I finally finished the book I've been desperately trying to find time for all week. Not a bad book, neuromancer, though I feel like the ending is a bit empty. It's one of those Clockwork Orange endings, where you hope a character develops throughout the story, and at the end, they return into the ruts of their past. This was actually one of the reasons I disliked Mistborn so much was because the main character learned to trust and in the second novel remembered how to be paranoid and forgot everything the first book had worked so hard to instill.
I had all day to write, and all I did was draw a fish, un-draw a fish, re-draw a fish, read, go walking in the sun - actually, I think I did all of the introvert activities I wanted to get accomplished except writing. And now, I'm at the point where I'm not even sure I'm creative anymore.
Tonight will be a sandbox night and a journaling night, then.
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sandbox
In my dreams, I always imagined trains moving faster, like hyperspace tunnels blue-shifting past in a cosmic blur, and I'd be staring out - and in - mesmerized by something behind my eyes. Trains raced along railways of transient color, existing only at two stations. Between destination and origin, trains followed phantom rainbows or chugged between twilight stars.
strange looks, he received, but if it doesn't concern them, even a walrus can conduct a train unnnoticeably
children shouted as they boarded, look at the walrus, mama!
why, what a rude thing to say. he may have whiskers like a walrus, or the stomach of one, but that is our conductor, and it is unkind to call him a walrus.
but i am one - is it rude to be a walrus?
Ah, for my last trick,
I clamber into the box
and saw myself in half,
it's magick, don't scream,
I say, dragging myself free -
but I've forgotten my legs
look what a fool is me.
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