Thanks to my friend, Danny, I will soon sport this t-shirt:
He knows how much I love Scott Westerfeld's Midnighters series, so he pointed me to this website, where I promptly exhibited Poor Impulse Control.
This particular symbol is used by the "Mindcaster", a girl who revels in the silence that falls over the world at midnight. She is a precise image of me, as I often talk about doing my best work after midnight, when the world falls asleep and the babbling thoughts and voices around me shut the hell up for a few hours. I find it hard to concentrate on anything creative when I can feel the world pulsing around me. Those hours in the middle of the night, when the only things moving are animals, creepies, and crawlies, are when I get my best work done. I mourn the days when I worked on my own schedule; I never write anything truly substantial when I have "a real job".
I know other people are awake right now, but they tend to share my wavelength, so I don't really feel them so much as sense them. They are out there -- typing, reading, crying, sewing, making love, perhaps cooking a late-night snack -- but most importantly, they are quiet. I don't feel the pressing weight of their frustrations, desires, schedules, and concerns. I only sense myself unfurling, rippling, expanding... like a set of wings finally able to open in the space that's created when the daywalkers go to bed.
This is my time.
This is midnight.
This is what I live for.
He knows how much I love Scott Westerfeld's Midnighters series, so he pointed me to this website, where I promptly exhibited Poor Impulse Control.
This particular symbol is used by the "Mindcaster", a girl who revels in the silence that falls over the world at midnight. She is a precise image of me, as I often talk about doing my best work after midnight, when the world falls asleep and the babbling thoughts and voices around me shut the hell up for a few hours. I find it hard to concentrate on anything creative when I can feel the world pulsing around me. Those hours in the middle of the night, when the only things moving are animals, creepies, and crawlies, are when I get my best work done. I mourn the days when I worked on my own schedule; I never write anything truly substantial when I have "a real job".
I know other people are awake right now, but they tend to share my wavelength, so I don't really feel them so much as sense them. They are out there -- typing, reading, crying, sewing, making love, perhaps cooking a late-night snack -- but most importantly, they are quiet. I don't feel the pressing weight of their frustrations, desires, schedules, and concerns. I only sense myself unfurling, rippling, expanding... like a set of wings finally able to open in the space that's created when the daywalkers go to bed.
This is my time.
This is midnight.
This is what I live for.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
dholokov:
Hey i thought you were gone from here!
nopantsdave:
Welcome back.....