kimurho: a wee man riding on a cat (Default)
When I was very young, three or four years old, I did not want to take a nap and my mother was too frayed to handle it so my dad did. I remember that he told me to lie in bed and tell myself a story and I could get up after five minutes.

Naturally, I fell asleep. I started telling myself stories at night in bed to fall asleep after that and did for ... well decades, until recently (past 5 or 10 years). It's harder now to visualize the stories and the effort is waking my brain making it harder to fall asleep.

Then I found out that if I write the stories down ... physically, pen to paper ... just before turning the lights out, I fall asleep more easily.

I don't know where this story will go. I don't know if it will be complete. But these are what I have written so far. There is a delay, because it takes me a while to keyboard in what I've written and ... sometimes, I have to re-think a bit or wait until a block readjusts in my headspace.

Chapter 1 - Intro: Sarah Farris is hiding. She's convinced that someone is looking for her and for six years she has successfully hidden. Now she needs a psychology elective and both Child Psych and Human Sexuality leave her cold. But is parapsychology what she needs? Or will it end up destroying her? - 190109 - 1323 words
Chapter 2 - Despite her best efforts, Sarah makes a friend in the parapsychology class; a young man named Craig. To her dismay, she discovers that he is not exactly who she thought he was. - 190110 - 2089 words
Chapter 3 - Sarah takes counsel with St. Brigid and works a spell to protect herself from the duplicitous Craig Stevenson. - 190112 - 1118 words
Chapter 4 - Ghostbusting 101 lecture. Sarah learns that she wasn't quite as invisible as she thought she was. - 190113 - 1472 words
Chapter 5 - Sarah has a panic attack - 190114 - 2095 words
Chapter 6 - Craig and Justine review the results of the pre-cog and telepathy trials. They do not agree on the conclusions. - 190115 - 1712 words
Chapter 7 - Craig and Justine are called to investigate a possible scene of devil worshipping in the library. - 190116 - 2984 words
Chapter 8 - Justine calls reinforcements to the library investigation. - 190119 - 3116 words
Chapter 9 - Sarah gets some hard advice on her life from an unlikely source. - 190120 - 1898 words
Chapter 10 - Another incident in the library; Craig and his colleagues investigate. - 190127 - 2280 words
Chapter 11- Acting on the advice she recently received, Sarah applies for an internship with the Parapsychology group. - 190122 - 2608 words
Chapter 12 - Sarah tutors Dr. Monaghan's interns in the mechanics of spell-writing. - 190201 - 4586 words
Chapter 13 - Craig comes face to face with some hard truths - 190203 - 3032 words
Chapter 14 - Situation in the Parapsychology Office - 190206 - 1878 words
Chapter 15 - Talking Sarah down - 190207 - 3539 words
Chapter 16 - Situation solved, going home - 190214 - 3799 words
Chapter 17 - Little Harmonic Labyrinth; Justine is suspicious of Sarah, Craig decides to investigate alone - 190220 - 2986 words
Chapter 18 - Craig is missing. Sarah offers to help find him. Justine questions her motives. - 190221 - 4533 words
Chapter 19 - Justine drives Sarah to campus, Sarah prepares to craft a working - 190223 - 2437 words
kimurho: a wee man riding on a cat (Default)
Sleep Journal
23 February 2019
Sarah Farris

It was a great exit line. Too bad I didn't have anywhere to exit to.

I stormed off up the hill toward the Psych building, leaving Justine to lock up her car.

She didn't catch me up until I was half-way up the hill.

"So." she said, winded and puffing from the effort. "My car; how long will it last?"

I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, wondering what she was going on about. "I'm neither a mechanic nor a seer," I said shortly.

She laughed. "No. I mean ... I saw what you did when you got in and whatever it was, it worked." I still had no clue what she was talking about. "We hit every light green on the way here."

Read more... )
kimurho: a wee man riding on a cat (Default)
I do not know what to do with myself.

I think I'll go read and drink tea and be civilized for the nonce.

Except ...

I made a green aventurine bead necklace today for my baby sister. Not exactly for her birthday, since that's in four days and it would never get there in time, but in honour of her birthday. I'm planning to knot a pearl necklace the same length and twist them together so she'll effective have three necklaces. Those two separately or the two of them twisted together.

