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Sep. 12th, 2013 03:14 pmDreaming.
There are no such things as train graveyards.
Trains do not need graveyards because trains are big machines of steel and iron, driven by steam and fire. They are not enormous segmented insects, like centipedes with round little legs that cling to the tracks and propel huge trails of hollowed carapace, carrying who-knows-what across the long, lonely tracks between strange, murky stations under black stars.
This is what I told myself as I walked along, stepping from one old railway tie to the next, carefully avoiding shards of broken chitin. I was looking for someone. In the distance another one of them limped in with a great crack in the shell of its first segment, leaking oily black ichor in spurts, pushing aside the exoskeletal husks of its forefathers before shuddering to a halt, letting out one last, low, mournful whistle. I paused and looked down solemnly. I felt I should say something, but there was nothing to say.
Something moved in the murky, windless twilight. Something crawling, skittering amongst the ancient husks. I was frightened, but also, I thought: this must be the one who called me here. I called out, softly: “Hello?”
I heard something in response, not really words but a string of connected thoughts: “entity:both -- here -- good -- knowing?”
“What? Who are you?” The skittering was closer, coming from behind or maybe within one of the bigger shells. I took a few steps toward it.
The creature crawled over the top of the dead husk; I jumped back and tripped over the remains of a wheel-like leg. It was at least six feet long and mostly covered in glossy grey-black plates, with many long insectile legs protruding from its sides at intervals. Its head, if it was a head, was small and bulbous, mounted on the end of a very long, thin flexible neck. The head and the underside of the neck were unplated and looked soft, rubbery; they pulsated unpleasantly in places as it moved. Small mandibles with little finger-like manipulators at the ends dangled from the end of the neck. It had no real eyes, but a pair of colourful, mismatched eye-spots had been painted on either side of its head. I was frightened, but also strangely drawn. Did it paint those spots itself?
It stopped approaching when I fell and took a few steps back. “entity:other -- fear/distress -- hurt? -- regret”
I climbed to me feel and brushed myself off. “I’m okay ... are you ... what are you?” I asked.
“entity:self -- being --- home/origin -- great distance --- entity:both -- knowing -- past -- bright place -- yes?” Its head moved from side to side as it ‘spoke,’ pointing one false eye at me and then the other.
“I’m not sure I understand. You’re asking if we’ve met before? I don’t ...” I trailed off.
“knowing:both -- bright place -- past -- good --- knowing?:other -- flat place -- present -- unknown --- entity:self -- present -- again -- knowing -- desire -- good?”
Except it wasn’t really talking and these weren’t really words, they were little wavelengths of thought that translated into ideas and then roughly into grammarless strings of words. I closed my eyes and drummed my fingers on the knuckles of my other hand.
“Bright place” was an incredibly alien image but also, somehow, familiar. An ocean of undimensional light, shifting, with no context to determine motion, direction, orientation, only waves of hot brightness and the patterns in those waves. Patterns that twisted and curled in on themselves, sometimes, forming rudimentary souls that swam through the white, called to one another with wordless words. I said “I think I remember ... something. A white ocean. Swimming, sinking there.”
There was a rumbling in the distance; the creature moved; my eyes shot open. A great dark cloud was rising over the horizon and growing larger rapidly. The creature shifted and skittered from side to side urgently. “dark/dream place -- near future -- not being -- become --- entity:self -- absence -- immediately -- fear/regret”
The cloud grew closer, sweeping across the entire horizon. I imagined I saw enormous legs or mandibles the colour of rusted metal within it. I wasn’t frightened -- it was only a dream. I was a little sad, though. “Goodbye, I guess,” I said. Then, as the creature began to skitter away into the distance, I called, “Wait ... will I see you again?” but it was already gone. I sat down and scratched at the dirt with a small shard of shell until the dream-eater came, and then I woke.
There are no such things as train graveyards.
Trains do not need graveyards because trains are big machines of steel and iron, driven by steam and fire. They are not enormous segmented insects, like centipedes with round little legs that cling to the tracks and propel huge trails of hollowed carapace, carrying who-knows-what across the long, lonely tracks between strange, murky stations under black stars.
This is what I told myself as I walked along, stepping from one old railway tie to the next, carefully avoiding shards of broken chitin. I was looking for someone. In the distance another one of them limped in with a great crack in the shell of its first segment, leaking oily black ichor in spurts, pushing aside the exoskeletal husks of its forefathers before shuddering to a halt, letting out one last, low, mournful whistle. I paused and looked down solemnly. I felt I should say something, but there was nothing to say.
Something moved in the murky, windless twilight. Something crawling, skittering amongst the ancient husks. I was frightened, but also, I thought: this must be the one who called me here. I called out, softly: “Hello?”
I heard something in response, not really words but a string of connected thoughts: “entity:both -- here -- good -- knowing?”
“What? Who are you?” The skittering was closer, coming from behind or maybe within one of the bigger shells. I took a few steps toward it.
The creature crawled over the top of the dead husk; I jumped back and tripped over the remains of a wheel-like leg. It was at least six feet long and mostly covered in glossy grey-black plates, with many long insectile legs protruding from its sides at intervals. Its head, if it was a head, was small and bulbous, mounted on the end of a very long, thin flexible neck. The head and the underside of the neck were unplated and looked soft, rubbery; they pulsated unpleasantly in places as it moved. Small mandibles with little finger-like manipulators at the ends dangled from the end of the neck. It had no real eyes, but a pair of colourful, mismatched eye-spots had been painted on either side of its head. I was frightened, but also strangely drawn. Did it paint those spots itself?
It stopped approaching when I fell and took a few steps back. “entity:other -- fear/distress -- hurt? -- regret”
I climbed to me feel and brushed myself off. “I’m okay ... are you ... what are you?” I asked.
“entity:self -- being --- home/origin -- great distance --- entity:both -- knowing -- past -- bright place -- yes?” Its head moved from side to side as it ‘spoke,’ pointing one false eye at me and then the other.
“I’m not sure I understand. You’re asking if we’ve met before? I don’t ...” I trailed off.
“knowing:both -- bright place -- past -- good --- knowing?:other -- flat place -- present -- unknown --- entity:self -- present -- again -- knowing -- desire -- good?”
Except it wasn’t really talking and these weren’t really words, they were little wavelengths of thought that translated into ideas and then roughly into grammarless strings of words. I closed my eyes and drummed my fingers on the knuckles of my other hand.
“Bright place” was an incredibly alien image but also, somehow, familiar. An ocean of undimensional light, shifting, with no context to determine motion, direction, orientation, only waves of hot brightness and the patterns in those waves. Patterns that twisted and curled in on themselves, sometimes, forming rudimentary souls that swam through the white, called to one another with wordless words. I said “I think I remember ... something. A white ocean. Swimming, sinking there.”
There was a rumbling in the distance; the creature moved; my eyes shot open. A great dark cloud was rising over the horizon and growing larger rapidly. The creature shifted and skittered from side to side urgently. “dark/dream place -- near future -- not being -- become --- entity:self -- absence -- immediately -- fear/regret”
The cloud grew closer, sweeping across the entire horizon. I imagined I saw enormous legs or mandibles the colour of rusted metal within it. I wasn’t frightened -- it was only a dream. I was a little sad, though. “Goodbye, I guess,” I said. Then, as the creature began to skitter away into the distance, I called, “Wait ... will I see you again?” but it was already gone. I sat down and scratched at the dirt with a small shard of shell until the dream-eater came, and then I woke.
