a smile i can't shake

Portez-moi a un lieu
où les mots ne vont pas,
où nos pensées ne sont pas des sons,

où il n'y a rien sauf le néant,

où nos atomes lourds peuvent dériver dans l'éther
et nous pouvons être libres.

I wonder where you are. I hope you're okay.

i'm playing chess to make myself stop worrying. I just love you.

I wish I could take back every single thing that I've ever done to hurt you. I wish I could redo every thing I didn't do for you.

I'm so fucking sorry.

First of all, I'm seriously sorry I worry so much about you. I try to chill, I promise.

Anyway, I love you! and I miss you. If you're not in the mood to skype tonight, don't worry! We'll have plenty of time tomorrow, I promise. Just imagine me cuddling up with you.

Luff. :D

"Maybe I should stop starting clubs and putting on plays."
"It's possible."
"I should work on picking up chicks. That's all anyone ever cares about. But it's not my forte."
"Don't worry, Max. You're like a clipper ship captain. You're married to the sea."
"Yeah, but I've been out to sea a long time."

We'll watch Rushmore together someday. :)

I hope it's all just stress. I love you so much. icanthelpbutworryyou'renotactinglikeyourselfatall

look once, look again
check it all from end to end
all things, however clear
may one day up and disappear!

9 /3

I hate seeing you so sad. but i'm here to help with absolutely anything. just let me know.

I hate that I worry about stuff like this, and I'm sure I'll be over it when the sun rises, but.

I'm so worried about the future. Not our future. I feel good about you and I. But, we live in such uncertain times... there aren't sovereign nations to be afraid of anymore, just ideas and peoples. I hate to sound so biggoted (I swear I'm not a bigot,) but Islam is making huge inroads in Europe, and its' a new type of immigration: the immigrants hate the culture of their new homes. Maybe I'm xenophobic, but I deal with immigration all the time here. I love it, because it makes the world so much more diverse, but that immigration scares me.

I don't know what struck me with such a fear of the future. I care about the world, I guess. I care about Europe especially. I guess I have this romantic image of it that I don't want destroyed...

Maybe I really am a bigot. Oh goodness, me and my 12:00am soul searching.

I love you, that's what I know for sure.

two stories, one annoying, one awesome.

annoying first: okay, so ff updated and somehow, ALL my bookmarks seem to have been replaced with my bookmarks from like, and are scrambled. which explains why i kept finding my way to this here page when i pressed my "open all in tabs" webcomics link. and all my remembered passwords are reset. lol wut.

the good story: I dug up those reduced shakespeare company CDs martha folded for me, and opened one of them to find a little, cut-out heart inside. made me smile. big. let her know for me?

I love you so much.

No matter what, I love you.
Always & forever.

Just imagine my smiling face whenever you need a push forward. :)

(ps, I was smiling while writing this) :D

Here's something that isn't Whitman.

Empty yourself: pour out every drop of your nectar
and let the world drink it. Save it for no one.
A full cup cannot be refilled.
A full cup has no purpose.

Blank pages are spittoons for the blood-filled saliva of the misunderstood,
Bedpans for the invalid discontent.
Or clear glass for the warmed-breath to loan their warmth
and use their pure fingers as pens,
scribbling vagrant art.
But today we will empty our bedpans and exhale a new permanence.

We can fly a kite in a lightning storm, but we can't stop this thing from what it's gonna be. Silly girl, that's just the way it is. How atoms turn into planets eventually.


A melody with nothing attached, like a thought without words to share it,
That's how sunrises happen in this mortal desert.
Two claps and the brink of dawn.

There is a world beneath our lessons or perhaps above them
in which we are still animals, but it is now forgotten,
drowned underneath the voices telling us to re-think.

For a brief second, I did not have to ask
because I knew that our hands are working
some deep magic from the forgotten lessons we never had to learn.

[Please save me.]

Sometimes I have dreams about the too-young woman, pressing her baby to her breast under a thick jacket, praying the baby doesn't make a sound. Letting her hands fall into practiced poses, aligning her spine to the lines she saw thousands of times as a child, removing the fire from her eyes. Telling the guard she's "just running an errand." Her feeling the breath and blood come back to her after he, in an act inexplicable to one who does not understand it, lets her go on, even though he was instructed to apprehend anyone he saw... why did he trust her?

"anything is possible while we exist."

"we'll get through this together."

I'm so glad we can work together when we're at our limits. It's the most wonderful feeling ever.

I'm sure you just fell asleep, but you know I can't help but worry.

I hope you see me in a dream tonight :) You're wonderful.

I wonder if something's on your mind...

I love you, and I always will.

Tomorrow, I'll do my homework, and then we're going to have some legit best friend time.

I've been thinking about what I said about my fears and, after a brief but very real existential crisis (not really! I'm fine! just like... life examination time, you know?), I wanna talk a bit more about what I was telling you about. I think it was a bit unclear and silly sounding, and now that you really forced that outta me... I feel better. It's like in spirited away when-- you know what, I'm a nerd

But I'm a nerd who loves you. :D

Forever and ever.

confession: I'm looking forward to applying to college because it'll be the light at the end of the tunnel.

Sometimes, it makes me really happy to do all the things we do together. Like, sitting on my bed watching reality shows and eating mangos. I even sit in the same place we always sit in.

Nick: you said you were gonna go to sleep in 10
Nick: but you meant 10 human minutes
Midori: RIGHT
Nick: and 10 vampire minutes actually go to 3.45.
Midori: yeah
Nick: human time
Nick: i mean.
Nick: so yeah.
Nick: that's just a rough mental conversion though.
Midori: we make the perfect couple you know.

you can cut through everything with a single line, you know. that's one for the vaults.

I wonder where you are?

hm, this wasn't here before...

The shrill cry sliced through the night's dark stillness, piercing through the brisk air as if it too wanted to escape, but instead echoing back to plague her again, strangely hallowed as if the landscape had somehow altered the noise, finally allowing it to waft up from the damp grass into the desolate moonlight above.

and so it begins.

Technology

Technology is purely mechanical: gears meshing with gears. Lightbulbs exist, though they're expensive and one must provide one's own energy; usually only machinists like Idarus have toys like that. Metalwork is important to Armour, and so machinecraft goes hand in hand with metalcraft, especially for poorer areas where gold and brass aren't options. Phosphoric displays and wax-based memory are the height of modern technology.

The most practical use of technology is production: factories work on coal or boiling water. Factories center around metalcraft, and although factory-production has not yet uprooted artisans' craftsmanship, that revolution has already begun.

The actual tenets of technological design base more around the superstitious flavor of Greek science than around what a Western person would consider "modern scientific thought." However, this science is often accurate and proves mostly practical. Sacred geometry is the solitary overlap between Aumorian science and the now-outlawed Aurmorian magic.

Gunpowder and artillery are in their early stages of development, and are used sparsely by the military, and mostly to replace catapults. Most soldiers do, however, carry stumpshots.

I've been working on Armour again.

I think you're having a nightmare or something. If something feels unsettled in my stomach and I focus on it, I can tell when it's something I can't explain. I hope you're okay

You're in my room in your vowel and consonant shirt in the bathroom washing your watch off before you put it on. I just wanted you to know that right now, I'm the happiest I can remember being since we fell in love.

Thank you for everything.

And I love the best girl in the entire world.

And I can see her in just a week.

There was a sky today I wished you had seen. There are so many things here that I can't take with me in a picture.

I love you.

I'm sorry I can't be around for you. I know how much different the world seems without you, and I have no doubt that it's the same deal for you. I can tell that sometimes, right behind the words on your tongue, there's a "since when was the world so cold!" ready to pounce out. I wish we could huddle against each other for warmth, and soon enough we'll be able to. But I'm always here for you. Always.

I love you, honey. I'm off to bed, but promise me you'll smile for me.

I improvised shakespeare today and now I'm picking up the habit of speaking in rhyme to mess with people.

ALMOST 10. Holy shit. I'll keep saying this every day, but holy fucking shit I'm gonna see you so soon. I'm gonna start showering really thoroughly, or something.... What I would have given to say "10 days" when I was in the middle of school last year. I think that phase is pas[sed/t] now: we'll never have to go that long again. Also, Adam really wants to go to Japan. Which is great, but I think I want some time alone in Japan with you, too. I definitely want it to be just you, me and your friends in NJ, and maybe he can leave Japan before we do? Oh well, we'll figure it out. I just treasure every moment alone, you know?

And honey, I'm just so in love with you... [there was a time when I said I'd never keep a blog]

----------------

The rain pours like water from a hose, visible only through the streetside lamps, bathing the cobblestone streets in gold. There is an ancient city underground here. It's one of the many things nobody's quite figured out about this town, but it seems like everyone pounces around, pretending nothing's strange. Maybe that's why people can drink whole pints of beer here; it helps them forget to wonder. Tonight, I'm letting my mind wander as the streetlamps tell me a story of love and longing and drama mills, and of boys pressed up against window sills.

Oh god, you look so fucking cute in that bathing suit... I'm so glad you had some fun surfing, too. PS, you're hot. For real.

I remember the turtle! And that all sounds like so much fun, as long as you're careful. I used to be a water person... hey, maybe I will be again someday, eh? You bring out the best in me.

ALSO, ELEVEN. "I'm getting anxious (super excited with a pinch of nervous)" pretty much sums it up. I'm so freaking excited. There are no words to even explain how excited I am to see you. We're getting into single digits soon! Oh shit, Midori...

I love you. So fucking much.

