Dear Mother and Father,
I attended the party last night, but was late. I suspect they may have started early, but that's probably just a poor rationalization for my misbehavior. I know that it is never a good thing to be late when meeting with Important People. I tried to get questions answered, even though it's impolite to hijack conversations by one's superiors. I hope it will be alright. I don't think it helped, particularly. My mention of the cluster of nuns by the docks was met with Ms. Aaoee-sama's assurance that is was "nothing", or more specifically that it was "the tong", which she says are nothing. I can't imagine she meant salad tongs; a large group would have very few reasons to get worked up over cutlery. I really must learn some Japanese just so I can understand her when she talks. That is, I believe, a worthy objective. I gathered last night that she is a more important person around here than I have been giving her credit for. Not counting a lighthearted remark about gradually "owning" more and more of Steelhead Shanghai, there was an instance in which she appeared to exert influence over the others present. She greeted me as "Ashbourne-san", upon which the others greeted me simply as "Ashbourne" or without mentioning my name, rather than the usual mix of "Miss Ashbourne" and sincere efforts to work out a pronunciation of "Shaqad". They really seemed to look up to her.
Eventually the two official owners of Steelhead, Mr. Lunar and Ms. Tensai, arrived. Ms. Tensai was still in the form of a kitten, but for the second time in a row I was able to restrain myself from squealing like an undisciplined little child. There was, however, a moment of quiet and secret horror for me: Ms. Tensai had a cat-sized hat on which was decorated by even tinier skulls; I asked what they were. Both "awkwardly human-looking mice" and "mimmoths" were proposed, and I'm really not sure which one they decided it was. But I remembered mimmoth skulls as looking a lot different than that. I kill wild mimmoths on sight to avenge Valdy's home, so I'd seen mimmoth skulls very recently and still didn't recognize them on Ms. Tensai's hat! I fear for my sanity. I really hope they were mice after all! Do you remember that time you had to tell me a second time that babies are made through kissing because I had misremembered the first time as involving a story about storks? Then there was also that time when I told the whole church that I was sad because I had gotten my first spanking that morning, thus embarrassing you in front of absolutely everyone, before you explained that I had only pretended such a thing had happened and forgotten that I was pretending. I am so sorry about that and hope someday you will forgive me. But what seemed to be mere stupidity and arrogance in the past may indicate severe ongoing mental problems. Even after the belt incident was resolved, it took my bottom several days to acknowledge the truth my brain already understood. Do you think I belong in a sanatorium? I'm sure the unease I dealt with when receiving surgery at Crimson Falls was more of a temporary shock reaction than what someone staying there would actually experience. But if I could be cured of everything about me that hurts you, it would be worth most any cost, I should think.
When I mentioned my difficulties with the barrier around Shanghai, Ms. Aaoee-sama made a cryptic remark about "age verification". Mother, this barrier is something I mentioned in my last letter to Father: It is an invisible wall of pushiness that seems to completely surround a large section of the city. It is very selective in what it allows and what it pushes away. It pushes me away, but it lets in: Sticks, stones, dirt, pine needles, pine cones, grass, a torn-off bit of paper, Miss Gearbox, and Ms. Aaoee-sama. I don't know what Ms. Aaoee-sama meant about age, but either Miss Gearbox is younger than me or she never, ever eats her vegetables. Perhaps I misunderstood what she was trying to tell me.
Either way, I don't think the city likes me very much. It may not be in the minds of the citizens themselves, but something here seems not to be fond of me. I wonder what forces are at work beneath the surface of a high-tech, magically inclined pocket of The Grid like this. Do you suppose they can be placated? I don't want to get into witchcraft or anything, of course. It may just be one of those things one must accept and live with.
I haven't seen Valdy recently. I suppose I can't look for her around Shanghai now, either. But maybe my fixation with her has been misguided. The more I consider my reasoning, the more it seems like yet another case of my dubious grip on reality. For one thing, the more I think about her having said, "You're a good kid, Shaqad," the clearer it becomes that even a parallel universe would not cause it to have occurred outside my imagination. The pleasant dreams have all but tapered off now (though I have gotten better at handling the nightmares, as I was before the sea monster hijacked them), but it still most likely came from a dream misremembered as reality. However, if there were something I could do that would make such a fanciful thing real, I know that I would do it. I cannot, off the top of my hand, think of any value of "something" for which that is not the case.
No, never mind what I just said. I would most likely forfeit such a reality in exchange for one in which you yourselves said something like that. But now I'm getting severely off-track from the real world.
She probably didn't hug me, either. That whole thing was so surreal. Why was she a dragon at the time, anyhow? I almost certainly got the whole scene out of some nearly-forgotten picture book. My skin still remembers it in clear, gratuitous detail, but I never gave my body a license to tell me what is real and what isn't. I wish you were here to tell me what reality is. I miss you so badly. I wasn't ready to be on my own. The way I am, I may never be ready.
