth later on.) I take it there is
another ex-military intelligence Goth out there on the net? Any way, as I
think I started to go into in another message, Gothmech is short for
Goth-mechanic, which is what this guy I worked with, (he was into
hardcore, and skating) called me when I asked how I looked before we hit
Duval Street after work, probably because I was dressed in black wearing a
small wrench on a chain. If any of you care.
CKD