You're not a dumpster for other people's bile. You're so much greater than you can possibly imagine. I know you won't believe me (or maybe you will), but it's true: you're so full of life and energy and potential. Nothing can hold it in, especially some whiner. You're so much greater than I in so many ways, and someday it'll just all come pouring out whether you want it to or not. You can't contain it, it's just how you were made.

And the fact remains, there's no one in this entire world I want to spend my life with but you .

(sometimes you find hints in the oddest places)

want to know a secret?

we're always connected. always.

I wonder where you are now. I hope you're okay. I have to think you are.

Finally a morning to myself.

I love you, I love you, I love you. Seriously. I miss texting you, I miss IMing you, I miss calling you... but dear, I'll find a way to call. I'll get a calling card soon enough. They're expensive here, as is everything else, but it's fine. Anything for you.

I hope your happy there. I hope your presentation went well. I hope you don't miss me as much as I missed you in Africa, I hope that you're feeling better, I hope that you're luggage comes back to you... I hope a lot of things. But baby, I'm going to see you so soon now. So fucking soon. And I could NOT be more excited.

I love you, always and forever.

PS: Listening to These are the nights makes me swoon in a completely guilty way.

Hey you. I'm in my flat watching a porn documentary so I'm taking some time out to write this.

I love you honey. I miss you. I hope you're feeling well, and I hope this makes you feel better, if only a little bit.

I'm doing and seeing so much, and I have some great pictures. I walked around the town for 5 hours today exploring and looking at churches, etc... We did some flyering, met some people... it was fun! Good flat, I'm feeling good, it's nice.

Tell me how your presentation went. I love you so much.

I toyed with the idea of bringing Banquo to Edinburgh but I was afraid of him getting lost or damaged somehow, so I left him on my desk. He'll be waiting for when I get back.

I know it almost brought you to tears when that dick made you jump up and down and say " I love Nick," but it makes me feel so close to you when I think about the little heart inside that giraffe. That's the best kind of present, I think.

Finally a post without the freakin numbers.

I can't pretend like it didn't suck to not be able to talk to you. It sucked really hard, but I'm so glad you got an opportunity like that.

If your cell dies, you can call me from any phone at my cell number after 8 your time. I love you so much.

1.24

It hasn't sunk in that I leave so soon. It hasn't sunk in that I'm gonna spend so much time in a foreign country... all I can think about is you coming home. I think when you're finally back and we're finally all caught up I'll be ready to realize that I'm leaving. I'm so sorry I have to leave you just when you're back, but we'll talk, I promise... we'll talk all the time. I'll have internet, I'll have my phone, we'll be in touch all the time.

I love you, baby girl. I love you so fucking much.

Welcome home. Take a deep breath. You're home.

2!.25

Oh gosh, it's so close that you come home now... I have Sunday all planned out so that I'll get to catch up with you for as long as our hearts desire. Just thinking about getting to hear your voice again, not having to worry about time constraints, just talking to you and saying I love you again... ah, it makes me melt. I was thinking about you during rehearsal today. A lot.

I let my mind wander off and of course it found you, and while thinking about you, I thought I heard my mom said "where's her dad?" and I answered "oh, I don't know," to which she said "you don't know where your bag is?" I realized that she said "where's your bag," and I realized just how caught up in my daydreams I was...

I love you, Midori. It makes me feel so good to say it. I can't believe how soon I see you... Edinburgh will go by so fast. It seems like so long that I've been waiting (seems like? has been) for that day, and now it's so close... it's almost overwhelming. But I'm so excited. So, so excited. I hope it doesn't go by too fast. I hope so many things. I need to stop, and just let it happen as it will.

God, I can't wait. But just having you to talk to will make a world of difference. Love.

3.26

So close to talking to you again... I've been counting down the days (though I think you've noticed by now, haha.) I love you, dear.

5.29

You were right about what you said all that time ago. It doesn't matter what happens. We belong.

EDIT 2.30 am, 11.30 am your time: I can tell when something's wrong, even if you're in Africa, even if we haven't talked in days. I can tell.

6.30

Try not to go broke trying to get in touch with me, darling. I do love to hear from you, but, I don't want you to sacrifice where it isn't necessary.

I just finished my final Harry Potter... a sad event in my life to be sure, but I know it's something I'll get to share with my kids someday, and, much sooner, with you! I really can't wait till you read it. I know you'll find it trite at times but I'm sure entertaining and I have no doubt you'll take something away from it, as well.

I love you so much. I know I say it in every communication, but I can never say it enough. I always will, and I guess it feels like I always have.

Forever.

7.31

Thank you so much for the phone call. That five minutes meant the world to me, I mean it. I hate to say it, but I missed you so fucking much, and it hurts so fucking badly to have you away from me. Even working six days a week from 9 to 9 and playing videogames or reading Harry Potter in the offtime can't remedy it. I hate to say I need anyone, but I feel so different without you, even with my friends around. But even thinking about you saying "I love you" makes me feel so much warmer, better. I wish your friends weren't around when you called, I guess, but. I wish a few things more than that particular wish, so hey.

I hope you'll get a chance to email again. I love you, Midori.

8.32

My director complimented my acting today, and I learned that our performance will be for sure taped in Edinburgh. Yay!

I hope you're doing well there. Whether or not you are, I know you're doing good, and I'm so proud of you for it. You always make me so proud of you.

Ellie's sweet 16 was today, and Adam didn't show, terrified of awkwardness since they broke up. I think that was uncool of him, but what can you do. Anyway, it was somewhat fun. And I got my Harry Potter today! Hurray! But all I can think about is sharing all these wonderful moments with you. Even the tiny things in my life seem like they'd be made so much sweeter with your heavenly presence.

I love you so much, Midori. I hope you never forget it.

11.35

Someone said today that I talk about you a lot. I realized, finally, that I haven't been able to stop talking about you since you left... It eases my mind I guess.

I love you so fucking much. I'd be lying if I said the longing & lacking didn't get to me sometimes. But I'll wait patiently, even if I didn't know if you'd ever come back. I'd wait for as long as it takes.

Rehearsals are still going well. Absorbing my life as usual. Harry Potter 7 was leaked today... I'm tempted to read it just so it won't be spoiled for me, but at the same time, I want to read it properly too.

12.36

I'm rereading Harry Potter 6 in preparation for the last one, and sometimes, I feel like there's nothing I wouldn't do to be able to apparate. It feels like it's been forever since I've been able to say "I love you" and hear you say it in return. Muttering it into my pillow before bed, or sending you little thoughts when I'm drifting off to sleep... it doesn't feel the same. I always find myself thinking about you. It seems like everything in the world leads my mind right back to you... sometimes I'll even read the word "circles" and realize how much I miss you.

No me olvides, mi alba.

13.37

I can't ever, ever be angry at you. I'll just keep saying it until you believe. I love you.

14.38

My mom said she got a call at 4.30 last night and that it was a hang up, and she said "I wonder if it was Midori from Africa." I hope it wasn't... I can see you realizing what time it is here and freaking out and hanging up. I told my mom that if she got a call at a weird time, it'd be you, and that it'd be okay to wake me up to answer it. She said she wouldn't have minded if it were you...

I hope I get to talk to you somehow. I love you.

15.39

I fucking miss you. And I love you so fucking much. You never feel that much more distant from me, in a funny way. But talking to you means the world to me.

But I've learned now that I'd wait for you even if I never get to talk to you again. It's true.

"...sometimes you have to let yourself thoroughly enjoy a bowl of mango sherbet and some of the best memories you could ever remember"

Every moment I think about you, I can feel more and more negative feelings being changed into something truly wonderful. Please, don't ever forget this. Even if you've moved on someday and found a different life for yourself, don't ever forget the wonderful bond we had together. But honestly, I hope we can stick together and help each other make this _____ world just a little less so. You and me vs. the world.

EDIT: I just can't stop adding to these, can I? I read through our old emails... God, these get me every time. No matter how uncertain I am about anything, I can read your emails and know for sure that you love me. And I hope I've given you enough for you to know the same. I noticed, though, there was an email I never got around to answering. so here's the answer!

When I went to bed the first night, I felt kind of awkward about our goodbye. It seemed like so much was missing from it. But I felt good, because I was SO looking forward to having you stay with me. Seriously, the Christmas before that one was... awful, and I was so glad to have you around to celebrate with me. Also, I was nervous that you didn't like kill bill.

When we cuddled for the first time, again, I felt nervous that you'd think we went too far or something like that. but you giving me a massage was fantastic, and sittting by the lake with you made me feel like it was okay. Really okay.

When you said you loved me too, yes. I believed you. I really did. That was silly of me, in retrospect, to believe you like that, and was a good way to hurt, but knowing what I know now... I guess I was right to believe you.

I still get hung up sometimes on the stupidest things. Like that post you wrote so long ago that you sent to me, from before you even came, when you used the terms "jigsaw puzzle" and everything with us falling in love, and it ends with us not being in love anymore. It scares me that it was accurate up till now, and I tell myself so often that we could never really be without one another, but. I don't know. I know I'll never stop loving you, and that's as much as I can promise to anyone.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

16.40

I'm sorry I didn't get to hear from you again before you left. It's tough not having you around to talk to. Rehearsals are going well, hard as they are. They're still fun though, and an Irish accent is getting easier and easier to do.