The underground locomotive I took out of Steelhead last time brought me to the middle of nowhere and left me. If I am to return to you, I will have to find another way. May God have mercy on me, lost as I am.
Miss Blackheart of the Music says that Saturday is Christmas, and that there won't be a party. I don't want to spend Christmas away from you, and especially not alone. I could go back along the mountains and spy on Miss Gearbox's family again, but that might get depressing and potentially cause trouble for both me and them. I don't want any of that. I am not sure what I shall do.
Love,
Shaqad
Friday, December 24, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Age Verification
Dear Father,
I intended to return to the mines yesterday, but I'm afraid I got too distracted by the mill-folk. I really will have to speak with them sometime. I've sometimes seen Miss Gearbox around town running errands and may have an opportunity to converse with her yet.
However, the part of the city I would most often see her in has become inaccessible. (Either that or my poor sense of direction is kicking in, and it's actually another part of the city.) This morning, I made my way back in the direction of the urban area, and I was within sight of the places Miss Gearbox frequents when some horrible invisible thing knocked me back. I can't say for sure what it is. It doesn't seem to be solid like glass, but perhaps more similar to a pushy magnetic forcefield. I cannot run my hands along it, but my hands are repelled by it. Strangely enough, it doesn't do that to sticks. I can pick up a stick and run it through the barrier farther than my hands might go, but if the part of my hand that's holding the stick gets close enough, it'll bounce right back. I can throw pebbles quite a distance beyond it as well. I think it's only me the barrier wants to keep out. Maybe it's a living creature and it examines people's hearts or something. (In that case, I wonder if I should admit any of this to folks outside the family.) Or maybe it's an aetheric anomaly, but usually those are only temporary. It also could be some new technology of the Sparkpeople's, like a military experiment or something, but why put it in that particular spot? From my testing, it goes quite a long way and then bends sharply inward on itself at what seems to be a right angle, possibly surrounding a whole city district--but why? If it was put up intentionally, just what is it meant to protect from what?
In your extensive research, have you ever encountered anything like this?
Shaqad
I intended to return to the mines yesterday, but I'm afraid I got too distracted by the mill-folk. I really will have to speak with them sometime. I've sometimes seen Miss Gearbox around town running errands and may have an opportunity to converse with her yet.
However, the part of the city I would most often see her in has become inaccessible. (Either that or my poor sense of direction is kicking in, and it's actually another part of the city.) This morning, I made my way back in the direction of the urban area, and I was within sight of the places Miss Gearbox frequents when some horrible invisible thing knocked me back. I can't say for sure what it is. It doesn't seem to be solid like glass, but perhaps more similar to a pushy magnetic forcefield. I cannot run my hands along it, but my hands are repelled by it. Strangely enough, it doesn't do that to sticks. I can pick up a stick and run it through the barrier farther than my hands might go, but if the part of my hand that's holding the stick gets close enough, it'll bounce right back. I can throw pebbles quite a distance beyond it as well. I think it's only me the barrier wants to keep out. Maybe it's a living creature and it examines people's hearts or something. (In that case, I wonder if I should admit any of this to folks outside the family.) Or maybe it's an aetheric anomaly, but usually those are only temporary. It also could be some new technology of the Sparkpeople's, like a military experiment or something, but why put it in that particular spot? From my testing, it goes quite a long way and then bends sharply inward on itself at what seems to be a right angle, possibly surrounding a whole city district--but why? If it was put up intentionally, just what is it meant to protect from what?
In your extensive research, have you ever encountered anything like this?
Shaqad
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
On the curious antics of fairies
Dear Mother and Father,
I meant to go back to the mines as soon as I was finished with my hike, but I haven't left yet. I know I am not equipped to stay out here shivering in my home-sewn mimmoth furs indefinitely. In fact, I can no longer feel my fingers and am shocked that this page seems to be legible so far. There isn't anything here that I absolutely must see. In fact, I got to the opposite side of the river earlier today and found little of enduring interest. I found a shepherd's house with a spooky pagan altar at the back of it, and down closer to the river, there was a log-cutting place whose owner gave me a most displeased look when I ventured too near. I didn't stay around there for very long, naturally. I hate upsetting the neighbors.
All the frogs have gone into hibernation by now, and I don't believe the Steelhead region has a single whippoorwill. Perhaps in the latter case, they haven't any work to do when there aren't head-stealing sea monsters about.
