Mini-fic.

Mar. 10th, 2014 08:41 pm
baloonworld: (bird)

I had nightmares sometimes. Then I'd wake up and realise that mindless impersonal forces beyond my comprehension had created me and my fellow fragile sacks of lipids to live and suffer in a world devoid of meaning or purpose.

Even my despair is an exercise in futility. "Oh, if I arrange the neurochemicals in the way that means 'I'm really _sad_', the universes will turn around and say 'oops, here's the all-encompassing purpose that we accidentally forgot to give you at birth.' "


...


Can I persuade someone to write the horror story where the universe does this?

baloonworld: (bird)
So, apparently, I write TL fanfic these days.
Inspired by my interpretation of the result of Steve's idea for an apocalyptic system setting reset.

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baloonworld: (bird)
Reading health and safety documentation for my new job has magically give me a prologue for my Mass effect fanfics.

The systems alliance has defined "Reapers" to be a race of omnicidal alien robot gods. Commander Shepard has adopted this definition and believes that Reapers constitute a health and safety issue, which needs to be managed in the same way as any other health and safety issue. Commander Shepard acknowledges the importance of identifying and reducing omnicidal alien robot gods in the workplace.
baloonworld: (bird)
Bring down the protracted legal proceedings. [a Mass effect fanfic]

Ka'hairal Balak was bored. It was seven months since he was committed the greatest feet of daring his people had engaged in since leaving the council; two months in hospital and five months of tiresome legal wrangling. You use mass drivers on an inhabited world and you expect reaction, but the humans hadn't blinked. They'd arrested him, gathered forensic evidence, eyewitness testimony and electronic surveillance data, asked him if he wanted to retain council, assigned him a defense team when he'd refused to acknowledge their jurisdiction, and started cross examinations and complicated legal arguments.

His defense team. No. The defense team, they weren't his, were, as far as he could tell, hardworking, committed and devastatingly intelligent; no one was going to look at the result of this trial and declare it a setup; interstellar observers had full access to the trial personnel, and their records would be unsealed whenever their governments felt like embarrassing Earth.

The defense team had just spent a week trying to get some of the electronic record expunged from the trial record on the basis that it did not conform to current data standards. It wasn't quite true that the humans were indifferent to his attack; there was actually some buzz around the court at the possibility of prosecuting the first fully Total Quality Assurance-compliant war-crimes* tribunal. He'd been issued with a VI which helped him keep up with the lawyer's discussions, giving potted histories of important precedent cases**, which he was slowly beginning to realise, was how he was to be remembered, not as a martyr to the cause of Batarian independence, but as Balak vs Terra Nova [2183], a significant case in Total Evidence Quality.

*Following some backroom discussions and the threat of legal proceedings from the Council, the state of Terra Nova had acknowledged that the Council was the proper body to prosecute the attempted destruction of a habitable biosphere. That trial was to be held once this on was over.
baloonworld: (Default)
I was tidying up because I don't need thesis-things in my life quite as much right now (did I say I submitted? I think I said I submitted), and in my pile of stuff I found some poems inspired by the antics on the train on the way back from one of my interviews. My main discovery is that everything sounds violently Scandinavian in alliterative half-lines.

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Nouns

Dec. 8th, 2011 10:39 am
baloonworld: (Default)
Inspired by mishearing something that Rachel was saying about having to write terrible fanfic such that the word "thou", while used gratuitously as per the original text was also grammatically correct (a feature not present in the original text). She said "the thous" I heard "the nouns".


"I repudiate and curse," said Father levelly, "Those that are used to name. From now on, I shall insinuate what I am talking about, and use `I', `It' `suchlike' and suchlike."
"What is he up to?" asked Zombina, who thought that avoiding contractions made her speech more elegant.
"I think he's giving something up. Maybe for for Lent." Susan was considering adopting a faith in order to be better fettered by conventional morality, "I don't think anyone's celebrating Easter right now, but he's not exactly good at dates."
"It's the umpty-first." said Father, a bit snappish at the accusation of datefail. There are 19 umpty-firsts a year, and while there are more x0's that doesn't translate to speech naturally, "probably."
He checked his phone, "Seventh, even."
"What exactly are you giving up, Father?"
"Them. Them that I can't name, on account of giving them up."
"Oh" said Susan, "How convenient."
baloonworld: (Default)
You have to be a good engineer to build a bridge cross the Styx, Lethe, Acheron, Phlegethon or Cocytus. The best in fact. Every day nearly 57 million people cross them, and few are those that can pay the price of the ferry across the Acheron. The rest walk and swim, scrambling and climbing over each other, churning the banks to mud and the water to silt. There is no bedrock, only swimmers, water, silt and mud, pushing down forever. It is a horrible thing to try and sink foundations into, and you can not clear an area of the struggling swimmers.

