Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Third-person Internet Searchings of a Wandering Idiot

Why is it, he thought, that whenever a story unfolded from his fingers did it begin with something akin to: " --- happened." He thought, why do I always think of an action to begin my stories? Can it not be different, can I not make of my stories what Zeus made of the Chimaera?
Chimaera, she stood there- all that was and much that wasn't. Chimaera, the essence of feral bestiality, the indulgence of sin. Chimaera, that dark beast that seduces at night to devour in twilight.
"I moved on. Chimaera may promise depravities unknown, but the Kraken I prefer." So saying he brought up Alfred Lord Tennyson's Kraken.
"His ancient, dreamless, un-in-va-ded sleep," he intoned. "Do I detect an influence on Cthulhu mythos?"
So thinking, his thoughts turned to horror Lovecraftian. The ancient machine snarled at him, humming its quiet tunes. "The fan needs replacing," observed he. "This machine may be on its last legs, after all." As if to prove him wrong, the laptop swirled in almighty rage and summoned up the requisite webpage.
"Hmm. Reverse psychology works on machines too." Lovecraft, the master of his domain. Cthulhu reared from the ugly depths and in the mind of our unthinking author whispered those blasphemous words: "Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn." In his house at R'lyeh Cthulhu sleeps, waiting.
The aspect "Sleep" traversed the quagmire of his mind for something to connect with. It found Morpheus observing the young author.
"Ah, progress." Morpheus in his placid rage turned to our hero. "Finally you have sent ammunition my way! Let fingers falter and eyelids droop, let the sweet seduction of sleep swoop. Find your bed more pleasing to the eye, make your grave, and in it, lie."
Good advice, thought the author. But he had miles to go before he could even get out of his chair, and the laptop, slinky little slut she was, turned to him the eye of lasciviousness and beckoned him closer. "I pimp myself out to the internet. We are prostitutes," he observed, "in a world populated by neighbours who their neighbours know not, but who name someone half a continent away friend."
So saying he opened up Facebook. Sure enough, there were people in Europe, France, America, Java.. "Do I know you?" he asked, pointing at a likely candidate for his ire.
"I suppose not." He closed the laptop, and went for class.

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