In any case, I am now back at the little water-mill. That is to say, I'm not exactly on the property, but near enough to it on the opposite side of the road that I can see it between the trees whenever I wish. I am confused. I am not so certain that the blonde lady is Miss Gearbox's mother after all. She treats the children more as a friend and peer would than as a mother would. It's as if she has absolutely no desire to maintain control of them. I've not heard her give a mandatory order this entire time. Perhaps she is a much-older sister. You've told me that you have a soft spot for me that only a biological parent can have, but what the blonde lady displays is far more than a soft spot. She lets the young ones talk back to her when they don't agree. I haven't heard her use any aduts-only words when they do something that might be frustrating. And I've not once seen her box anyone's ears. She reminds me more of Valdy than of you, despite being completely unlike a Jaegerperson. My curiosity binds me to this place. I hope nobody minds. Perhaps they'll all be mad at me when they discover I've been spying. I know grownups always, always find out what foolish children have been up to. Perhaps I should just march up to them and turn myself in; perhaps I ought to be as honest with them as I've learned to be with you.
I miss you both, you know. I cannot count how many times I have wished you were here to help me know right from wrong. I'm sure a lot of things would have to change if you were. I would have to stop addressing you as mere friends and start giving you the respect a parent deserves. The format of my long-winded yet detail-deficient letters could not persist in up-close interactions with you. And perhaps also, you might calm down your God for me. I'm sure I've annoyed him a great deal in the past three quarters of a year, and you've not been present to patch things up for me. I really don't know how I've made it this far without you.
Love,
Shaqad
I meant to go back to the mines as soon as I was finished with my hike, but I haven't left yet. I know I am not equipped to stay out here shivering in my home-sewn mimmoth furs indefinitely. In fact, I can no longer feel my fingers and am shocked that this page seems to be legible so far. There isn't anything here that I absolutely must see. In fact, I got to the opposite side of the river earlier today and found little of enduring interest. I found a shepherd's house with a spooky pagan altar at the back of it, and down closer to the river, there was a log-cutting place whose owner gave me a most displeased look when I ventured too near. I didn't stay around there for very long, naturally. I hate upsetting the neighbors.
All the frogs have gone into hibernation by now, and I don't believe the Steelhead region has a single whippoorwill. Perhaps in the latter case, they haven't any work to do when there aren't head-stealing sea monsters about.
In any case, I am now back at the little water-mill. That is to say, I'm not exactly on the property, but near enough to it on the opposite side of the road that I can see it between the trees whenever I wish. I am confused. I am not so certain that the blonde lady is Miss Gearbox's mother after all. She treats the children more as a friend and peer would than as a mother would. It's as if she has absolutely no desire to maintain control of them. I've not heard her give a mandatory order this entire time. Perhaps she is a much-older sister. You've told me that you have a soft spot for me that only a biological parent can have, but what the blonde lady displays is far more than a soft spot. She lets the young ones talk back to her when they don't agree. I haven't heard her use any aduts-only words when they do something that might be frustrating. And I've not once seen her box anyone's ears. She reminds me more of Valdy than of you, despite being completely unlike a Jaegerperson. My curiosity binds me to this place. I hope nobody minds. Perhaps they'll all be mad at me when they discover I've been spying. I know grownups always, always find out what foolish children have been up to. Perhaps I should just march up to them and turn myself in; perhaps I ought to be as honest with them as I've learned to be with you.
I miss you both, you know. I cannot count how many times I have wished you were here to help me know right from wrong. I'm sure a lot of things would have to change if you were. I would have to stop addressing you as mere friends and start giving you the respect a parent deserves. The format of my long-winded yet detail-deficient letters could not persist in up-close interactions with you. And perhaps also, you might calm down your God for me. I'm sure I've annoyed him a great deal in the past three quarters of a year, and you've not been present to patch things up for me. I really don't know how I've made it this far without you.
Love,
Shaqad
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Getting out more
Dear Mother and Father,
As evidenced by the existence of this letter, I survived my attempt to alter my cheese gun! It works surprisingly well now, and I only have the faintest singe marks on my clothing. I can't believe that happened.
I have also constructed boots and a shawl from the skins of fluffy mimmoths. I feel much warmer when I go outside, and I didn't even have to leech off of others! I really am getting better at this survival thing, don't you think? "Good" is a bit beyond my reach, of course, but surely I'm doing better than before!
I regret to say that I did not attend the evening party last night. From what I gathered by peeking in the windows (unnoticed, I believe and hope), everyone who normally runs the parties--including Miss Blackheart of the Music and every single Jaegerperson, plus Valdy's close friends--was absent, and an assortment of guests had made themselves at home of their own will. Now, I am aware that some of them hold positions of authority in the military and business and such, but I was unsure if it was a good idea to go in and mingle with them uninvited. I know somebody owns that place, so it is not my habit to just waltz on in without an invitation. Please, don't you think such etiquette is reasonable?
