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I ... haven't really been able to write, lately. I'm not quite sure why. I've just ... There's been this kind of ... luminous blankness? Full of the shadows of ideas, flickering things, there and gone again. Nothing concrete, nothing translatable. Nothing you could make words out of.
I've had this before. It's probably actually somewhat of a bad sign, in that long periods of this, of the kind of on-the-cusp reaching for half-felt, vivid imaginings, usually indicates a downturn on the way. It's a bit like the high before the crash, though I probably don't have to properly worry unless I start getting euphoric flashes and moments of universal alignment. It's just ... when the world gets a bit more stretched and vivid, and full of shadowed things, I'm usually reaching too far, and about to fall. *shrugs*
It's just ... kind of a shame, in a lot of ways. Frustrating, you know? It's the half-way place, the moment of hovering just within the upper edges of the cloud-cover, before bursting out into the upper sunlight. You see things, here, or catch the edges of them, and it's ... Just that little higher, that little further, and you could see them, they would be ... so vivid, so real, but ... well, that's about where Icarus's wings begin to melt, isn't it? *smiles ruefully*
I hate the falling part. I don't want to hit the falling part. But it's that moment, the moment just before, when gravity catches hold but doesn't yet cast down, when things are clear. When things resolve into something usable, something understandable. This, the half-way place, the reaching place, is too full of shadows and half-done thoughts. It's too intangible and too crowded, and nothing manifests itself here. Just shadows of thoughts, out of the corner of your eye. A luminous blankness. *sighs*
I've had this before. It's probably actually somewhat of a bad sign, in that long periods of this, of the kind of on-the-cusp reaching for half-felt, vivid imaginings, usually indicates a downturn on the way. It's a bit like the high before the crash, though I probably don't have to properly worry unless I start getting euphoric flashes and moments of universal alignment. It's just ... when the world gets a bit more stretched and vivid, and full of shadowed things, I'm usually reaching too far, and about to fall. *shrugs*
It's just ... kind of a shame, in a lot of ways. Frustrating, you know? It's the half-way place, the moment of hovering just within the upper edges of the cloud-cover, before bursting out into the upper sunlight. You see things, here, or catch the edges of them, and it's ... Just that little higher, that little further, and you could see them, they would be ... so vivid, so real, but ... well, that's about where Icarus's wings begin to melt, isn't it? *smiles ruefully*
I hate the falling part. I don't want to hit the falling part. But it's that moment, the moment just before, when gravity catches hold but doesn't yet cast down, when things are clear. When things resolve into something usable, something understandable. This, the half-way place, the reaching place, is too full of shadows and half-done thoughts. It's too intangible and too crowded, and nothing manifests itself here. Just shadows of thoughts, out of the corner of your eye. A luminous blankness. *sighs*
Um. Some notes, though. Some of the shadows, in case there may be an opportunity, either from above or below, to resolve them later. *waves hand absently*
I've been having ... some vaguely meta-like thoughts, about watchers, and symbols, and the way we paint meaning into things/people, and how vaguely horrifying it is. Probably shouldn't have reread Shadow Play, not while up here, but anyway. Might manage to draw something out of that later.
Going through the 2011 festivids, and linking a bit with the above musings, I was thinking about how you'd go about making a fanvid in prose form. I mean, using the tools a vidder uses, adapted for prose. Theme, imagery, rhythm, lyrics, timing, juxtaposition, mood - how would you portray the visual/aural experience of a vid via writing?
Not helped by the fact that the imaginary vid in my head is a weird, baroque tango (one of the slow, dark, dizzying ones), in reds and golds and blacks, and random, hallucinatory flashes of sparking blue, balancing Helen/John from Sanctuary against Chang/Temple from Glass Books of the Dream Eaters, and to the theme of electricity. *shrugs* Look, things are fragmentary at best up here, in this state, and don't make a lot of sense.
For fic ... there was a prompt, somewhere, ages ago, about SPN and someone from the 19th century (Tesla) finding Lucifer and making electricity from angels, to power an eldritch, steampunk, industrial dystopia. Or, at least, I think there was a prompt, at least the Tesla-making-electricity-from-Lucifer part. That ... sparked some strange things. Tesla, of course, bounced my focus off SPN and onto Sanctuary, and prompted shadowy thoughts about a steampunk, dystopic world where a dark Five combined forces and fields to produce ... well, an eldritch, steampunk dystopia, where the underworld of abnormals was merged into the overworld of humans under the black and sparking veil of industry and power and connection led by the scientific dreams of the Five.
In my head, it's the zoom shot, rushing black and gold through towering bronze pylons, Tesla in the foreground looking out, the camera panning along his line of sight at dizzying speed, the towers of a steampunk/dieselpunk Manhattan, Metropolis and Jasper Morello, to fetch up against the Tower of Babylon and Helen Magnus, holding court, with the Three at her back.