I miss you. I keep telling myself you're fine despite how you sounded in your last email, and it works. I have this site in my quickbar with the local time in Malawi. Makes me feel a bit closer to you. I just woke up from a nap where I dreamed about us together, playing around with stuff in my room... I can't wait until we can really do that. I swear, you make the world a whole new place for me. I can never tell you how much I love you for that.

This is just a quick post so you'll have time to shoot off an email. (selfish of me, I know). You sounded so formal in your email. You sounded like me when I'm writing an essay. First time I've ever gotten something from you without an "I love you." But I know you just forgot somehow. And I love you. So, so much.

I read your letters another time and teared up. I know you said never to forget how much you love me, but sometimes it's nice to have a reminder. You mean everything to me.

EDIT: I just looked up the lyrics of the songs you told me to post. ...is everything okay, baby?

Don't leave without saying "i love you," alright?

21.45

Ah! An email from you! Oh gosh, my heart almost jumped out of my chest, I swear... As little as I got to hear, I'm glad to know you love me. Next time, fill me in on stuff, eh? Even if it's just "everything is good here." I want to know what you're up too, baby.

And of course, I love you, too!

After reading that email a few times more, I'm here at the end of the day right before rehearsals start. It's going to be hectic and stressful, but honestly, you couldn't have picked a better time to go to Africa for me since I won't have much of a life for the next four weeks. I'll let you know how the first day goes tomorrow.

22.46

Hey you.

I hate to tell you this way, but oh well. Anyway, in the interest of full disclosure, I hooked up with Serena last night. It wasn't anything big and there's (surprisingly?) no drama surrounding it, but yeah. I only wanted to tell you because... well, you're my best friend. It actually made me miss you more, so, maybe not the brilliant idea I thought it was.

In better news, though, I saw a friend of the family today, Lory. She's the nicest person... The world needs more people like her. Really. And, I'm seeing the Decemberists tonight! Excited! It should be a lot of fun, and, knowing me, I'll be updating this with details later, so I'll leave it here for now. I love you so much, baby.

EDIT: Aw, the Decemberists were awesome! And there were a LOT of kids from H-W there. Like, a lot. I'm a bit disappointed about rehearsals starting soon, and I still wish sometimes that I had done language stuff instead, this summer. But hey, you do what you do.

I find myself wondering sometimes what you're doing. It's hard to get you off my mind, but I know you're really doing something wonderful, and that makes me feel so happy. Happy enough to write these journal entries every day. You mean everything to me.

23.47

I just today realized that, for my whole life, I've had everything. Money, smarts, everything, but that I was never /really/ happy until I fell in love with you.

But for now, my chest still tightens thinking about (I know, I know...) you being out in the real real world. I know you're smart, and I know you're safe. And I know you can take care of yourself. But for me, it's like having everything you own and hold dear in the middle of a warzone, and thinking "oh don't worry, the box it's all in is bulletbroof." But I know you'll be okay.

But, writing here puts me at peace. Every time.

EDIT: ...okay, so embarrassing, but my dad went to go see John today and I asked him to ask about your trip. Anyway, John said you'd landed in Africa and that you were with a student group of some sort with kids he liked, and he said we'd meet each other in LA after "all of our travels." So I feel good. I love you.

----------------------------------------
Fenn Armouren fegerssen ferone, falss!

"en seqi feron in unquoit kunsteit asetta en syndqui aeiten afenda."

sen leoffe, aleyeia. amor in alterspeik saje, ab dess speik eun fasziniere.

24.48
Bomb threat at work today. Someone put a sign that said "IMPEACH" outside and some guy called and threatened to bomb the place. He left his name and phone number, though, so whatever. We're fine and everything is fine.

I watched your video about eight more times. And yeah, I have your letters memorized already. Thank you so much for sending me all of those.

You're officially in Africa by now, I know that. And you're probably getting acquainted with your living conditions and everything... man, I hope you're having fun. I love you so, so much. My parents were just talking recently about us doing something together, and how they think that'd be so much fun. They definitely are all-go on the idea of me traveling with you anywhere. My mom's been hinting that I date you. Little does she know I'm madly in love with you already.

25.49

Fourth of July today! I went to go see fireworks with my friends. This one kid's such a dick, I just realized. He says dick-ish things all the time. But no matter. I met this cool kid Julia who's learning Japanese and who plays RPGs. We talked about pokemon for a while. I love meeting new kids!

I miss you. It's different not having you around. You're such a wonderful dose of sunshine. I can never truly tell you how much better you make my life, but even having your memory makes something somehow better. If I (god forbid) had your memory completely erased when I woke up tomorrow, I wouldn't be as happy as I am now, missing you.

I hope you're having fun. I just can't help but worry about you, but I trust that you'll be safe. I just hope that you're eating enough, not geting strange diseases... all of that. I love you so fucking much, I wouldn't worry about this with anyone else. I hope you had fun in London, too. I'm sure you did; it's a you kind of place.

Okay, this is turning into a ramble. I hope you know this'll be continued in pen and ink when I get to Edinburgh, so don't think you'll be safe. Cuz you won't be. Ever.

...creepy! Okay, for real ending this now.

All my love.

--Nick

EDIT//12.40: 27 new pictures of you on Facebook! Anyway, about half way through them I realize how ridiculous it is how deeply in love with you I am.

Souhaite que tes mots m'amènent plus près:
souhaite qu'ils forment un pont à ton île mais
cette magie est à moi comme le calcul, et si
te donne ma magie plus simple.
Désolé que ceci est le mieux que peux faire.

"et ignotas animum dimittit in artes naturamque nouat."
--------------
La desconocida en la luz de la luna
hace su danza por los arboles y
con su elegancia la gravedad la misma
se adjusta para asegurar que no falte
mientras sone su musica silenciosa
a treves del universo y la cambia.

For you it was your face. It was the way it curls and moves only slightly and the way you express so much with it. And your fucking eyes. Whenever you looked into the camera I just felt all the love you had for me rushing back into me. It felt like you sucked all the evil out from so far away. It made me feel so much lighter. And the way you'd raise your shoulders when you're happy. and the way you'd laugh without being able to contain yourself. I love every fucking thing about you, and there's no replacement for you in the world. I still don't know what it is about me that you like so much, but I'm so glad you do. Don't ever let me abuse this.

When I close my eyes it feels like sunrise in the mountains when all the animals come out to live another day of their lives.

I read your letters a few more times. Okay, more than a few.

It's just that I'm madly in love with you.

It's so silly that I worry about nothing. I know you're going to be okay for the foreseeable future. Just, sometimes when the sun is down you get thoughts that frighten you or that make you upset. I don't want you to apologize in the morning for falling asleep. I just wish you'd sleep more, because passsing out can't be healthy.

And also, I love you.

[my world now]
And on some distant shore a port-tender dips her bare feet into the sea at the edge of a dock, and as an especially high wave wets her rolled-up pants, she wonders what it is that makes the waves work as they do.

Far above this scene, Procul held his dull, brass compass, his eyes perfectly affixed on the horizon. He snapped his compass shut and walked into his cabin. The spectregraph was out on his desk, and he began to crank it. As the components began to whir softly, he saw a central dot. He continued to crank, until finally a blip appeared on the upper left corner of the screen. Another appeared. And another. Three more. He snatched his hand from the crank and walked to the deck with uncharacteristic briskness.

“Fire starboard,” he uttered. No reply. “I said fire starboard.” Still no reply. This time he raised his voice: “For God sakes, who is my first crewman?” Still no reply. Procul yelled: “Fire the aft cannon!”

A pause. Moments later, a roar sounded and the ship rocked back and forth. Procul grabbed the yolk to steady himself. Then, silence. The ship's wood creaked. No activity sounded from below the deck. Brutal tension rose through the cracks in the wood: Procul could smell it. It was crisper than the damp steam he had grown-- or was born? He had forgotten-- accustomed to over his years of service. It was welcome.

A small red and green oval appeared a few hundred feet from Procul. He trotted into his room, snatched his telescope and returned briskly to the deck. He expanded it, and aimed it at his new target. It was a green bottle with a large, red balloon tied to the neck, and it floated softly up towards the heavens. Soon, another appeared, and another, and another. All around the ship, tiny bottles of all different shapes and sizes: round-bottomed decanters and long-necked wine bottles, flew up into the skies, lingering like hawks in the wind. Procul hurried into his cabin and began to spin his spectregraph again. Now, many tiny dots speckled the screen. The unnamed ship was hidden.

It's a kid hitting a (fanciful) pinata with a cricket bat or something. Obviously farm-like, think the drawing you sent me of the misplaced farmer. He's just taking the blindfold off his eyes, still smiling, not yet seeing that there's nothing in it.

"He hit the pinata, cracking it's side. But there is no candy. It's an existential pinata. Full of questions we can't answer."

I can feel our spirits intertwine
as we send our souls through power lines.

I promise I'll do anything to keep you safe.

God. I was so surprised to see "1 comment" below. I thought someone found my blog. Hahaha.

I loved your message today. It made my night. (when do you not make my night?)

I started the RPG today. We'll see how long this holds my interest... who knows? Maybe I can make something special. And I'm up to 20 letters in each alphabet today! I still need to work on improving reading, but yeah! hehe. I miss you, baby girl.

I hope it's true what you tell me about loving me. Somewhere deep down I know it is, but there's this little part of me always saying "she's just going through a phase. she'll sober up soon." I hope it's all true. Because I love you with everything that I am. When my dad told me how he loved me, I heard his own words coming out of my mouth to you. It's exactly how I feel about you. You make the world so much cheerier, and you make me want to be fully awake for every moment of this beautiful life.