I ended up wandering off and hiking on the nearest mountain. The December air is so chilly, but it's nice to be out of doors (and also out of mines, I mean). I know sunlight is bad for my complexion, and I haven't any arsenic powder to correct it, but some strange animal drive deep inside me likes the light. I think I've kept properly sheltered for the majority of the winter, though; my hair has turned almost jet black from the lack of sunshine, and back in the spring when I last saw you, I'm fairly certain it was chestnut brown.
I don't think I've been anywhere near those mountain woods since I chased down the wild kitty to get Squeezy's pelt. There don't seem to be any edible flowers left on it anymore, but I oughtn't fret because I have my cheese gun. It's a beautiful place, kind of bare in some places and thoroughly wild in others, but of course it isn't like a tidy postcard photograph, and I really need to wrench my heart away from Dunwich. I still cannot wrap my feeble mind around what made the place so utterly abhorrent to sensible folks. I recall that the land had its own ideas about what ought to grow out of it, no matter what anybody did; yet I don't think everything it did produce was worthless in its own right. I don't remember why the singing birds and frogs drove the grownups to distraction. I don't remember what people found frightening about having steep hills snuggled up close to them; even if there were diabolical pagan gods with trickier names than mine waiting under every third mound of dirt, didn't you have a God of your own? And although you've said it many, many times, I still have some difficulties grasping what made the neighbors horrible people. Many of them were aloof, uneducated, and rather sickly, but I don't recall seeing them do anything horrible. Even Mr. Whateley, so feared for his sinful past, surely couldn't have continued to do wicked things after baby Lavinny was born, could he? Someday I would like to send the whole village a telegram and ask how things are. Wouldn't you perhaps like to know as well?
Forgive my impudence. I will speak of this matter no more.
On my lovely hike beside Steelhead, I found a big river and a little farm-mill. There I saw Miss Gearbox with her mother and her many siblings. I didn't see a father, so perhaps he isn't strong enough for farm work. On the other hand, Mrs. Gearbox may be a widow (poor thing!). Since the siblings look so unlike each other, she may have even been widowed more than once. I didn't approach them because I didn't want to distract them from their chores nor bother a large group all at one time nor accidentally guilt them into feeding an extra mouth. I ultimately set up camp across the road, just far enough where they would not have been able to see the fire. In spite of what the cheese gun seemed to indicate, the Ashbourne Curse is still in effect: I was able to start a respectably-sized campfire by setting my mind to building a pocketwatch out of twigs. I hope nobody noticed the "boom!" or grew alarmed by it. I don't know whether to be comforted or saddened by the fact that the Ashbourne Curse still operates so strongly. We still don't know what causes it (although you agreed it's probably neurological). Still, there are some aspects to fret about, in my own subjective opinion. For example, what if it grows stronger with age? I shouldn't like to accidentally blow something up whilst making a sandwich--although it turned out fine when you did so, Father. Surely your explosion survival talents are the greatest in all the land. On the upside, my campfire was much smaller than that horrible locomotive incident that gave you the horrible scars and which I've yet to live down.
It's funny: I say things to you now that I would never have said to you months ago. I have said useless things; petty things; frivolous things; brash things; rebellious things; wicked things. Perhaps absence makes the heart grow not necessarily fonder, but more nakedly like its deepest internal condition. It doesn't help that of all the adults I have met, none are interested in disciplining a child who is not their own, and they have instead allowed me to make many mistakes. It's really no wonder God allowed the sea monster to rise against them.
This is a dreary topic. I suppose if I am to learn anything from it, it must be that my self-discipline needs to improve. That's unsurprising, of course, but it is about time I took it seriously.
In any case, I suppose you may wish to thank the Powers That Be for preventing any wild critters from eating me in my sleep. That's usually a good thing.
Shaqad
As evidenced by the existence of this letter, I survived my attempt to alter my cheese gun! It works surprisingly well now, and I only have the faintest singe marks on my clothing. I can't believe that happened.
I have also constructed boots and a shawl from the skins of fluffy mimmoths. I feel much warmer when I go outside, and I didn't even have to leech off of others! I really am getting better at this survival thing, don't you think? "Good" is a bit beyond my reach, of course, but surely I'm doing better than before!
I regret to say that I did not attend the evening party last night. From what I gathered by peeking in the windows (unnoticed, I believe and hope), everyone who normally runs the parties--including Miss Blackheart of the Music and every single Jaegerperson, plus Valdy's close friends--was absent, and an assortment of guests had made themselves at home of their own will. Now, I am aware that some of them hold positions of authority in the military and business and such, but I was unsure if it was a good idea to go in and mingle with them uninvited. I know somebody owns that place, so it is not my habit to just waltz on in without an invitation. Please, don't you think such etiquette is reasonable?
I ended up wandering off and hiking on the nearest mountain. The December air is so chilly, but it's nice to be out of doors (and also out of mines, I mean). I know sunlight is bad for my complexion, and I haven't any arsenic powder to correct it, but some strange animal drive deep inside me likes the light. I think I've kept properly sheltered for the majority of the winter, though; my hair has turned almost jet black from the lack of sunshine, and back in the spring when I last saw you, I'm fairly certain it was chestnut brown.