My current most useful necklace is something similar - a black pearl necklace and a white pearl necklace twisted together with a double-sided clasp.
kimurho: a wee man riding on a cat (Default)
It took place in a kingdom with magic. A kingdom in upheaval. The heir to the throne was on the run, the pretender was poised to take the crown.

In my dream, I was a candidate of the Black School of Magic; in order to become a "black cloak witch" I had to pass the test of this fortress-like place which was under the control of the "red cloak witches".

Red-cloak witches had killed off or had killed off most of the Black-cloak witches. They support the pretender, in return for their help, he made magic illegal in his portions of the kingdom. But only persecuted Black-cloak witches. The fortress of the test of magic was in his territory.

My aunt ... I don't know what she was. She was narcissistic, venial, arrogant, powerful, selfish, vain,untrustworthy and did I mention a powerful witch. She hated the Red-cloak witches but from the way I felt about her in the dream, I suspect she was a Red-cloak who had fallen out with her sister witches and now just wanted to bring them all down. She taught me Black magic and encouraged me to take the test of magic.

I watched a Black-cloak candidate try to gain access to the fortress to take the test. Teenaged witches too young for the cloaks they wore stood on the stone bridge across the moat, blocking access the way bullies do in high school corridors. The candidate found a rope bridge off to the side - or maybe she wove it with magic, I'm not sure. She stepped out onto it happily, confidently (because you should always approach magic with confidence.)

She didn't make it across the moat. The beasts in the moat tore her into bloody pieces while the young Red-Cloak witches roared with laughter at her flailings.

Quietly and over time, with the counsel of my aunt (who was heavily pregnant at this time), I collected all the Black-cloak candidates I could find. My aunt was critical in devising our strategies and advising our efforts - but she did not provide any magical assistance (the practice of magic is forbidden when one is pregnant; I'm not sure it was possible, though if any woman could, my aunt would.)

We stormed the fortress en masse, over-ran the young bullies, made our way into the fortress and into the test. Some of us came out with red cloaks, most won the black. We pledged our support to the true heir and ...

My aunt gave birth to her own child (as in, I don't think there was any father). It ... she ... had adult features that were the mirror of my aunt's and a full set of long reddish curling locks, exactly like my aunt's. There was a foreboding feeling at the sight of the child and I woke up.


When I woke up, it bothered me that in the dream I was trying to become a Black-cloak witch. In Western Christian culture, witchcraft is divided into black and white ... rarely grey. Black is evil and strong. White is good and weak.

But I study Gaelic folklore and one of the things I've come across is that magic is described as black but that isn't a moral description. Sgoil dubh, the black school, is the school of magic. The Dark Arts are magical arts. I am reminded that in the culture of the Far East, white is the colour of death. A book I read recently set in the culture of Indonesia stated that black was the colour of rejoicing.

I think that my dream was making a differentiation between magic, per se, and necromancy.

The test of the fortress that I experienced was to face an opponent without having access to my magic. I suspect that the opponent was myself WITH magic, that is, my magical self.

It was not an easy test to pass, but it makes a lot of logical sense. A magic-user ... A Black-cloak witch ... must be the one in control of her magic. Moral considerations, Ethical concerns, Rational thought MUST prevail over the use of magic.

Or any great power, I suppose.
kimurho: a wee man riding on a cat (Default)
Sleep Journal
21 February 2019

A scream out of nightmare woke me.

A harpy shrilling shattering sleep.

Terror spiking, heart racing, lungs labouring. As though running a race I never could win.

I flailed. I fought.

I fell. Read more... )
kimurho: a wee man riding on a cat (Default)
Sleep Journal
20 February 2019
Craig Stevenson

It wasn't easy for Craig to let Sarah walk out alone. She looked to him as though a stiff breeze would knock her over. On the other hand, considering what she revealed, he didn't think she could stand it if she knew he was following but maybe she didn't have to know he was following? One guy in gear on a motorbike looked a lot like any other guy in gear on a motorbike. He jittered over to the coatrack, to get his jacket and helmet, hesitating and second-guessing himself. The door opened, he twisted around, thinking maybe she'd come back but it was Justine and Mrs. Logan.

Read more... )
kimurho: a wee man riding on a cat (Default)
Sleep Journal
14 February 2019

Joe caught himself up, jerking upright and looking around with panic. His gaze fell on me and stopped. He began to babble, one word following another without pause or breath.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm really really sorry I would never have I didn't know I didn't know it would scare you like that I didn't mean to hurt you."

