The Portable Backpack Orbital Control Ship
Thysane's implausibly existent blogGeeks and Geekology
Okay, so this may or may not turn into a recurring thing. Like all things on PBOCS, there is no way of knowing whether this will be the case until you actually observe it. It’s Schrodinger’s Column.
Twitter Insecurities
So I was about to go on a big long tirade on Twitter about the horrible aspects of my personality. But, I realised that Twitter isn’t really for that kind of thing. But you know what is? My personal blog, that’s what. Right, here goes. Be warned. If you don’t like attempts at in-depth personal character study (or introspection), then don’t stop here, this is bat country.
Pondering
So as I sit here dreaming up scenarios for my delightfully psychotic axe-murdering main character for Script Frenzy while listening to a preview of the new Foo Fighters album (which is, incidentally, awesome), I find myself pondering certain things of an unrelated nature.
The Occasional Rant | University Shiz
So, as the title should suggest (I don’t know whether it actually does, I’m writing the body of this blog in advance), I am going to be breaking from the regular format for a lil’ opinion bloggity-woggity, or “rant” if you so please. As this is a rare occurrence for PBOCS, I must first gather my thoughts…
My Muddled Mind – 4
Another weird dream for you guys (all two of you!) this week/month/year/century. Well, I say dream. It’s more like dreams. Had a very strange week, sleep wise.
So the first one of the bunch was one I had on Monday night. I was apparently in Canada with my family. In the dream, that is. We can’t have everything we want. So, yes, Canada, but not as we know it. In fact, this dream version of a Canadian city (I believe it was supposed to be Vancouver or Victoria or thereabouts) looked for all the world like an oversized version of… dammit, what’s the name of it…. this square in London with all the lions and the fountain and the National Gallery and whatnot. So lots of huge grey buildings with columns and a big wide square and all of that stuff. Most emphatically NOT a Canadian city such as Vancouver of Victoria.
So me and my mum are in this big square in Vantoridon (heh, see what i did there? Sorry, ahem, won’t happen again), and we go into this big arty museum place. We completely ignore the barriers and ticket things and go straight in. A bald security guard stops us and asks us to pay for tickets in a frankly ATROCIOUS French accent. Obviously, my subconscious is both ignorant and racist. Ho hum. We can’t pay in Canadian Dollars because we don’t have any. He accepts a number of Euros (which he somehow worked out the exchange rate for DOWN TO THE CENT. IN HIS HEAD) from us and we go on our way.
Suddenly, we’re on a little side street. The guard is hanging out with us, wearing a raincoat, which is on backwards so the hood hangs down his front. He says he’s part of an underground resistance group working to overthrow the fascist government (LOLWTF!?).
We go into a building and up to the top floor and in to a room. Then, I’m alone in the room. The room reminds me of one of the bedrooms at my Grandma’s house in good ol’ Lichfield. It has a dartboard on one wall, a pool table, a dull red carpet and dark walls hung with odd little pictures. All along one wall is a line of cupboards and draws. There is a single, largish window that looks out over the rooftops. I go to leave, and remember that I’ve left my laptop behind. I get it and go to leave again. I stop. The stairs curve downwards into a circular room. There is a light down there, casting the shadows of a group of sitting figures up on to the wall in front of me. I listen, and notice that they are playing a roleplaying game (possibly Call of Cthulhu or Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay)
That’s the end of that one. I had this next one the following night after falling asleep to a Call of Cthulhu Audio Game podcast (Tatters of the King featuring the Bradford Players: http://www.yog-sothoth.com/local_links.php?catid=4 ), waking up an hour and a half later and putting my laptop away, then going back to sleep.
As with any dream, I started in the middle. Ah well. So, apparently me, Cait (desertislanddream on YouTube) and her boyfriend Dan ( on YouTube) are comparing scripts and such. Cait is showing us the location much of her script is set in: a miniature forest made by one of her relatives (I think it may have been an uncle). So, as anyone would surely be able to do, we APPEARED INSIDE THE MINIATURE FOREST, except it was all big now, conveniently. None of us question this. Me and Dan remark upon the skilled construction of the miniature, and for some reason Cait looks mildly offended.
We’re walking along a path in the gigantic miniature forest beside a sort of low dry stone wall. I can’t remember what we were discussing. A pygmy starts following us around. Suddenly, the solid ground gives way to wet swampland. Several more pygmies appear, but Pygmy One says the others are dangerous. They chase us, and I struggle to get over a small cement pyramid protruding from the water, with a pygmy scrabbling after me, gnashing it’s teeth (more ignorant racism. me and my subconscious are going to have to sit down and have a nice long chat one of these days). I wade through the water, holding a TINY LITTLE COW in one hand above the water. I deposit the TINY COW on a piece of dry land and see several more TINY COWS and also some TINY SHEEP and some TINY PIGS. It seems my subconscious is also a sucker for cute cuddly miniature versions of farm animals, as well. Great. Just great. This may have been inspired somewhat by Minecraft, even though I haven’t played it since before the Halloween update. Hm.