Sometimes when something makes me unsettled I think about your smile. If I'm really lucky I can just glance at a picture of you and it brings back everything that's wonderful in the world. It's real love, with nothing else. Before I fell in love with you, I hated long distance relationships. I hated blogging. I hated it when kids would "save themselves" for their girlfriend or boyfriend however many miles away. And ya know, most kids who do that are probably twats, and most blogs are probably twatish too, but you've brought out something in me I didn't know I had. You've made me so much more pure, and so much fucking happier.

Thank you for absolutely everything.

I've had some piece of something stuck in my right eye all day.

When my dad said goodnight, I wished him a happy father's day and he said "I can't tell you how much I love you. I just can't tell you. Nothing can describe the happiness you've brought to me."

Anyway, I teared up and it got that piece of whatever out of my eye.

Some things I really like about the world:

1) the last bite of something always tastes the best.
2) when it's really bright through your window and you can see the bits dust floating really slowly
3) if you're up high in a plane you can see the curve of the earth
4) everything falls at the same speed no matter how much it weighs
5) we're together. :)

1) I'm now from "a" to "ko" in both alphabets.
2) I've learned 20 kanji, and basically remembered the on and kun for 9 of them. ...basically.
3) Guitar is coming nicely!
4) I picked up a book I'm really liking today.
5) I'm eating ice cream
6) I got to talk to you on the phone again, and I love you.

I hope you get a good night's sleep tonight, baby.

Hey, ONLY IF YOU HAVE TIME, do you think you could ship over that DS? I was thinking maybe I could have it in Edinburgh. But not if it's expensive or if you don't have time!

I love you, baby.

(PS, this doesn't count as my "not whiny" update because it was super quick)

It's so stupid, but I was watching this corny TV show while my parents were out, and... it made me cry. Half because of the actual subject matter, and half because it feels so empty sitting on the couch downstairs all by myself. Whenever I'm down there by myself I feel like you should be right next to me, watching whatever the hell is on whatever station at whatever time and enjoying it thoroughly, just because we're together.

God, these entries have been SO MOPEY. I promise the next one won't be. And we both know that breaking a promise to you is one thing I can't do.

--Nick

I was looking through your xanga (what? I miss you!) and I noticed you used the phrase "pre-disastered."

My dad loves that phrase. He thinks it's a brilliant idea: a plane flies into your house and you lose everything, and that's the best thing ever! you're pre-disastered! That's why I don't want to own a lot of stuff. When you own stuff you're tied down by heavy atoms, and for what? Half the shit I own doesn't really /do/ anything except take up space. But that's it's purpose! We have so much space that it has to be taken up by space-consuming devices. ...that's RIDICULOUS! What do I even have two bed lamps on either side of my bed for? I only read on one side of my bed! And there's nothing in the draws of my nighttable, but if I took the nighttable away there'd be an empty spot where it's obvious something should be. I don't need half the books on my shelf, but without them, I'd have a few bare shelves!

But what if there's a fire and I have to evacuate? How do I know in that split second what I have to take and what I don't? That's the real evacuation plan: what do you keep? Your letters and my laptop. That's what I'd keep.

All this stuff could be money in the bank. The house, the land... millions upon millions, probably. This stuff is so old and valuable, and the land is so expensive now that it's 90210. But who cares if it's 90210? This is the same shitty piece of hill my parents bought when it was 90023. The only reason this place matters is because my parents built it themselves. And that's great, but I don't think it suits me. I want to keep a bunch of this lovely old stuff, but a lot of it can go. It'd be more valuable liquidized.

I guess what I'm saying is, I want to live pre-disastered with you. I hope you don't mind.

------------

The woman who taught me Russian today was this funny little woman with thick, thick glasses, and she never quite looked at your eyes when talking to you: she looked at your left ear, no matter who she was talking to. Never eye contact. She never seemed to get jokes or understand what people really meant to say. She read political cartoons from Russia to me. It's incredible how much hatred the US fosters.

-----------

...I wikipedia'd Newark today just because it makes me feel closer to you. I love you.

--Nick

Sorry for dragging out the goodbyes. Your voice is like honey.

Hey you! I just got off the phone with you. I wanna know what's bothering you... I hope it's nothing regarding me. (self centered, I know, but hey.)

I really do think you're going to have fun working, whether it's "real work" as you say or not. You're gonna feel really good about yourself.

Also, I knew you were with other kids because your answered the phone in a deeper voice than usual. Hehe.

Hey, I love you, kiddo.

Hey babe.

You're gone, so I'll use this to tell you everything I can think of so I don't forget a thing while you're gone.

I got my grades today. A- in Spanish and Latin, B+ in English, History, and Chem, and a B in math. I don't know how I got a B+ in English, but hey, I can't dwell. I got a B in Math! I made honor roll! Ahh, I'm so silly. And I got into all the Honors and APs I wanted. So a happy ending!

I went to go see Ocean's 13 today. It was fun, except for Sarah made out with this random guy the whole time, and they were sitting right next to me. She has her and her prom date's picture in her wallet, too. :( But hey, I guess it's all good. Mmm, I have off from work tomorrow, so I'll try and give you a call.

Oh, quick story. I was coming home from the movie at night, and I like to go up Coldwater really fast, and up my street fast too, just because it's fun. Anyway, I was stuck behind a slow moving car on Coldwater, and I was a bit bummed that I didn't get to race up the street. So I turned on to my street, and I see this convertable speed down a blind curve in off into Coldwater, and I realized that if I had arrived just a few seconds earlier it would have been a head on crash. Huh.

Hehe, it's a lot easier to write a journal when it's addressed to you.

I'm sorry told you that you should leave. That was dumb, and I should have let you make up your own mind. That's what my parents would have done. You've found cool kids, so I know you'll have a good time now (or, you'll be alright with the climate and the no AC). I'm glad you don't always listen to me. I'm usually wrong, hehe.

Well, I love you, my one and only. I'm sure you can be expecting many more of these little updates. I hope you have a good night's sleep tonight, and I hope you have a good breakfast tomorrow. You're never off my mind for too long.

--Nick

A foul stench alerted Procul of Smithen's return. Procul locked the yolk and turned to his crewman. Smithen looked almost comical: his already hefty build was exaggerated with the courdory jumpsuit, and the large rucksack he bore gave him the appearance of a hunchback. Procul, however, simply gave his crewman a solemn salute. Smithen saluted back, raising his small, round head proudly. Procul turned silently back to the yolk, gracefully unlocking it, as Procul ran off the edge off the starboard edge of the airship. His figure became increasingly smaller until it blossomed into a British flag and slowly descended to the farmland below.

One minute and thirty five seconds later, Smithen was crashing with surprising momentum into the ground. Smithen was not normally graceful, and his landing was anything but out of character: he ran a few meters, stumbled, and fell heavily on his side, his dully-colored parachute flapping over his face. After a few seconds of struggle, he feed himself from his parachute's grip, clawing and gasping his way out of his trap. He unbuckled the straps and hoisted himself to his feet. He looked around. A small, wooden cabin was to the southwest. Smoke was rising from the chimney. He cracked his neck, dusted off his pants, and began to walk.

A few hundred yards higher and a few hundred yards to the southwest, Procul began to slow the airship. The great engines let a soft "put put" of protest before shutting off. A second passed, and a sharp hiss of steam came from Procul's left, and slowly subsided. Procul stood still for a second, then, a yell:

"All crew to conflict positions!" The unnamed ship turned in a flurry of pit-pats, of clinks and clanks, of clicking and creaking. Whispers of confusion and mutters of dissent leaked from the gaps in the wood and twirled like steam but did not condense. Inside Procul's head there was nothing. There was the moment after a flash of lightening when one is waiting for the thunder. There was the blankness of an inevitable event. There was the sky, there was the ground, and there was the unsustainable layer in between; only mankind could ever dream of this layer: this layer which requires constant effort to not plummet to earth, this layer in which the wealth of nations are lost or secured, this layer in which life is not destined to go. This, Procul thought, is home.

Back on earth, a rotten-smelling, unshaven man was bursting into the home of a husband and a wife enjoying a shepard's pie next to a fire. As soon as the door burst open, they wiped their faces with their napkins and jumped to their feet. The husband was about to reach for his pitchfork when he saw the RAF insignia on Smithen's uniform. He stops, straightens, and salutes. Awkwardly, his wife follows suit. Smithen, again demonstrating his lack of grace, nodded his head and reached into his breast pocket, producing a letter. He broke the seal, took the letter out, and squinted to read Procul's handwriting. He cleared his throat and began to read.

"Dear stranger,

"In all probability, we have not met. My request is unusual, and, as my dearest friend--" (Smithen tripped only slightly on his words at this-- "will tell you, I would not leave it in the hands of strangers were it not of the utmost urgency.

"The nation of Spain has developed a technology which detects airship and displays a specters of these ships on a phosphoric screen. This technology has fallen into friendly hands; however, even if our engineers were able to mimic its function, it would be far too late to prevent the impending Spanish attack on our central, (and, before a certain commander's strategic blunder, secret) RAF airdock. Due to both conscience and coincidence, I have taken it upon myself and my crew to prevent this attack at all costs, and have chosen to spare the man you see before you so he may become my successor." The poor strangers kept their eyes wide in horror as Smithen choked on his words. He gathered himself, and continued.