He took step toward me, then another, his hand raising up. Reaching.

I drew myself up, at ready, raising my own hands. Just in case.

Read more... )
kimurho: a wee man riding on a cat (Default)
Sleep Journal
7 February 2019

Sarah Farris

The fates were not kind. The ground did not rise up to swallow me. Read more... )
kimurho: a wee man riding on a cat (Default)
Sleep Journal
06 February 2019
Craig Stevenson

JJ and Craig rode the rest of the way up to the third floor in silence. JJ started to speak once, glanced at his companion and closed his mouth, words unspoken. The lift doors opened, they were in a small side-hall off the long hall running the length of the building. The suite of offices housing the Parapsych group were to the left, on the downward side of the building, looking out over the city instead of up toward the centre of campus. They turned that way.

Read more... )
kimurho: a wee man riding on a cat (Default)
Sleep Journal
03 February 2019

Craig Stevenson

It was almost noon before they finally left the library. Laura ... Dr. Wingate ... had departed earlier, along with Cam and Steve. She had a graduate seminar at noon and the two of them were in it. Before they left, however, the group confirmed that only one of the many papers plastered over the windows of the study was an original; the rest were photocopies; and that the obstruction extended to hip-high and was only present to males.

There was some discussion on what to call the obstruction; Laura liked using the term 'barrier', JJ called it a 'ward', and Craig kept using the term 'force field', especially after he found that it annoyed Laura.

Douglas Monaghan reserved judgement.

Read more... )
kimurho: a wee man riding on a cat (Default)
Sleep Journal
01 February 2019

I checked my distance from the door, a quick glance over my shoulder; I didn't want to take my eyes entirely off either intern. Although, at that moment, he was the only one I could see. She was hidden behind him. Not for long.

As he ... the male intern ... Joe, took half a step closer, the lass sidled to the side, out from behind him. "Joe ... don't ..." she said.

I wasn't too far from the door; I could make it, if I ran. I readied myself for the attempt. Read more... )
kimurho: a wee man riding on a cat (Default)
Why does it take longer to keyboard in the story than it does to write it out longhand? That seems counter-intuitive.
kimurho: a wee man riding on a cat (Default)
Even though the time stamp on this is a few days earlier than the previously posted entry, I assure you, this comes after. That's one of the reasons for the long delay - my subconscious was on strike until I sorted out the order. Another reason is that I needed to work out how rune magic works. Can't explain something unless you understand it.


Sleep Journal
22 January 2019

It was too early to expect Craig ... Dr. Stevenson to be in the office and I had an early lab anyway. I went home to change and grab a bite to eat first, then to campus for my class.

Despite the lack of sleep, I felt more alive than I have in a long time. Colours were brighter, sounds were sharper, scents more pungent.

It was almost mid-day before I got to the Parapsych office in the fourth floor of the Psych Building.

He wasn't there.

Read more... )
kimurho: a wee man riding on a cat (Default)
Sleep Journal
27 January 2019

Craig overslept.

The amazing thing was that he slept at all. He couldn't get comfortable what with his head aching and the pains in his back from where he hit the shelves and every time he did manage to drop off, first JJ's 3 month old son, Aaron, would start roaring. Every four hours, like clockwork, JJ would come knocking at the door of the room Craig was in and start asking inane questions like 'What's your name?' and 'How many fingers am I holding up?' and 'What year is it?' Craig got so fed up, he began giving wild answers like 'Peter Venkman', '15', and '2525' but that only made JJ threaten to call emergency services.

Light was glowing around the blackout curtains when JJ came in the last time. Craig growled, then called out, "My name is Puddintame, I live down the lane, my phone number is cucumber, now go away!"

"Laura just called. There was an incident with the study room in the library overnight. She's there now and she wants us there as well."

Read more... )
kimurho: a wee man riding on a cat (Default)
Index of Sleep Journal entries on Fairge Anma"

Sleep Journal
20 January 2019

Dr. Stevenson's class was my last one for the day and, as luck would have it, I wasn't scheduled to work that night either.


That's another of those words that I think I know but it's used differently here in the World. Here, it means exactly the same thing as chance. Here, what I know as luck, they call magic.

Read more... )
kimurho: a wee man riding on a cat (Default)
Index to Fairge Anmna Sleep Journal entries

Sleep Journal
19 January 2019

Justine must have called more than just emergency services; Douglas Monaghan arrived before the med techs and he wasn't alone. With him were the two other department professors, JJ Stillman and Laura Wingate, and a student intern, Nikki Bower.