If you are the best, you have to build the bridge. It's a tautology, but a true one, and the best bridge builder is the Bishop of Rome. His predecessors wrested the title form the old high priests of Rome, and he's stuck with it. Their half is complete and the three hundred-odd squabbling, triple-crowned workers sit waiting, legs dangling over the end of their kilometre-wide roadway. Soon it will be time to widen the bridge again. There is no point of course; the live side can't be seen from their vantage point because it doesn't exist, but they keep the bridge wide enough for the expected traffic as a matter of pride.

The live side doesn't exist because the dead are compelled to cross, and any construction by the lone worker is inevitably dragged down and by slow degrees, buried under mud and silt by the constant churning of endless feet.
baloonworld: (Default)
Guild of Free Separated Reformed Researchers,

Syndic, I enclose the copies and latest field-translations of the normal fragments, recovered from the Mirror-Tomb referred to in the Codex Bicuitium. I apologies for the weight, but the Merlin protocols insist that all field notes and internal documents be carved in slabs of granite to endue the meta-entropic effects in the vicinity of the Mirror-Tomb. The runes are archaic in the extreme, and there are uncertainties and may be outright errors in the translation.

Yours,
Seeker Firestone,
Greenland Anarchist Non-state,
AE1108



... the furthest ranges of this world and the others I had and by way of trial meetings with some normal people three main groups, those the Baker, Maid and Gypsy identified. For the [beginner-class-participant ?] gypsies are to be interview by far the more useful, since they consider, how the world is real will speak, and able, crucial points can be mutual experience e.g. fire, trees and the old guidelines to identify of Blag, while Maids speak convincingly of over such things are completely unable, and instead of of the Knickers, Which Jerky Move, the [Meaning? Reason?] of Washing Behind Ears, How One Speaks During in Presence of the Ladies and Knowing Your Place, of which no think[ing] possible is meaningful, although the first two can be copied to something success ...

[Here the original is torn; we are missing several paragraphs]

... was at all successfully found; the Baker found I the maintained [Noun] sex (poss. as in "partner"), demonstrates to an affinity for the sky magic and a proven history of the fight and can as degenerated copy be regarded, had been gotten dirty (by?) the world am real by the way. [Beyond]

[Here the original is torn; we are missing several paragraphs]


... explained several of the secrets of the normal behaviour to me, and I transfer here my field notes: They showed me an accumulation greenish articles, approximately spherical [Lit. "spherically"] , with indentions to opposite sides, which explained size of a [Noun]-head and that it was [called ?] "apple", a kind of " [in sequence; is;] fruit" with, there one can be eaten watering place, master of celebrations or [poss. Magic-water] would [take]. [Here the grammar is very difficult, and I am not sure the clauses line up]

[Here the original is torn; a corner is missing]


... the trees, more frequently [admit ? known ?] for their use of the Kobolden for magic transpiration for murder and escaping and of the Druid for [shared-life? marriage?] healing. They can be removed from the trees with a simple tractor. Apples not (in the normal experience, although I keep doubts about the condition of the apples in the [not-normal] world), poisoned or cursed, although something other fruits a distance of the natural poison effects offer, always the same for each kind included.

The formation-member of the apple available in this place was sour to taste and here they informed a normal [talent/skill/ability/power/ritual], which [" as mine; admits is;] "baking" [untranslateable. fragment] connection to the Bakers is beyond my understanding). A hole was cut between the indentions, and the apple is set over a fire. Here there were something disorders, but the fire was apparent to the fire one could use, around a [dragging fishing rod ?] on to burn identically. After one time period, the apple was become "baked apple" and more softly and more sweetly ...


Original text under the cut )

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