And that’s the end of that one. Let’s see what the next one’s like, eh? Actually, come to think of it, I don’t think I want to…
My Muddled Mind – 3
Ok, just a quick one today, guys. A strange dream considering that just before going to sleep I’d been reading and watching far too much about the “Slender Man”. Anyway…
So I’m in a rented one-bedroom flat. It looks like I’m on the third floor of the building, and looking out of the window I can see down into a kind of wide alleyway. I decide to see who’s next door to my flat. It turns out it’s notreallyasuperhero (I know her from youtube and twitter). I comment on the fact that the doors into our respective rooms have mirrors mounted on the outside of them. We go downstairs into the lobby (?) and meet up with on of her friends, who it transpires is in fact Other Scott from Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World. We hear that there is a bar or pub somewhere on the ground floor of this building, but to get to it we have to go through a department store and one of those fancy bathroom/kitchen/etc shops. When we get to the bar, we find that it is a “Norse themed” bar. We get flagons for our beer, but the flagons are the size of thimbles.
So yeah.
So Yeah… Skype
Sabia DON’T THINK, JUST DO
Me DON’T DO, JUST………DO
Me OR SOMETHING
Sabia DON’T THINK JUST.. DINK
Me I DINK THEREFORE I BLAM
Sabia I BLAM BEFORE I DO
Edi I BLAM AND THEN I BLAM SOME MORE
Me I BLAM BEFORE I……….. BLAM
Me OR SOMETHING
Oh, Skype. You bring out the best (see: worst) in me.
A Veritable Plethora
I think what we need is a little update action all up in this blog, muddy funsters. Due to the fact that I don’t want this blog to become a glorified (if rather aesthetically pleasing) dream journal, I’m writing this post to break it up a bit. But I won’t be talking about a specific subject all on it’s todd (oh, no sir!), I’ll be talking about a veritable plethora of different things. Let’s get down to the nitty gritty, eh?
My Muddled Mind – 2
Right, you guys had better brace yourselves, ‘cos this might turn out to be a long one. I have three pages filled in my notebook from this one dream. Strange stuff lies below the jump. Read the rest of this entry »
My Muddled Mind – 1
My good friend Declan (no links I’m afraid. He doesn’t blog and tweets infrequently) said last night that I should blog more often. I trust his judgement, so I shall try my very best not to cock up.
Notice that marvelously alliterative title up there? Well, this might be a Thing For Me To Do in future to keep the blog updated occasionally. It’s kind of a dream-journal-y sort of thing in which I show you what was going through my head in the wee hours of the morning just before waking up. Be prepared for weirdness. I’ll also be putting down in parenthetical what I believe to be the source of something particular within the dream. Anyway, here goes. The following was wibbly-wobbling around in my head not two hours ago.
Just like nearly all of my dreams lately, this one took place in and around a twisted bizarro version of my house. It’s night, and everything’s lit by the moonlight. I’m with classmates, on some kind of school trip of some kind (the first odd thing, which of course I completely ignored, it being a dream. I’m not actually in school anymore). We’re apparently going to be going into caves and exploring around them a bit. There are two instructors, both seemingly in their twenties. One is an American, and is doing all the talking. The other doesn’t speak, though I seem to remember thinking he was Australian. Anyway, they tell us their nicknames and give out hard-hats, saying that we’re now “anonymous”. They put us into loose groups.
I’m talking to my friend Andy (Andy actually left school a year before me, along with my friend Patrick who is currently going to teacher training college in the next county) and he says I came “well prepared” while indicating my breast pocket. I reach in and draw out what I think is a compass, but it turns out to be a circle of metal with a piece of glass slotted roughly into it. I remark that I wore this jacket when hunting with my dad the other day, and it must be “a rifle part” (fun fact: haven’t gone out with my dad hunting for game for years. also how could that be a rifle part?). The American instructor says that the last one into the “cave” must look out the door to make sure no-one’s there and then close it quietly. My friend Niamh turns up looking awkward and asks me what my nickname is. I reply by indicating a scrap of paper with a quote on it that the American gave me. Part of it says “thistle in the wind”. She laughs.
I’m the last into the cave and so have to close the door. Behind me a see shelving on a drystone wall. Some of my personal possessions are on it, looking dusty and forgotten. My camera is there. I ponder taking it with me, but decide against it. I close the door and follow the rest through the “cave” which now appears like a dingy, cobwebbed, tumble-down house mixed with a dark cavern. I come out the front of the house, and now only my friend Patrick and the American are with me. We run across some fields, sticking to the edges. We arrive in an ornamental garden, with big white fountains and statues (could be from pictures I was looking at of Thai Buddhist monasteries). We start crossing the garden when the American spots a “guard dog”. It looks like a bulldog, but is the size of a bear (may have come from an episode of Blamimations. The one with the dirty great seal called Noah). It chases us but is stopped by a low stone wall. It’s tongue is lolling out of it’s mouth and it growls horribly after us, one paw on the wall and it’s jaws hanging open, slavering.
Then the American started to describing the goals of the different groups we’d been put into, and I woke up. Oddly, this dream contained no rats, water, giant insects, paralysis or property damage, which are recurring images in my dreams lately. Maybe next time? :s