Craig was half-lying on the floor when he saw Dr. Monaghan and the others, Justine kneeling beside him. He started to stand, despite Justine's protest, but quickly sat again when he head got woozy. Too woozy to string together a coherent account of what they'd found or what happened. Justine took over and explained that they, he and she, had done right up to the time Craig had gotten injured.

Read more... )
kimurho: a wee man riding on a cat (Default)
Index of Entries

Sleep Journal
16 January 2019

Craig returned much more slowly, head down, checking the numbers. He'd tested the ambient electromagnetic field in both test rooms and the hall. He'd had Neil plug the wonky computer in and tested it for fluctuations. The results were inconclusive at best. Almost discouraging but it didn't really matter what the readings were for every separate part of the puzzle but how they all worked synergistically.

He made the effort to remind himself not to get too excited; at the moment it was just a theory. And Justine's theory at that.

Read more... )
kimurho: a wee man riding on a cat (Default)
The book of short stories, not the series starring Dwayne Hickman and Bob Denver. That I never saw.

Someone gave me this book when I was in high school - I can't remember who. Unfortunately, I stored it with some other things in my mother's attic when I left for college and never got that or the other stuff back before we lost the house. My fault, they were there for decades and I never thought to get them when I was visiting home.

This morning, for no reason I can imagine, I woke thinking about the Dobie Gillis short story "Love is a Fallacy" (I looked up the title. I remember the story, not the name). In it, Dobie desires the a friend's girl. She's beautiful and gracious, good-tempered and beautiful. And dumb as a rock, but she's beautiful. Dobie offers to trade his raccoon-skin coat to his friend if his friend will break up with the girl. Friend accepts, Dobie moves in.

And proceeds on his girl-improvement plan, teaching her how to debate and argue using logic and facts rather than voice and emotion. (Which, to be fair, would be nice if it were taught these days, but I digress.)

At the end of the story, the girl informs Dobie that she's breaking up with him and going back to the friend. Dobie reacts ... emotionally. She counters every one of his arguments with cool logic.

Finally, Dobie demands "Why? What does he have that I don't have?"

"He has a raccoon-skin coat."

I don't like Dobie.

I don't like his attitude toward women ... girls. I don't like that he thought he could buy a beautiful girl and then polish her to make her perfect. I couldn't understand why she put up with him as long as she did - the friend obviously thought she was great the way she was; why would she want someone who projected 'You'd be great if only ...' and set a bar that she didn't want to jump?

But men are always doing this.

That's the message that society sends to women - that they "would be great if only ..."
they colour their hair
they lose weight
they dress better
they use make-up
they have a little nip-and-tuck
they were thinner
they have bigger breasts

they were a younger model

That's what it really comes down to.

Women would be great if only they were the perpetual plastic perfection of a Barbie doll - frozen in their mid-twenties.

{For the record, my dreams this morning were about an Italian family of lighthouse-keepers preparing for an enemy invasion. It was lively, entertaining, loving, and full of diverse personalities. An adventure with no romance. And no Dobie Gillis. I enjoyed it so much that I kept going back to sleep to find out more.}
kimurho: a wee man riding on a cat (Default)
Index of Entries

Sleep Journal
15 January 2019

Craig crossed the distance between office door and desk, slapped the folder in his hand down on top of the stack already waiting on his desk, and dropped into the chair behind the desk. He spun himself around to open the laptop.

She hadn't been there.

First lecture he gives in the course and it's first one she misses. It wasn't fair.

The sign-in screen loaded. Craig input name and password.

He really wanted to hear what she had to say, get her opinion of his lecture. She had a unique perspective, fresh, off-beat. More folklore than science but the way she approached it was almost logical.

Read more... )
kimurho: a wee man riding on a cat (Default)
Index of Entries

Sleep Journal
14 January 2019

I headed for the library after leaving my classmates. I like libraries. Oases of quiet and calm. Fortresses of knowledge buttressed with the wisdom of ages.

Or the folly of sages.

I've always had to go over new information immediately to set it properly in my mind. While my memory is fresh, I can expand the notes I made in the moment. I can remember exactly what my preceptor said and how it was said. I can find the gaps still remaining in my understanding, and figure out how to find the answers.

Read more... )
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