It was, they said, carved up and carried back to the city in pieces, on greased sleds and low-riding ships, from the westward lands where the sun dies in winter. There was no stone with its strange green veins anywhere in Silhouine’s country; a dozen people could walk over it standing abreast.
She and Dulap make their way out of the nervous crowd around the remains.
“Were they making a point?” Silhouine asks.
“I don’t know,” says Dulap. “Do you feel pointed?”
“It was big and ugly. I never really liked it.”
Her bed is cold, and her kitten shivers.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Like well-designed software, the bridge fails gracefully: a seam opens from the center, then the suspension cables begin to flex and twist, like a muscle after long restraint. It shrugs off its occupants. It begins to relax.
People cite Tacoma Narrows as an example of destruction by resonance, but Ayn knows this is incorrect. The bridge collapsed because it was tired of its enslavement. Don’t the ones holding up everything deserve their day of rest? A little C4, a little tension. She’s taught them the example of Atlas: when given a chance to shrug off your burden, don’t look back.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
“Matter tells space and time how to curve,” says Ballard, “which is to say that time is a lens. A lens is defined as a medium which alters perceived information. When we look into other worlds–quantum possibilities, or light from other galaxies, or, say, manifestations of fiction–the period of time which is our frame of reference by definition distorts the view. Visual appearance is relative and malleable to the era of the beholder.”
“That’s a very labored attempt to explain why TOS looks so crappy compared to Enterprise,” says Cote.
“Actually TOS looks kind of awesome now,” says Ballard.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
nibwidge.f.quort@universe wrote:
FUCKING CERN
admin wrote:
No compelling reason given. Closing this ticket.
nibwidge.f.quort@universe wrote:
Look if you are not going to respond at least run a cleanup script!
nibwidge.f.quort@universe wrote:
I HATE THEM!!!
admin wrote:
Higgs bosons are nearly undetectable and necessary to imbue particulate matter with mass. They should not cause any problems. Why do you want to get rid of them?
nibwidge.f.quort@universe wrote:
Upon doing a quarterly review I discovered my system is LOUSY with Higgs bosons. CANNOT STAND THESE. >:( Is there a simple purge or do I have to clean these up manually
Mr. Langlitz exits the club with little coercion, followed by his valet, and a pigeon defecates upon his bowler hat. Irritated, he steps out into the street to beat it (the bowler) clean.
The moment chosen is starred ill; Mr. Langlitz now occupies the lane during one of the four minutes each hour in which a streetcar progresses down it. Mr. Langlitz is unaware of this. His valet is not, and so gallantly (always gallantly) pushes Mr. Langlitz forward, thereby replacing him in its path.
“That was my favorite valet!” Mr. Langlitz says.
Life has been repeatedly unkind to Mr. Langlitz.
THE MUSEUM OF TERROR, says the shadow of a stencil on the concrete wall. Hidebound fiddles with the fire exit and drags him in; Zach wonders if he is to be the latest exhibit, or a curator.
There’s an old chair with straps on it. Hidebound sits him down hard, puts the straps to their intended use, and pulls up a little stool.
“Why are we here?” says Zach. He can feel holes in the chair under his hands and feet.
“Atmosphere,” says Hidebound. He removes a silver cigarette lighter from his boot.
Hidebound, Zach happens to know, does not smoke.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
“What is it they call us?” muses the Inger Stevens seated across from Pearl. “Knockoffs? Copycats?”
“Kinkos,” says Pearl carefully.
“Kinkos.” She smiles (it is a brilliant smile). “How arcane. As if their own faces, tragedies of genetics, are something to be proud of.”
“How do you tell each other apart?” Pearl asks. “Not to be rude. But if you’re all perfect copies–”
“Not perfect. Not quite; that would be infringement of beautymark. We each choose a unique flaw–I have this dimple, you see?”
Pearl leans close, as for a moment, they’re surrounded by a passing swarm of Vivien Leighs.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
“Tap-scrape. Tap-scrape. Tap-scraaape.”
The firelight’s nervous on Hephaestus’s face as he makes tapping/scraping gestures at his audience. Hermes has stuffed his face with popcorn; Ganymede’s so rapt that he hasn’t noticed Aphrodite’s hand halfway up his thigh.
“A bit lowbrow even for him, isn’t it?” murmurs Apollo to his sister.
“They can’t all be… lyrical,” she says, grinning.
“Christ,” he scowls, “I don’t know why I even talk to you about this kind of thing.”
“Because,” says Hephaestus, “he’s RIGHT BEHIND YOU!”
Thunder tears down the slopes of Olympus. Humanity cowers. Zeus has to go change robes.