Tuesday, 14 April 2015

I think the spring is finally starting, for me. And if the calendar was lying, I'm sleepy all the time, so that's direct proof right there :D I got some new clothes, thin, fieldy, trekking clothes, T-shirts and light windbreakers, I put on sneakers and (I may need a new bag at some point, just saying) it is only a matter of time before I dye my hair back to red. Winter with all it's bleak, monochromatic magic is over, bitches, and the things that intended to bloom have exploded in fireworks one cannot describe with ink, you have to see them to believe them. Indeed, after a long season of dead trees and gray skies, it is difficult to believe how beautiful plants can be. More beautiful than mating season animals, more beautiful than people, more beautiful than poems, even. In the long-term, I favor the non-blooming plants, low and fleshy, but not today. 

Although for some reason photography isn't the frontrunner of my psyche right now, having been passionately overtaken by reading, my book continues to evolve and grow. I stopped being worried I am not writing fast enough or enough at all, because when I am not writing, I am slowly and surely developing the platform of the narrative - a tricky affair in this particular case. 
I was thinking, maybe, to make matters worse on the plot-line (as it is, in tatters, (purposefully!)) I will open the book with another flash-forward-back... As a lure, perhaps, a snare. And because I can. Also, testing the date and location titleheads, to try and make this easier on people who are not so cozy in time traveling... I know this makes no sense. It will ;)

Cyrenaica, Libya, 24. April, 1941

Paper and Cole's lifedate, 24. April, 2015

General Sepp's lifedate 24. April, 4018

General Sepp's portal

8:30 am

Pass the plains of northern Cyrenaica, between a panzer offensive and an encampment of the African campaign, a small, energetic man stands on his Škoda Superb Kfz, looking though a pair of worn-out binoculars. On his left is his lieutenant, barking orders to their radio operator, orchestrating the tanks. On his right, in the sand, stands a woman wearing capris and good trekking shoes, reading from a large history book with maps and pictures. She is on the phone with a man, sitting on the wall of Tobruk. Their conversation goes mostly like this:

Cole: I said to the left! What is the matter with you? Can't you feel the gales from the sea?

Paper: Left. Wind is coming right over the walls. And give the flank a wider berth, because the sand right here (she points at a map) is like butter.

Rommel: 1' left. Fire! And avoid the southern quadrant's path.

Cole: Au. Better. (Looks through his binoculars) How many tanks do you have, anyway?
Paper: 400.
Cole: Funny.
Rommel, to his lieutenant, in German: Tell the drivers to make a lot of dust, so as too seem a great crowd.

The woman's husband is in one of the tanks. This is his time portal and he is in deep awe and respect of the German field Marshall. Usually they have tea and talk. The panzer exercise was his wife’s idea. General Seti Sepp SUN is intuitively disinclined to agree to any of her ideas, but he has never operated a panzer Mr III and he also knows that no matter what they do, how much they meddle, they can never change anything in the long run. Their morning exercise is like fisting a river. And anyway, his tank loses the link in the crossfire. General Sepp has been a soldier since he was old enough to pose as cannon fodder. He is doing this because he knows survival is 70% dumb luck.

Cole is doing this because time-hopping WWII makes him feel closer to his brothers.

Paper is doing this because she approves of mass destruction. She's seen enough of history to know that sometimes things get too stale. Also, she really likes Rommel and wants to see him naked at some point.

Rommel knows this is probably a dream. He is an optimist and believes he can still learn something. An exceptional tactician, that man. Strategist … not so much.

Cole: Better! Again! Bring it down a n... *static*

Paper: Hello? ... Whoopsy.

General Sepp, having just returned via faster transport, takes off his completely soaked shirt and comes over. He is a very tall man with very long hair, which is a striking evidence to his temporal dislocation. Unlike the other tank operators, he wore no uniform.
General Sepp: Small, fat, heavy, clumsy, fickle and yet the job gets done. (He kisses his wife on the forehead.) The tanks aren't bad either.
Paper: Hilarious.You killed Cole.
Rommel: Is he going to be alright?
Paper: Cole? He'll be fine. He wouldn't stand on the other side of the field with a target in his hands if he didn't have a knack for cawking it mid playtime.
Rommel: Alright. Then let's wrap it. Call them in. Good job, everyone.

 o . o . o

I incidentally looked at a horoscope while flipping through newspapers yesterday, when the General took me out for coffee. The week previous, in the study group, someone told me to shut the fuck up and that really hurt my feelings. I pretend to be retarded, but I forget that in such a group most people will actually be really dumb. The horoscope then said to be careful - not all people will understand what i am trying to achieve with my behavior. And then, today, I had a dream in which I offered to participate in some cultural research (I like solving tests and doing homework), but in the end the woman (for all intents and purposes in the real world my social equal or not even that), didn't include my efforts, saying I used smileys from time to time and she thought i didn't understand the task and thus - more or less - was to dumb to participate. These were here three minutes of triumph over someone like me. And because I am the kind of a person to encourage abuse and then feel it, the rain came down in the dreams, I felt really bad and really small. The General was on my side, but he had no ammo.

This would be the brain telling me to stop pretending to be a retard, because nobody cares about savants anymore? To get up and demand twice what I expect to be paid, because that is how much I am worth? Heh, yes, but then nobody will hire me at all, because nobody likes to feel like the less clever person in the room. A shitty predicament, really. Here, I'll tell you a number and then the next week I'll tell you what that number really turned out to be. 


...I really should just establish a group and start getting the government funding like everybody else.