And, oddly enough, I'm pretty sure the main character is Will, possibly also Ashley. Metropolis, a genderflipped Freder and Maria (probably without the romantic element), trying to salvage some purer, innocent thing from the machinations and entanglements of the older generation.
... I probably shouldn't have watched that movie while in the half-way place, either. *shrugs* There's too much imagery and symbolism in Metropolis. I probably really should have known better. *grimaces faintly, shrugs* Also? Steampunk in general. Way too evocative for me in this state of mind.
And yes, I am noticing the leitmotifs, threading in - gold/black in the visual key, steampunk in the ideology, innocence/falling in the theme - translation, interpretation, symbolism, layered meaning, archetypes - and the vidding idea, through. Heh. Leitmotif, even. *shakes head*
For later. For salvaging. For remembering enough of. Just ... yeah.
I love and hate this place, you know? Cusping. On the verge of resolving, but only in the promised fall. *sighs*
Fuck, I hope the crash is worth it. Or it worth the crash. Something. I don't even know, anymore.
One of these days, you know, I'm gonna break the cloud-cover. There won't be a cusping, won't be a fall, won't be that moment when gravity snatches back its hold. There won't be the reaching, reaching, almost touching, falling. One of these days, I'll actually break the cloud cover, up out into the sunshine, out of the straining balance.
One of these days, I'm gonna fly, I'm telling you. One day, that's going to happen.
'Til then, though, there's just going to have to be that moment, at the apex. When I can almost, almost touch.
Fuck, I hope it's worth it.
I've been having ... some vaguely meta-like thoughts, about watchers, and symbols, and the way we paint meaning into things/people, and how vaguely horrifying it is. Probably shouldn't have reread Shadow Play, not while up here, but anyway. Might manage to draw something out of that later.
Going through the 2011 festivids, and linking a bit with the above musings, I was thinking about how you'd go about making a fanvid in prose form. I mean, using the tools a vidder uses, adapted for prose. Theme, imagery, rhythm, lyrics, timing, juxtaposition, mood - how would you portray the visual/aural experience of a vid via writing?
Not helped by the fact that the imaginary vid in my head is a weird, baroque tango (one of the slow, dark, dizzying ones), in reds and golds and blacks, and random, hallucinatory flashes of sparking blue, balancing Helen/John from Sanctuary against Chang/Temple from Glass Books of the Dream Eaters, and to the theme of electricity. *shrugs* Look, things are fragmentary at best up here, in this state, and don't make a lot of sense.
For fic ... there was a prompt, somewhere, ages ago, about SPN and someone from the 19th century (Tesla) finding Lucifer and making electricity from angels, to power an eldritch, steampunk, industrial dystopia. Or, at least, I think there was a prompt, at least the Tesla-making-electricity-from-Lucifer part. That ... sparked some strange things. Tesla, of course, bounced my focus off SPN and onto Sanctuary, and prompted shadowy thoughts about a steampunk, dystopic world where a dark Five combined forces and fields to produce ... well, an eldritch, steampunk dystopia, where the underworld of abnormals was merged into the overworld of humans under the black and sparking veil of industry and power and connection led by the scientific dreams of the Five.
In my head, it's the zoom shot, rushing black and gold through towering bronze pylons, Tesla in the foreground looking out, the camera panning along his line of sight at dizzying speed, the towers of a steampunk/dieselpunk Manhattan, Metropolis and Jasper Morello, to fetch up against the Tower of Babylon and Helen Magnus, holding court, with the Three at her back.
And, oddly enough, I'm pretty sure the main character is Will, possibly also Ashley. Metropolis, a genderflipped Freder and Maria (probably without the romantic element), trying to salvage some purer, innocent thing from the machinations and entanglements of the older generation.
... I probably shouldn't have watched that movie while in the half-way place, either. *shrugs* There's too much imagery and symbolism in Metropolis. I probably really should have known better. *grimaces faintly, shrugs* Also? Steampunk in general. Way too evocative for me in this state of mind.
And yes, I am noticing the leitmotifs, threading in - gold/black in the visual key, steampunk in the ideology, innocence/falling in the theme - translation, interpretation, symbolism, layered meaning, archetypes - and the vidding idea, through. Heh. Leitmotif, even. *shakes head*
For later. For salvaging. For remembering enough of. Just ... yeah.
I love and hate this place, you know? Cusping. On the verge of resolving, but only in the promised fall. *sighs*
Fuck, I hope the crash is worth it. Or it worth the crash. Something. I don't even know, anymore.
One of these days, you know, I'm gonna break the cloud-cover. There won't be a cusping, won't be a fall, won't be that moment when gravity snatches back its hold. There won't be the reaching, reaching, almost touching, falling. One of these days, I'll actually break the cloud cover, up out into the sunshine, out of the straining balance.
One of these days, I'm gonna fly, I'm telling you. One day, that's going to happen.
'Til then, though, there's just going to have to be that moment, at the apex. When I can almost, almost touch.
Fuck, I hope it's worth it.