I don't think I've been anywhere near those mountain woods since I chased down the wild kitty to get Squeezy's pelt. There don't seem to be any edible flowers left on it anymore, but I oughtn't fret because I have my cheese gun. It's a beautiful place, kind of bare in some places and thoroughly wild in others, but of course it isn't like a tidy postcard photograph, and I really need to wrench my heart away from Dunwich. I still cannot wrap my feeble mind around what made the place so utterly abhorrent to sensible folks. I recall that the land had its own ideas about what ought to grow out of it, no matter what anybody did; yet I don't think everything it did produce was worthless in its own right. I don't remember why the singing birds and frogs drove the grownups to distraction. I don't remember what people found frightening about having steep hills snuggled up close to them; even if there were diabolical pagan gods with trickier names than mine waiting under every third mound of dirt, didn't you have a God of your own? And although you've said it many, many times, I still have some difficulties grasping what made the neighbors horrible people. Many of them were aloof, uneducated, and rather sickly, but I don't recall seeing them do anything horrible. Even Mr. Whateley, so feared for his sinful past, surely couldn't have continued to do wicked things after baby Lavinny was born, could he? Someday I would like to send the whole village a telegram and ask how things are. Wouldn't you perhaps like to know as well?
Forgive my impudence. I will speak of this matter no more.
On my lovely hike beside Steelhead, I found a big river and a little farm-mill. There I saw Miss Gearbox with her mother and her many siblings. I didn't see a father, so perhaps he isn't strong enough for farm work. On the other hand, Mrs. Gearbox may be a widow (poor thing!). Since the siblings look so unlike each other, she may have even been widowed more than once. I didn't approach them because I didn't want to distract them from their chores nor bother a large group all at one time nor accidentally guilt them into feeding an extra mouth. I ultimately set up camp across the road, just far enough where they would not have been able to see the fire. In spite of what the cheese gun seemed to indicate, the Ashbourne Curse is still in effect: I was able to start a respectably-sized campfire by setting my mind to building a pocketwatch out of twigs. I hope nobody noticed the "boom!" or grew alarmed by it. I don't know whether to be comforted or saddened by the fact that the Ashbourne Curse still operates so strongly. We still don't know what causes it (although you agreed it's probably neurological). Still, there are some aspects to fret about, in my own subjective opinion. For example, what if it grows stronger with age? I shouldn't like to accidentally blow something up whilst making a sandwich--although it turned out fine when you did so, Father. Surely your explosion survival talents are the greatest in all the land. On the upside, my campfire was much smaller than that horrible locomotive incident that gave you the horrible scars and which I've yet to live down.
It's funny: I say things to you now that I would never have said to you months ago. I have said useless things; petty things; frivolous things; brash things; rebellious things; wicked things. Perhaps absence makes the heart grow not necessarily fonder, but more nakedly like its deepest internal condition. It doesn't help that of all the adults I have met, none are interested in disciplining a child who is not their own, and they have instead allowed me to make many mistakes. It's really no wonder God allowed the sea monster to rise against them.
This is a dreary topic. I suppose if I am to learn anything from it, it must be that my self-discipline needs to improve. That's unsurprising, of course, but it is about time I took it seriously.
In any case, I suppose you may wish to thank the Powers That Be for preventing any wild critters from eating me in my sleep. That's usually a good thing.
Shaqad
Friday, December 17, 2010
Further down the rabbit trails
Dear Mother and Father,
I am deeply sorry about yesterday. I have no excuses for the lack of etiquette I displayed at the tavern party nor for the unstructured rambling of my letter. I think my head is clearer today, although things that cannot speak are still speaking to me, and I can still feel a hug. I gave up on finding anything of interest in Shanghai, especially after a large crowd gathered around the docks and made a most dreadful fuss regarding a chang, prompting me to give them as much space as possible. Now that I'm back in my home-space, I've begun working on a new weapon in case I ever need to defend myself. It's rather like a spear but has a disorderly mess of mimmoth tusks on the end of it rather than a single point. I'll probably have to swing it around like a cricket bat if I intend to damage anything. I'm sure you don't really care about this entire topic.
I remember something spoken at the party that might be of interest. They (Ms. Steamweaver the Jaegerlady and a Mr. Kozlov I've met multiple times) stated from experience that there are many dimensions that have humans and humanoids in them rather than just squidgy aliens like the brain-licking sea monster. Now I know it isn't physically impossible for me to be in one. I wonder how I might be able to tell. Suppose two universes were so similar that they both called themselves the same thing: How would they be distinguished, then? It would be nice to simply ask somebody, but who would I ask? Who would know such a thing?
