Day of Nine Dogs
I put Enigma's mcmxcAD on my music player for the bus ride into work. I'm seventeen years old. It's a Saturday night at my parents' house in Colleyville. I've just watched Metropolis for the second time that night and now I'm curling up in my father's recliner reading William Sleator's "House of Stairs." At Mea Culpa, I put down the book and dance, manifesting the music kinesthetically.
Take me back to the Rivers of Belief.
I promise you, I will return.
Day of Nine Dogs
@literorrery It's funny; I'm thinking and thinking and I'm not sure I have an inflection point, just a series of steps.
I'm 13, and I'm wandering through the desert behind our house, imagining meeting with the creatures that live under the earth.
I'm 15, and seeing a place where I can be an animal-person online fills me with a weird flush-glow for hours afterward.
...
Day of Nine Dogs
...
I just turned 16 and I'm in the bookstore reading RPG books because some website I found out about on this newsgroup I just joined told me I was born during the new moon. (It's funny, this has turned out to be perhaps one of the most significant ones, but I don't remember it as being such, I've just derived its existence)
It leads to:
I'm 19, and reading an RPG book from an entirely different system, and suddenly I'm a coyote.
Day of Nine Dogs
I'm 22, and I'm waking from a dream about a specific crystal I saw in the school's mineral museum, knowing I'm about to run off to buy it.
I'm 16 again, home alone for the first time, drinking a fancy soda and imagining it's a TF potion, connected to a virtual world until the ISP times out twice, listening to Pure Moods on loop.
I'm 29 and visiting Seattle.
I'm 22, trying to figure out what is this PBX thing that these colorful critters on LJ are talking about.