"That said, my orders to you are as follows:"

Presently, Procul turned around and walked straight out the door. Steigh marched briskly after him, smoke puffing from his pipe. Procul looked up to the sky directly ahead of them. Steigh looked to Procul for a moment, then followed his gaze. For a few moments, he saw, but did not comprehend. Suddenly, his mouth fell the slightest bit open as the image registered. A mid-sized airship drifted slowly away towards Procul's vessel.

Steigh was already marching back into Procul's cabin to examine the device again.
"Our researchers were working on something to a similar effect," he grumbled, "using the reflection of soundwaves-- surely the Spanish must be using a different method. There's no chance it could function in such a compact size..." He gazed at the device, running his hands over it. "We'll have to bring this into the laboratory for testing." He picked up the device. "Procul, I never thought I'd say this, but--" He released a puff from his pipe. "Good work." Steigh began to waddle out of the cabin, the horn sticking up over his head. The machine seemed to challange him with its size, and Procul couldn't help but derive some amusement from the image. Finally, he spoke up.

"Steigh, I'm keeping that," Procul said softly. Steigh turned, his mouth open and his hazel eyes windened with a slight look of fear. His moustache seemed to be losing its wax curling as he began to sweat.
"What are you talking about, Capitan?"
"I'll be needing that machine. You can't have it yet."
Steigh produced a sharp laugh. "I can't have it? What do you need this for, anyway?"
"It's not particularly your concern why I need it. It would concern you, however, if the Yorkshire Hearald were to learn that glorious Great Britain has been trading with hostiles, and the man responsibile is named Commander Steigh."
Steigh's eyes narrowed again. The fear had left. He had encountered this ploy from Procul many times, and he knew the protocal well.
"May I ask you one thing, Procul?"
"What's that, old chum?" Procul asked, smiling softly.
"Will I ever see this machine again?"
"Oh yes, you'll see many of them."

Steigh set the machine on the floor walked out of the cabin without so much as a glance back, puffs of smoke trailing behind his stout frame.

************************

Procul's vessel undocked by dawn the next day. Procul, who had upon receiving his vessel stubbornly refused to name it (it was referred to by others simply as the "no-name"), had only a slight modification done beyond the normal maintence: on the bow of the airship, he had "Aucorita ex recto" etched into the wood.

Procul sat on his desk, uncharacteristically lacking his Capitan's coat or his hat. He sat in his white tunic and his black, cordory pants, writing on a piece of parchment on his study. His penmanship, like all other things Procul did, was elegant in an inhuman way: individual letters were identical to their counterparts, and his signature was completely consistant. His letters hooked and curved just so, striking the balance between artistry and functionality. He scribbled his note and tucked it into an envelope, which he sealed with his standard-issue wax seal. Procul took the envelope and sauntered to the yolk.

Procul stood awkwardly next to Smithen for a while. Smithen darted his eyes towards his capitan, and then back ahead again: he had never seen Procul behave in such a way. Finally:
"Smithen, I have something of a mission for you."
"Yes sir?" Smithen locked the yolk and looked humbly towards his capitan. His dark curls flapped in the wind, and for a moment, Procul was taken off guard. He saw the stubble on his cheeks, and the crow's feet around his eyes: it dawned on him for the first time that Smithen was a man as well. He quickly recovered.
"Smithen, we will soon be over farmland." Procul held the envelope in front of Smithen. "You are to take this envelope and parachute to ground, and you are to deliver it to the first farmhouse you can find. Make sure that they follow the instructions I have listed carefully. You are literate, yes?"
"Yes, sir," Smithen replied.
"You will most likely have to read it to them. It is of the utmost importance that these orders be carried out exactly as I have stated them. Is this clear?"
Smithen paused. "Yes, sir," he answered.
"Good. Ready your parachute presently." Procul handed Smithen the envelope. Procul looked at Smithen's hand and noticed, after all his years of dutiful service, the roughness of his hands. Procul's face, which was always immaculately shaven and perfectly smooth, led him to believe all of Procul's body was this way. His hands were, upon inspection, cracked and weathered as if Procul had endured many years of manual labor. Smithen mused to himself how different some things can from close up.

The crewman scurried off. Procul looked ahead at the open sky: there were some mountains in the distance, but the area below was mostly flat except for gentle, unpresumptuous slopes. The sky was perfectly clear today: a deep, cloudless blue that only nature itself can produce: the shade of blue that even the finest Indian inks can only approximate. Slowly, Procul slid his hand between the hinged orbs and gripped the rough leather handel. He pulled the lever next to the yolk, releasing the lock, and Procul was, for the first time in months, himself in control of the ship's destination.

Procul grabbed on to the rope latter, climbing as it swumg back and forth. He pulled himself aboard, Steigh right on his tail. The crewmen stopped and stared at their commander, and then quickly remembered to salute. Steigh, who had clearly had his daily dose of authority, pretended to ignore them. They made their way into Procul's modest, though uniquely elegant cabin. He removed a blanket from a lump on his desk to reveal the ornate phonograph.
"Is this is a joke, Procul?" said Steigh.
"No sir," Procul said solemnly. He slowly began to turn the hand-crank, and, slowly but surely, the phosphoric screen came alive, showing a large, green blob in the center. Steigh removed his pipe and walked closer to peer over Procul's shoulder. As Procul turned the crank, the dots began to reduce themselves: they sharpened and manifested themselves: the dot in the center became smaller. Part of the former blob became a completely separate entity, one slightly larger than the central dot, moving slowly away from the central dot. Procul released the hand crank, and the spinning horned slowly ceased as dots fadeded to black. Steigh stared disbelievingly for a moment more.
"What-" He regained his composure, putting his pipe back in his mouth. "What does it show?"

Presently, Procul turned around and walked straight out the door. Steigh marched briskly after him, smoke puffing from his pipe. Procul looked up to the sky directly above them. Steigh looked to Procul for a moment, then followed his gaze. For a few moments, he saw, but did not comprehend. Suddenly, his mouth fell the slightest bit open as the image registered. A mid-sized airship drifted slowly away from Procul's vessel.

Procul stepped his shiny, black boot onto the concrete surface, and turned to see a stocky man with a thin, curled mustache and a head of bushy, light-brown hair standing back at him, frowning. A pipe protruded from the side of his mouth. Procul removed his hat and brushed his feathery, blonde hair gracefully, and bowed his upper body, pressing his hat to his chest as he kept his piercing blue eyes coyly on his commander's. Procul righted himself, fixing his hat on.
"Commander Steigh. Always a pleasure." Steigh ground his teeth into his pipe.

"Follow me." Steigh, as land commander, had to keep a positive reputation among his subordinates. Land commanders were easily replaced, and thus he made it a point to always scold capitans in private. Steigh stomped angrily to an open door protruding from the platform as Procul took long, easy strides behind him. Steigh continued stomping down a short spiral staircase, emerging in the mess hall. It was a low-roofed, dimly-lit wooden structure, oddly transporting in the steel skyscraper, with a bar at one end and wooden benches all across the carpeted floor. Only capitans and higher were allowed during non-meal hours. They sat on opposite ends of a leather booth near the bar. Music played from a gramophone somewhere behind Procul and to his left, spouting tinny lounge music.

Procul took off his hat and placed it to his right on the table's surface.
"Do tell me how your wife is doing. Still buxom, I hope?"
"Would you mind telling me, Procul," Steigh said with his signature harsh haste, "why our regularly scheduled Spanish freighter did not arrive yesterday?"
"A Spanish freighter? I never knew you all had Spanish shipments here." He cocked his head: "You'd think my commander would tell his loyal capitan about such shipments." Procul began to idly flick the feather on his cap. Steigh bit harder on his pipe, puffing short bursts of smoke out his nose intermittently.
"What was your vessel doing over Yorkshire, capitan?"
"Oh, we decided to take a scenic route, you see."
"A scenic route?"
"Yes, sir." Steigh bowed his head, and removed the pipe from his mouth.
"Procul, due to your consistant insubordination, I hereby declare your dishonorably discharged from Her Majesty's Airforce."
"And if I told you I had secret Spanish aeronautical technology?" Steigh pursed his lips. He pasued for a moment, fixing his hazel eyes on Procul.
"I would ask you to show it to me."
"Well, I couldn't do that if I were discharged."
"You were never discharged. I don't know what you're referring to." Procul gave a sly smile, and his (normally wide) eyes grew the tiniest bit thinner.
"You like me, don't you? Come on. Admit that you like me." Steigh's face began to grow red.
"Procul, this is juvenile. I order you to show me the captured technology."
"Only after you admit that you like me." Steigh jolted up, barely taller than when he was sitting down. He inserted his pipe back into his mouth.
"I'll order a search of your ship!" Steigh began to march towards the staircase.
"What, in front of everyone, and with no reason?" Steigh halted and turned his head, his index and thumb on the bowl of his pipe. "That wouldn't be very good for public image, would it?" Procul gently adjusted his hair with his thumb, putting his cap back on.
"What do you /want/, Procul?"
"Just admit it, chum."

Steigh removed the pipe from his mouth and exhaled a large quantity of smoke. He turned his head away from Procul, his wide, short frame silhouetted in the light pouring from the skylight above.

"I like you, Procul."

"There's nothing here. No gin, no copper."
"That's alright. Smithen, can you show your gentler side and help me carry this broken, old phonograph to my chamber?"
"Certainly. Anything else, sir?" Procul glanced to the chair. He stared for a few seconds, then turned back to Smithen.
"No, the phonograph will do."