If it turns out that I am in a parallel universe with a parallel Shaqad in it, do you think I should change my name to avoid confusion? What do you think of the name Princess Genevieve Mercy Felicia Anastasia Crystal Rose Isabella Victorianna Unicorn Sparkleflower Ashbourne?
In the meantime, I know I must improve my behavior. I cannot blame all of my problems on the aether. What is the secret to dispelling my stupidity? I guess if you knew that, you would have tried it a long time ago. Now I must figure it out on my own. Simply trying harder will be a reasonable first step, I'm sure.
My cheese gun has run out of fuel and stopped working. I am left in awe of the overwhelming lack of judment that led me to trust something I built myself to keep me fed throughout the winter. There is not a single dandelion leaf to be found up there, either. I very desperately need to figure out how to cook mimmoths. If I had a small machine, I'm sure I could set my mind to fixing it and thus produce a massive explosion in accordance with the Ashbourne Curse, which could possibly prepare nearby mimmoths in the same way the Jaegerladies did it. I'm trying it with my cheese gun right now, but it doesn't seem to be working. Maybe it ran out of explosions while I was originally building it. Yet, it didn't seem to be all that many explosions at the time; it really seems like there ought to be some left over.
It occurs to me that if I put the cheesification engine back together in a slightly different way, there is a remote chance that it could be made to run on a more readily available material such as gravel. If I fail horribly, which is the most likely outcome, it will either cook some mimmoths or cook me. In either case, I will no longer be in need of food. Do you think Valdy or anyone else would notice if this version of me exploded?
I should end the letter now in order to focus on reassembling the gun. I guess you'll never get this letter or any of the others if I don't survive, so if you do get this eventually, things went well.
Shaqad
I am deeply sorry about yesterday. I have no excuses for the lack of etiquette I displayed at the tavern party nor for the unstructured rambling of my letter. I think my head is clearer today, although things that cannot speak are still speaking to me, and I can still feel a hug. I gave up on finding anything of interest in Shanghai, especially after a large crowd gathered around the docks and made a most dreadful fuss regarding a chang, prompting me to give them as much space as possible. Now that I'm back in my home-space, I've begun working on a new weapon in case I ever need to defend myself. It's rather like a spear but has a disorderly mess of mimmoth tusks on the end of it rather than a single point. I'll probably have to swing it around like a cricket bat if I intend to damage anything. I'm sure you don't really care about this entire topic.
I remember something spoken at the party that might be of interest. They (Ms. Steamweaver the Jaegerlady and a Mr. Kozlov I've met multiple times) stated from experience that there are many dimensions that have humans and humanoids in them rather than just squidgy aliens like the brain-licking sea monster. Now I know it isn't physically impossible for me to be in one. I wonder how I might be able to tell. Suppose two universes were so similar that they both called themselves the same thing: How would they be distinguished, then? It would be nice to simply ask somebody, but who would I ask? Who would know such a thing?
If it turns out that I am in a parallel universe with a parallel Shaqad in it, do you think I should change my name to avoid confusion? What do you think of the name Princess Genevieve Mercy Felicia Anastasia Crystal Rose Isabella Victorianna Unicorn Sparkleflower Ashbourne?
In the meantime, I know I must improve my behavior. I cannot blame all of my problems on the aether. What is the secret to dispelling my stupidity? I guess if you knew that, you would have tried it a long time ago. Now I must figure it out on my own. Simply trying harder will be a reasonable first step, I'm sure.
My cheese gun has run out of fuel and stopped working. I am left in awe of the overwhelming lack of judment that led me to trust something I built myself to keep me fed throughout the winter. There is not a single dandelion leaf to be found up there, either. I very desperately need to figure out how to cook mimmoths. If I had a small machine, I'm sure I could set my mind to fixing it and thus produce a massive explosion in accordance with the Ashbourne Curse, which could possibly prepare nearby mimmoths in the same way the Jaegerladies did it. I'm trying it with my cheese gun right now, but it doesn't seem to be working. Maybe it ran out of explosions while I was originally building it. Yet, it didn't seem to be all that many explosions at the time; it really seems like there ought to be some left over.
It occurs to me that if I put the cheesification engine back together in a slightly different way, there is a remote chance that it could be made to run on a more readily available material such as gravel. If I fail horribly, which is the most likely outcome, it will either cook some mimmoths or cook me. In either case, I will no longer be in need of food. Do you think Valdy or anyone else would notice if this version of me exploded?
I should end the letter now in order to focus on reassembling the gun. I guess you'll never get this letter or any of the others if I don't survive, so if you do get this eventually, things went well.
Shaqad
Thursday, December 16, 2010
In my own head
Dear Mother and Father,
I did not see Valdy this time. I'm sorry, that's not relevant.
