TW:M – Alaska & Writing Camp

Gentlewomen and Gentlemen of the Vox Chaotica Council! Monday


I had an idea, but I think it has backfired. Either that or I'm just embarrassed....?

  • Attractive hair: √
  • Blurry lens: √
  • Awkward right eye: √
  • Stress level: 1 2 3 |4| 5 6 7 8 9 10



I – Alaska

For whatever reason, I moved to Alaska. Some weird, remote part of Alaska near the ocean where people lived on floating concrete slabs—not only covered in Astroturf, but large enough to support four family-sized houses. These floating house-plots were semi-attached to the shore, but the fog was dense, and the large icebergs floating around made it difficult to see land. The people were gathered that night to look at the stars—and lordy were they beautiful... you could see the rest of the Milky Way stretching in a great light arch across the sky—but the scientist there was more interested in penguin and orca movements, so I was recruited to help with that. I was thrown into the frigid ocean twice, saw no penguins, and was charged by and orca. [Editor's note: Dream Stress Level: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 |24|] We finished the scientist's work and decided to go eat at a famous truckstop, but we couldn't find the car. We ended up driving for hours through hauntingly beautiful tundra: the forest was white and bare as a skeleton left for years to bleach in the harsh sunlight of the Sahara Desert.

II – Writing Camp

Dawn broke over the mountains, cascading warm yellow light and melting the snow into little puddles which drained into lakes. The road became dirt; the kind you find through forested areas that has grass growing in the space between where the tyres make contact with the earth. We suddenly emerged into a gigantic clearing with seven or eight two-story houses built to look as though they were carved out of living trees. One was clearly a library, and an elderly gentlemen known to me and mine curated it, but was seldom seen. I became very young—fluctuating between eight and sixteen—and was living in the house just next to the library. My father (dream-father, not my real one, though this did not concern me then) was teaching me how to set a knife in a wooden handle, but I said I had to do chores and ran to the library to find the old man. He was kind (I thought he was Borges and asked him if he was... He smiled and ignored my question), but had to go leave for some festival. I went outside to make a bow and arrow, but the sun was high overhead and I could not find the right yew stick to make the bow. I wandered down to the lake about a league from the village to meet a girl...

I woke up.

I feel like I've never put this many pictures of myself in a post before. It's weird and I don't like it.

Accomplishments: Finished the vocal recordings for my thesis songs, made a limited run of 50 tickets/proof of attendance papers to be given out at the concert (as well as black and white copies to be used as fliers). Split a knotted old piece of wood with a maul. Sat at Gallery 100 and made sure everything was good—found a delightful artist whose art I may use when I put together the full album.

  • End of day stress: 1 2 3 4 |5| 6 7 8 9 10
  • Excitement: 1 2 3 4 5 6 |7| 8 9 10
  • Fire: Excellent

tl;dr Cutter tries out a new format this week. I put too many pictures of just me for my comfort. I get things done. Let me know what you think, and how you guys are.