****************

Procul lied flat on his back in his bed. The matress, while a remarkable improvement over the crewmen's cots, still left muched to be desired; the down filling was uneven and the wood frame gave a crack whenever one rolled a certain way. Luckily, Procul was not one to toss in his sleep. This night, however, he couldn't quite shut his eyes. He felt the gentle rocking of the ship in the wind. The soft forward momentum. The hum of machinary below the deck.

Carefully, from his bed and meandered to a small, rectangular window above his desk. The moon cast a silver shadow over the ground below, and the stars shone brilliantly in the heavens. Procul, for the first time that day, felt a subtle lift from deep inside his gut. He remembered what it was to be free now. It was the perfection in the off-white. It was the knowledge of imperfection and the sensation of it's irrelevance to the individual. Freedom, he pondered, was the state of being so devinley far away. Almost instantly, the rough texture of the white daisies was lulled into submission by the brilliant music of the orbs. Procul retired himself to bed and quickly fell asleep.

*************

The next day, Procul awoke to his ship decelerating. He stretched his neck back, and stepped out of bed, throwing his robe over his unwashed shirt. He opened the door onto his deck and strolled to the yolk (currently manned by a crewmen whose name he had already forgotten) and peaked over the edge to see the Royal Aeronautical Force's landing-tower rising high above the trees a few thousand yards away.

The RAF had its main station in South Shropshire, and all zeppelins were to dock above the landing-tower, a skyscraper with a flat roof that spilled over the edges of the tower itself. There were office buildings on the inner levels which were accessible from the roof, and, although all capitans were theoretically required to perform "land duties" around the RAF airbase, Procul had long ago blackmailed one important aristocrat or another and now is exempt from these duties. In fact, he outright refused to go lower than the top floor cafe where he would have a gin and meet with his superior officers.

Procul's relatively meager craft made its way about seventy feet above the platform, and ropes dropped from the corners of his ship along with a battered rope-ladder. Procul climbed over the edge of the ship and on to the rope ladder and made his decent on to the platform.

The hulking mass of oak and fiber drifted closer as Procul propped a leg up on the wall of the ship. The Spanish vessel clunked ever-so-slightly into Procul's ship with a dull thud, and a slight rock passed across the ships. Two crewmen immediately came to their capitan's side as he stepped up and over into the foreign vessel. His crewmen vaulted over, running on all sides throughout the ship. Procul examined the yolk for a bit: a brass handle inside two metal rings, pivoting on different axes. He turned, and sauntered into the still-open entrance to the Capitan's Chamber.

The chamber was decorated lavishly. A bookcase with old, leather-bound tomes: "Cien Anos de Soledad," "The Illustrated History of Airships," and others with which Procul was unfamiliar. A green, leather reclining chair next to an electric-lamp. And a high-backed fabric chair at his desk! A beautiful chair: light red fabric with intricately woven white flowers on all ends. Procul ran his fingertips over it, feeling the woven flowers protrude gently. The young boy who picked daisys for his mother emerged in his breast. The memory of scent emerged. Scent other than damp steam and evening sky--

He turned his head away, hoisting himself to his feet. A tall draw, half as high as Procul himself, immediately drew his attention. He pulled the handle. It refused. Procul reached inside his coat and drew his service dagger, checking the hilt. The iron was certainly sturdy enough. With a quick jerk and a loud crack, he smashed the butt of his dagger into the wood. A whole appeared, through which a glimmer of glass was visible. His heart quickened. He smashed the draw again, again again, until finally the lock was merely decoration. He drew the instrument out.

A large phonograph horn with an exagerated bowl at the end was the first thing he noticed. It was red and shiny, similar to the one he had stolen from the French vessel. However, there was no space for vinyl in this device: the horn connected to the surface, on which a circular phosphorous screen lay above the decorated wooden chamber. There was a hand-crank on the right side. Procul ran his fingers over the sides of the device, and then clenched the handle. Slowly, he began to crank it.

The screen showed signs of life. In his excitement, Procul began to turn the crank faster. Steadily, the screen began to show a bright green dot, and the phonograph horn began to rotate. He continued to crank. The green dot became two, smaller green dots, right in the center of the screen. The dots pulsated, brighter and dimmer. Procul let go of the handle. The handle spun for a second or two more as the screen faded away and the horn slowly came to a halt.

Procul sat back. He put the tip of his index finger above his lip as his other fingers found their way below.

Procul's mind was usually as close to completely silent as is possible. If there was ever a thought in it, it was a thought Procul approved of. He was capable of devoting his entire mind to a single thought if need be, or devoting it to no thought at all if he thought it better. This was the true secret of his soft eyes.

A loud thump came from the doorway. "Sir?"

"Yes Smithen?"
"There's nothing here. No gin, no copper."
"That's alright. Smithen, can you show your gentler side and help me carry this broken phonograph to my Chamber?"

"Right away." Smithen scurried off. Procul watched as the ship drew slowly closer. The balloon of the craft was green, and the belly was a dark oak. A carving of a sword was affixed to the hull, with the words "auctorita ex gladie." Procul pondered the motto for a bit until he was interrupted with the re-appearance of a rank smell.

"We're ready, sir." Smithen held a musket in one hand and a wool sack filled with iron pellets in the other. Procul nodded to him. Smithen, though dull, was accustomed to Procul's signals, and stood still. No one, however, could stand quite a still as Procul. He was a statue dressed in a wig and a coat: his hair and Captain's uniform flapped in the gentle winds.

"Wait for my count," spoke Procul to Smithen. The Spanish vessel was coming closer. He could see a dark green figure at a yolk. "Load." Smithen bashed his foot against the floor. Clicks, snaps, and the skidding of metal on metal came from all over the ship. Procul saw the green figure's glasses glinting bright white. "Aim." Smithen bashed his foot twice. A creak from below, then silence.

The glint in the figure's face disappeared. Procul saw two eyes now, brown and commanding. He saw them gaze into his own, and then he saw them leave: they moved downwards. These eyes soon registered the black and deep red of Procul's overcoat: these eyes raised their respective eyebrows. The figure's right side flinched no more than a hair. A tiny, incalculable movement existing more in nuance than in reality.

"Fire." Smithen gave a barbaric yalp. Blasts echoed across the empty sky as splinters flew from the oak vessel. Two men in propelled-gliders whooshed over Procul's head, whirring as they soared onto the hostile deck. They released their legs from the gliders, touched their feet to the deck, and released their arms, letting the wood and fabric frame skid to a halt. One drew a musket, one a knife, pointing them at the Spanish Capitan. He shot his hands up in the air, confused. The knife-wielding crewman yanked his arm and dragged him from the yolk, as the muskett-wielder came to the controls and gently accelerated the vessel.

"Good work," Procul muttered. "Extra land time for everyone."

And his mind drifted upwards to meet the thuds of his tree-branch, all the way into the starry night as he drifted gently to sleep.

Far up in that sky and far East, where the sun was still shining, Procul held a dulled, brass compass in his left hand, his deep, red overcoat flapping in the high winds above the soft, peach-colored clouds. He gazed at his compass, turning his body slightly and watching the compass adjust itself. He stood proudly, his chest in the air, pivoting his body back and forth.
"Permission, sir?" a short man with a gruff beard asked. Procul nodded. "Why aren't we going anywhere?"
"We're waiting."
"For what, sir?"
"It's a surprise." The gruff man cleared his throat far too loudly to be socially acceptable. With the engines turned off, the deck of the ship was almost silent except for the hiss of steam from deeper in the ship's body. A shrill caw echoed through the air, and a large white bird emerged from the orange sky, and drifted gracefully onto the brass yolk of the ship, right next to the short, gruff man, who eyed the bird cautiously. Procul snapped the compass shut, putting in the breast pocket of his overcoat.

Suddenly, a sharp hiss sounded from the distance. A large aerocraft, much larger than Procul's, drifted a few hundred yards away. The Spanish flag flapped vigorously on the side of the ship.
"Smithen, release the aft valve," he said calmly.
"Sir?"
"Release the valve /please/, Smithen," he corrected himself. The gruff man pulled (with some effort) a lever next to him, causing the bird to ruffle her feathers. Smoke began to pour out the side of the airship. Procul quickly wiped one of his blonde locks out of his face, grabbed a long tube with a tin cone at the end, and placed the cone to his mouth. He cleared his throat.
"Your attention pleaze! Ze Glorious Nashion of France humbly requests asiztance from her Majesty's most powerful Spain! Pleaze azzist our vessel!" His voice was projected tinnily across the air.
"Sir, you speak French?"
"That was not actually French, Smithen," replied Procul. A moment passed. A horn sounded from the distant vessel, and steam ceased emanating from one of its two rear valves. It's starboard engine stopped, and the ship began to slowly rotate. "Smithen, go grab a gun and tell the crew to get ready."

An airship captain with a large white bird as a pet? Not an owl... more majestic. He's a pirate of sorts, I suppose, in an age that never was...

I'm thinking that he, the shepard, and the boy will re-occur in TBW. Your thoughts?

In the soft moonlight, a series of quick, dull thuds drifted up from the chilly grass into the desolate space above.

A young boy, armed fiercely with a stick, his earth-colored hound dancing excitedly around him, chasing his own tail, exhilarated by the change in daily routine. The boy swung his stick around, fending off invisible tribesmen, scampering about the fields outside his cottage. He cut, slashed, stabbed. The hound danced as the boy did: biting, prancing, stepping up on his hind legs and crashing back to earth again. The moon painted the world black, green, gray. The light played off the boy's fair skin; it glimmered on his ferocious weapon, a warning shot to the heavens. Soon both man and beast were panting and tired, and so they plopped themselves down.