I got confused tonight and am worried about my mental health, as usual. Do you think I need another hysterectomy? There were a lot of people and the aether got out of whack, but I think most of it was just me. Even after everyone left and I went outside, the aether was so thick I could barely walk.
I don't know what was talked about. I think the emperor of Steeltopia paid ransom to the evil corporation that had exiled him and retook his throne, but you probably already read that in the newspapers.
There were so many people about I could not keep track of what was going on. I even fell off The Grid a few times. When I wasn't falling off the ground, apparitions of you were talking to me. I don't think I had been up past bedtime lately, so I don't know why. I tried my best not to acknowledge the mirages in front of so many people. It was disturbingly easy to not acknowledge anything at all, in fact. I sort of checked out of reality. I am not proud of this and am standing in the corner in repentance, if that helps any. (I know it likely doesn't.)
I'm unsure of the things I saw other than you, but that's normal for the Steamlands. Someone I knew appeared as beams of light, then reverted to her normal self. Someone else I barely knew but recognized as a Person of Importance appeared as a talking kitten. (She clawed on Valdy's bar. Just because she's one of the city's founders or something doesn't mean she should be allowed to hurt people's private property! I really, really wanted to stop her, but she's said to be Important and also rather dangerous. I felt quite helpless. Now I'm going to be one of the only ones who knows where those claw marks came from, and either I'll have to keep it a secret or confess my cowardice. I'm such a fool.)
It was also another one of those times when everybody poofs away before I have a chance to say goodbye.
When I got the chance, I tried to get to Shanghai to see if Valdy was out working, but with the condition of the aether, it was a long and exhausting journey just to get here. Finding her is out of the question. I'm presently near a warehouse and will probably go to sleep in it as soon as I finish writing. I don't think it's a a minty-spice warehouse. It smells like fish and death and fish afflicted with death. I wonder if I can get some paid work and buy a fish sandwich sometime, or else learn to cook mimmoths. There's a mimmoth staring at me right now, plotting my doom. I would kill it if the aether weren't so thick. I could use its pelt to make a new pair of boots. I hope it doesn't carry out its doom-plots while I sleep.
I don't even know why I'm writing this. I have nothing to say, and Squeezy is saying distressing things to me. My mind needs a rest.
No, I still can't go back to Boston or anywhere in Massachusetts. I'm not leaving here. I'm sorry.
Shaqad
I got confused tonight and am worried about my mental health, as usual. Do you think I need another hysterectomy? There were a lot of people and the aether got out of whack, but I think most of it was just me. Even after everyone left and I went outside, the aether was so thick I could barely walk.
I don't know what was talked about. I think the emperor of Steeltopia paid ransom to the evil corporation that had exiled him and retook his throne, but you probably already read that in the newspapers.
There were so many people about I could not keep track of what was going on. I even fell off The Grid a few times. When I wasn't falling off the ground, apparitions of you were talking to me. I don't think I had been up past bedtime lately, so I don't know why. I tried my best not to acknowledge the mirages in front of so many people. It was disturbingly easy to not acknowledge anything at all, in fact. I sort of checked out of reality. I am not proud of this and am standing in the corner in repentance, if that helps any. (I know it likely doesn't.)
I'm unsure of the things I saw other than you, but that's normal for the Steamlands. Someone I knew appeared as beams of light, then reverted to her normal self. Someone else I barely knew but recognized as a Person of Importance appeared as a talking kitten. (She clawed on Valdy's bar. Just because she's one of the city's founders or something doesn't mean she should be allowed to hurt people's private property! I really, really wanted to stop her, but she's said to be Important and also rather dangerous. I felt quite helpless. Now I'm going to be one of the only ones who knows where those claw marks came from, and either I'll have to keep it a secret or confess my cowardice. I'm such a fool.)
It was also another one of those times when everybody poofs away before I have a chance to say goodbye.
When I got the chance, I tried to get to Shanghai to see if Valdy was out working, but with the condition of the aether, it was a long and exhausting journey just to get here. Finding her is out of the question. I'm presently near a warehouse and will probably go to sleep in it as soon as I finish writing. I don't think it's a a minty-spice warehouse. It smells like fish and death and fish afflicted with death. I wonder if I can get some paid work and buy a fish sandwich sometime, or else learn to cook mimmoths. There's a mimmoth staring at me right now, plotting my doom. I would kill it if the aether weren't so thick. I could use its pelt to make a new pair of boots. I hope it doesn't carry out its doom-plots while I sleep.
I don't even know why I'm writing this. I have nothing to say, and Squeezy is saying distressing things to me. My mind needs a rest.
No, I still can't go back to Boston or anywhere in Massachusetts. I'm not leaving here. I'm sorry.
Shaqad
Monday, December 13, 2010
Occam's Chainsaw
Dear Mother and Father,
I believe I may have stumbled into a parallel universe. I'm surprised it took this long for it to occur to me, especially after being torn off The Grid repeatedly, but it never occurred to me previously that a universe that runs parallel to another universe might be possible. The idea finally hit me when I was digging deeply into my memory for some hint as to what happened the day before yesterday. It took a lot of concentration, but eventually things came up. Barefoot table dancing came up, but that could have been from Thursday. Ms. Aoi the Japanese fairy queen came up, but I've met her more than once before. Valdy came up. I know Valdy. There was that question I've heard many times before but still don't know the answer to: "How have you been?" I don't know how I've been. You aren't anywhere near enough to tell me how I've been, and although I may be prone to making all kinds of wild assumptions about how I am, I always wind up being wrong when I can get your objective feedback. I pity the people who ask me that question when there is no hope of my answering it correctly.
There was also another sentence that comes into my mind: "Eh, you're a good kid, Shaqad." My memory says Valdy said that. It is too strange even for my subconscious to come up with, but it could not have occurred on our Grid. And yet I think it happened. Thus, I must conclude that I am no longer in the same universe I was born into.
Father, do you remember the stories of Arthur Trigmason or whatever his name was? The one who was toying with dimensional harmonics in an effort to conquer every universe in existence, but was never seen again? Everyone thought he was insane because there isn't anything to conquer out there except for great squidgy Eldritch things, but perhaps he knew something nobody else did. Perhaps there really are other universes full of humanlike beings, and perhaps I'm in one of them.
The implications are staggering. If my hypothesis is correct (which it probably isn't, given that it's coming from a little lady who can't even set a table correctly), there's no telling how far I am from home. Are there copies of people in this universe, such as you and me? Is it possible to go back the way I came? If there are duplicates of people, what has my indigenous self been up to? Is there a version of me still on my home Grid? When did I leave? Does everyone here secretly have tentacles and extra eyes after all? What is expected of me now that I'm here? How long will it take for Valdy to realize I'm not the "good kid" she thinks I am? Are the laws of physics and ethics even the same here? Is the God who's upset about the doily incident the same God who created all the other universes?
Now I'm getting a little bit crazy with my speculations. I should stop now. I should be concerned about matters of non-speculative importance, such as how not to induce this world's Valdy to retract her mysterious statement. This is different from the glass shelf, but it's hard to say how.
Or perhaps she never said that after all, and it really is just my imagination.
Shaqad
I believe I may have stumbled into a parallel universe. I'm surprised it took this long for it to occur to me, especially after being torn off The Grid repeatedly, but it never occurred to me previously that a universe that runs parallel to another universe might be possible. The idea finally hit me when I was digging deeply into my memory for some hint as to what happened the day before yesterday. It took a lot of concentration, but eventually things came up. Barefoot table dancing came up, but that could have been from Thursday. Ms. Aoi the Japanese fairy queen came up, but I've met her more than once before. Valdy came up. I know Valdy. There was that question I've heard many times before but still don't know the answer to: "How have you been?" I don't know how I've been. You aren't anywhere near enough to tell me how I've been, and although I may be prone to making all kinds of wild assumptions about how I am, I always wind up being wrong when I can get your objective feedback. I pity the people who ask me that question when there is no hope of my answering it correctly.
There was also another sentence that comes into my mind: "Eh, you're a good kid, Shaqad." My memory says Valdy said that. It is too strange even for my subconscious to come up with, but it could not have occurred on our Grid. And yet I think it happened. Thus, I must conclude that I am no longer in the same universe I was born into.
Father, do you remember the stories of Arthur Trigmason or whatever his name was? The one who was toying with dimensional harmonics in an effort to conquer every universe in existence, but was never seen again? Everyone thought he was insane because there isn't anything to conquer out there except for great squidgy Eldritch things, but perhaps he knew something nobody else did. Perhaps there really are other universes full of humanlike beings, and perhaps I'm in one of them.
The implications are staggering. If my hypothesis is correct (which it probably isn't, given that it's coming from a little lady who can't even set a table correctly), there's no telling how far I am from home. Are there copies of people in this universe, such as you and me? Is it possible to go back the way I came? If there are duplicates of people, what has my indigenous self been up to? Is there a version of me still on my home Grid? When did I leave? Does everyone here secretly have tentacles and extra eyes after all? What is expected of me now that I'm here? How long will it take for Valdy to realize I'm not the "good kid" she thinks I am? Are the laws of physics and ethics even the same here? Is the God who's upset about the doily incident the same God who created all the other universes?
Now I'm getting a little bit crazy with my speculations. I should stop now. I should be concerned about matters of non-speculative importance, such as how not to induce this world's Valdy to retract her mysterious statement. This is different from the glass shelf, but it's hard to say how.
Or perhaps she never said that after all, and it really is just my imagination.
Shaqad
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