Keeran felt a damp coldness through the seat of his ragged pants. He realized just how wet the grass was. His hound didn't seem to mind, and he curled up next to his master, his mouth open, his tongue bobbing up and down with each pant. He lied down on his back, gazing up at the brilliant stars.

"The world is quiet here," thought Keeran to himself.

If you haven't read my email yet, read that first.

-----------------------

You said to not get hung up on the "sorry"s, but I do have a few of them, so I'll put them here. If they tire you (and I'm sure they do), just skip this part. I just wanted to put it down.

I'm sorry I hurt you, obviously. But I'm sorry I was defensive, too. I'm sorry I even asked why it hurt, because it was so fxcking obvious, and that was a stupid question. I'm sorry for even telling you that you sounded heavy, because I should have known right after I said it that it was stupid. You know I never mean to hurt you, but I've been annoying enough to make you frustrated with me twice now, and I swear I'll do everything possible to make sure I don't make you frustrated or hurt anymore. I think it's more or less inevitable that I'm stupid occasionally, though. But I always try to be as perfect as possible for you. I've never said that to anyone. I've never tried to be perfect for anyone, and I've never told anyone I'd change for them. My attitude is usually "I'll never change for you." But for you, I'll change anything you tell me to. I'll do anything you tell me to do.

-------------------------

Midori Wada: YO!

Midori Wada: HI!
Midori Wada: sup?
Nick Merrill: not so much
Nick Merrill: adam's coming over in like an hout
Nick Merrill: hour*
Midori Wada: cool cool
Nick Merrill: yes
Nick Merrill: how's tokya
Nick Merrill: ...
Nick Merrill: tokyo*
Midori Wada: good one
Midori Wada: lol

SO cute.

Nick Merrill: i'm about to finish half life 2:
Nick Merrill: :D
Midori Wada: nice"
Midori Wada: *!
Midori Wada: tell me when you finish.
Nick Merrill: k
Nick Merrill: done
Nick Merrill: oh man
Midori Wada: nice!
Nick Merrill: that was the coolest ending of a game EVER.

It was the coolest. For real.

It's funny when I look back at old convos with people because my sense of humor was always different. With you I'm not sure I liked how my sense of humor was. It's always nice, I guess, to like yourself better now. In my case it's more or less a given because I have you in my life, but I distinctly remember looking back at convos during the time after Sarah broke up with me and thinking how I liked myself better before, if only a little. But no, I can honestly say I'm much better than I was before, no matter how stressed I am about finals. Because we love each other.

Forever.

Do you think I could be fluent in Japanese and good enough in writing to make it into Japanese IV Honors by my senior year? Do you think going to Japan with you for a week or so next year will do the trick?

--

I
This morning I awoke and heard
a tiny, half-black bird who found
her perch on my windowsill,
who chirped and sang until
she fled from fear of being still.
Most men have, I fear, been told
it's best to grin, and hold a peace
with an ungrateful fate
(and though for them it's far too late)
I think that fate is kind and fair
if you just realize why it's there.

Please don't let this make you sad. I'm telling you because I promised never to keep anything from you even if I don't know what it was myself, and I want to work it through with you. And if you turn this into "you shouldn't be with me" I'll be angry, so don't.

Ever since I got your email that one morning saying "that's an interesting way to look at things" I've just gotten a sinking feeling in my stomach whenever I talk to you. I love you more than anything. You're wonderful and perfect to me.. so that's probably part of why I'm upset. But I don't get what could be making me upset... I know you've noticed. I had trouble even responding to your email this morning.

I hope this doesn't ruin your day. If this interferes with your work I'll be mad at myself.

I love you, and I always will. I mean that.

You asked how to sell music:

Originally, putting music on a medium and selling the medium worked. The trouble began when the medium was irrelevant: now, the content and the medium are separable from one another, and the content can be transfered without medium. The reason piracy is an issue is because the content can no longer be controlled, and because the label industry is addicted to the concept of the medium.

The solution proposed currently is digital rights management, or DRM. The idea is to put limits on how exactly the content can be enjoyed; for example, The iTunes DRM allows the music to be played on a computer which is "authorized" by password to play it, it may be burned to a CD a certain number of times, and cannot be played on an unauthorized computer. Back in the first days of the iTunes Music store, the DRM was cracked very quickly by hackers, and a new DRM would be release, quickly followed by a brand new exploit to crack. The DRM has gotten better: after about 4 years, it has gotten to the point where it takes about 4 months to crack a new DRM. Superficially, the battle may seem to be between defective execution and the people who exploit it, but this is untrue: it is the battle between defective design and the unavoidable demographic of people who will be convinienced by the limitations of DRM. From a purely technical standpoint, DRM can never be succesful simply because consumers will resort to increasingly primitive ways to circumvent it, the simplest method being placing a microphone in front of one's speakers and recording. DRM is having a gumball machine with the top open. It is a broken idea.

Unfortunately, the medium and the content have been seperated for good. The internet is far too pervasive and the people who use it are far too clever. So why do people still buy CDs at all? Here's a better question: why does nobody pirate books? Some people would probably say its because less people read books or, at least, less people who are inclined to pirate something via the internet read books. Perhaps this is true. However, I read books, and I pirate music and movies. Why do I buy books but I don't buy music or movies? Let me tell you:

There's a writer named Cory Doctrow. You've probably never heard of him. He's the son of an accomplished novilist. He writes science fiction books and gives them away on the internet, and he sells printed copies as well. I read his first novel, Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom, before internet piracy was an issue at all. I downloaded it for free and read it. The truth is, reading on my computer screen was crappy. It sucked. I read the book, but the experience of reading the book really sucked. So I went out and bought the book from his site. I knew the book was shitty. I had read the book, I had noticed it was shitty, but I had to have the shitty book in its tangible form. Why? Becuase I was getting something more. I got the feeling of the paper in my hands, I got the luxury of lying in my swiviling chair by my window and propping the book on my knee as I read it. The book was still shitty, but I payed Cory Doctrow 12.00 dollars.

Obviously people still buy CDs. But if you asked those people why, it's probably because they really like the band and the little piece of paper you get with it is important to them somehow. It adds to the experience. However, the vast majority of consumers are not getting anything more. Whether they buy the CD, get it from the DRM'd version from the iTunes music store, or pirate it, they experience the music in the excact same way: they listen to it with their computers or on their iPods. Buying music or movies does not give the consumer anything more, whereas buying a book does.

I'm not a fan of Nine Inch Nails. I wouldn't say Trent Reznor is untalented, I'm just not personally a fan. I am a fan, however, of Lao Tze. Lao Tze was born in China 5000 years before the internet or music piracy, but apparently Trent Reznor is familiar with his stuff. Trent Reznor put certain tracks from his upcoming album, Year Zero, and put them on thumb drives (DRM free!) and hid the thumb drives at concerts. Bit by bit, tracks were leacked individually. Pretty soon, the entire album was circulating throught the Internet, DRM free, and with no coorporation behind it. Reznor said:

"The USB drive was simply a mechanism of leaking the music and data we wanted out there. The medium of the CD is outdated and irrelevant. It's really painfully obvious what people want — DRM-free music they can do what they want with. If the greedy record industry would embrace that concept I truly think people would pay for music and consume more of it."

By April, Reznor had the entire album available free to stream on the internet. In March, Reznor released a multitrack source file of one of the songs in Garageband format for anyone in the world to remix. The CD was finally released on thermo-dynamic chrome disk which was black upon purchase and, when played through the CD drive, the heat created by the computer erased the black paint to reveal a message:

"Consuming or spreading this material may be deemed subversive by the United States Bureau Of Morality. If you or someone you know has engaged in subversive acts or thoughts, call:
1-866-445-6580
BE A PATRIOT - BE AN INFORMER!"

The album has scored 2 on Billboard 200, 2 on United World, and 1 on Billboard Rock.

So if you want to sell music, give it away. [That's what Lao Tze would tell you.] The trick to getting people to buy it is to give them something else. Think outside the disc.

Unfortunately, balloons did not carry small boys to faraway kingdoms.

Keeran lived with his wretched mother, and he went to school with his wretched schoolteacher and his overwhelmingly wretched classmates. Of all the classmates, there was one boy less wretched than the others. A fourteen-year-old, already learning about geometry, the boy did not dare approach him. It was common social knowledge that boys who know geometry are not to be approached.

One Tuesday morning, with the sky still pale gray and the grass still wet and slippery (the sort of grass that made one's feet itchy), Keeran found a small tulip growing from the grass. Tulips in winter, even late winter, were unheard of. Struck in awe in the way only a small boy could, Keeran picked the tulip (since all beautiful things are meant to be snatched up, after all) and trotted along to the schoolhouse.

Upon arriving, he sat in his seat near the front of the room, listening to his wretched classmates jeer in the background. He sat spinning the tulip between his fingers, when he heard a deep voice behind him.

"A tulip in winter, eh?"

Keeran turned to find a fourteen-year-old standing to his right. He stood still, paralyzed in fear of the boy's knowledge of triangles and other regular shapes.

"I'm Samuel," the boy said.

"to show that the world isn't so serious"

----

The shepherd, while distraught, was always the entrepreneur. His flock may have (quite literally) vanished into thin air, but his relentless capitalist exploitation was just beginning.

He placed a bucket in front of his door, nailing a sign to his weathered, wooden walls: "Put your sheep outside and wait for a bit. I promise they will vanish eventually. One ducat per sheep in the milk bucket. Honor system."

----

Karma Police, arrest this man, he talks in maths.

We have to write an autobiography for our deans, but when I sat down to write something, all I could think about was meeting you. I love you. I don't want you to be so apologetic. I'll tell you if you do something that irks me.

You never have to guess with me.

Sorry to have gone so long... I'm back now, though.

Faeber was Drystan's father. He was not Drystan's real father. Drystan did not know his real parents. He was a findenkilth, a bastard child. [lit: found-child, old Armourian] Faeber raised Drystan as his own child. Yet, despite Faeber's presence, he was in many ways as absent as Drystan's birth parents: Faeber, when he suspected his own thoughts may be more interesting than his surroundings, would tuck his circular, straw hat over his eyes so that one could just see the rough stubble over his weathered, darkened skin, and he would begin to wander and, when one begins to wander, it is often very difficult to stop. It is easy to lose track of one's wandering and lift one's straw hat up to find oneself in a completely foreign place, where people walk on their hands and have very dexterous toes to farm with. Usually, this is when Faeber realized he had fallen asleep. Sleep crawled up easily on Faeber. Aderyn suspected it was because the difference between Faeber's dreams and his waking life was slight, if there was a difference at all. When he did retire for the day, though, coming into his modest living room in the late afternoon, he would light his pipe, and remove his straw hat to reveal his wavy, lightly matted brown hair and his bright, piercing blue eyes. It was the alliance between his eyes and his voice that made his story-telling special. He would recline in his chair as Aderyn and Drystan sat cross-legged on the floor, and his eyes would dart between the two of them as a squirrel between branches of a tree. And his voice, the voice of a man who has been smoking since childhood, was rolling thunder over the farmland, threatening to those caught under its wrath while still placid, soothing those safely beneath a roof, lulling them to gentle sleep.

I had so much fun talking to you in Japanese today. We need to do that more often. Writing and learning from written words is a really great way to build vocab.

I love you.

I can't help but be concerned for you, but I understand when you don't want to talk about stuff. You know how much I love you, and I'm pretty much positive you love me the same, so I'll trust you on anything. You never have to thank me for understanding.

-------

At Operation Gratitude I was among The Others. The women with the blonde hair and the child-bearing hips, and the men with the portly build and American flag shirts. All of them screaming "support the troops" when they really want to say "kill the infidels." Four hours of stamping boxes, you cap yourself. You sedate yourself from the inside out, dressing up with that quiet optimism that helps you blend in.

But inside it was thoughtcrime. Looking at the "What are you doing for your country?" pamphlet, I could have smirked but... that would have been facecrime. God knows what would have happened. I could see it in them: "Jesus, guns, and the USA." (preferably in that order.)

Since when did you and I become thoughtciminals? we just don't belong.

Ever since you sent me the picture of the thousand cranes you made for C, I swore to do everything in your best interest just like my mother does for me, because you deserve to have someone like that. I want to sing you every lullabye your mother never sang to you, hold once for you every time your mother should've. I want to give you that feeling I got when I thought about watching Winnie the Pooh cartoons with you. I want to put you to sleep with a sweet, soft song and make you feel
completely
healed.

---------------------
Edit: 12.04

I had a dream where we were older and you were seeing another guy, and you graduated from college and decided to stay with the guy instead of me. I woke up crying, and it was unusually hard to convince myself that it wasn't real.

How did you learn about JKCP? Why'd you decide to go?

Maybe we really did know each other before. If so, will we have to find each other again?

It hurts to leave Armour and my fantasy worlds for blood and iron but there is another story I need to tell, albeit somewhat quickly.

I hope you get some time to do sketches, and I hope I get time to write lots of comics for you for when you're in new orleans.

I love you.

When someone can reach through your ribcage and clench your heart from 3,000 miles away. When you can feel the burden of gravity being snatched away. When you can feel it being put back in it's place, and when you can feel the hand make its exit and when you can feel the gap cauterize behind it.

God is in the gaps.

It's that moment when you inhale before you say something, and at the crest of your breath you realize there isn't anything waiting to come out. It's the moment where you stop your breath sharply, and you let it ooze out of you as you digest the new input.
----

It's Faeber, not Fayber!

----

In 8th grade, Serena threw Adam a birthday party at her house. Alison was there (which is hard to even comprehend now), and we watched Indiana Jones, and Adam and Spencer popped balloons with their pocket knives. It was the first time I'd ever had real friends, and felt like I was with people who accept me. But I didn't realize that until just now. I was going out with Sarah at the time, and I was just so safe and happy! And when that faded, I couldn't let go of Adam's 14th birthday party.

And I didn't find the belonging again until you came and visited. And I didn't find the happiness and safety again until the moment after you kissed me, when you came in for another kiss and I realized we were both happy about it.

I don't want you worrying about me. I'm fine. It just took a gentle nudge from my best friend.

When I look at your blog nowadays the first thing I see is the word "mourn." It's words like that which most people escape from, but I like to escape straight into them.

-------

Aderyn and Drystan dug Fayber's grave right at the oak tree. "It should not be the job of two teenagers," thought Aderyn, "to throw a grown man into a ditch." Aderyn knelt down heavily onto the soft earth, bending over Fayber's body to get a grip on his tunic. A crumpled note slid out of his pocket, and its side landed on the dirt, cocked against Fayber's side. Drystan ran over to snatch it up, and Aderyn ran to look over his shoulder as he read it:

"You mourn for wasted lives. A life well spent should be celebrated. The key to the liquor chest is under the rug."

------

I wish every word could be packaged and ribboned
And sent up to heaven in a hot air balloon.
I wish I could find her and tell her I love her
And thank her for bringing such beauty to me.
I wish I could build our Republic around us
And construct a kingdom as bold as the night.

I'll let you in my head where I'll
Take all your armor off as we
Dance with our bodies awake while we
Leave our minds asleep.

And we'll dance to the flowers and the birds and the sunsets
We'll live for the autumns and drink to the evenings
And I'll let you lift me to where the demons can't reach us
To a spire in heaven where we can be alone together.

Today we were stopped at a red light and a homeless guy came out onto the street walking up and down between lanes with his sign. The light turned green and the guy went back to the sidewalk. But he never even looked back: he knew the light turned green the instant it did without ever seeing it, without anyone even moving.

It rained today. Dark clouds rolled across the valley (I could see the whole scene from my math classroom) and all I could think was "Ah. Thank God it's fucking Friday."

In History you could hear the heavy pit-pat of rain outside, that just makes you want to climb back into bed and not go anywhere until you're damn good and ready. The only thing missing was you.

For Keeran & the girl, I really like the idea of them being "lost together." And perhaps playing with the themes of communication and comradery without language, and with the ideas of humanity to others.

Armour again! phew. The obvious theme is Magic & Science. But I also like the ideas of mastery in an art or skill, and the ease and "zen" of complete mastery. I can't decide if that fits in my story of Armour, the story with Keeran, or both. We'll see, I guess.

I love you!

As soon as I start to feel free with Spanish, I think "meh."

Japanese has a richness to it. In Spanish, you take a word, it has a direct equivalent. Japanese isn't like that. You can fill in gaps. And I like the thinking in pictures. I bet you think it's going to confuse me, but I bet you I get it instantly. The Romantic languages... they're boring now. So that's my answer to your "why?"

I hope you read this before you go to school... I kind of suspect you will. If so, ponder this on the ride to school: What if Keeran played the flute? Can't you imagine him with his dark hair, intensely focused on his flute?

An opening chapter to Thick as Thieves: Revise please!

Only a short while ago, there was an age where everything was much farther apart
But worlds, as all things, do not change in size but instead in manner:
In an age before aeroplanes and locomotives,
Islands were tied by vagabonds on traders' ships.

And though geography may be cruel, the stars are kind,
And in this tale we tell the story of two children who find themselves
Very much lost in this age, who believe themselves to be under very
Cruel stars indeed, and who eventually find themselves very much lost
Together.

Here's a snapshot for you.

Curtains up, lights down. Baggy pants, ripped shirt, waxed mustache. Dirty bowling pins in hand, except for one rolling on the floor. Heat's up, butterfingers. Time's up, act's out.

Another breathing thing dies at the hands of the picture show.

I love you. I miss you. I miss Armour. I haven't thought of it lately.

I want to come home to you. Maybe after you graduate you can move in with me.

Sometimes, some playful angel goes up to the gigantic white ball of infinite understanding, and scrapes off a little bit and puts it in a baggy like a taste of cocaine. One of them came down to me when I was trying to fall asleep last night and put it above my lip.

And for a split-second, I completely understood why the music matters so much to you. I see how it made everything okay again, and how it picked up your broken heart and tied it back together. I see how the whole scene made things okay for a little bit, and I saw how being a punk was therapeutic. I see how the black and pink fix things.

But then it was gone again, and the angel left snickering.

I have some great pictures for you when I get home. It's so peaceful here at the libray though... I'll bring you here when you visit. It's a beautiful art deco building from the 30s.

I am here.

Anyway. Good thing I can blog about it.

When we got out for dinner last night it was deathly silent. A busy street with no cars except for police cruisers, with policemen sitting, waiting for someone to go looting. I saw one guy get arrested, and I got some pictures of him. He looked so sad.

And the house is silent. Scary kinda silent. The helecopters are gone though, and the sirens are less frequent. The alarms are gone, too.

Remember when your house was surrounded by cops? It's like that but for two days straight.