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27/11/04 06:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
minervasoloBliss, once upon a time, was an idea I thought I could use for NaNoWriMo. 'Cept I didn't do NaNoWriMo. Now it's eaten bits of Sunday Morning (in that she's a character in it) and has a lot of ideas in it that would otherwise have been part of WK fics. I'm struggling not to give the main character the overly angsty past I usually attribute to Schuldig (you'll notice the German pseudonym overlap there too).
May take this to next writing group meeting, depending on how far I get. One fun part of that writing games was giving people my characters to play with: Babes and Jesse. I've written nothing with either in, so seeing how other people wrote them, knowing basically nothing about them, was very entertaining. And surprisngly accurate to my thoughts.
Anyway, random telepathic novella beginning. Geisteskrankheit (pronounced: Geist-us-kronk-height} means insanity, according to Google translator, or 'mental health' in online dictioaries, and Geist means spirit, or variations thereof. Currently I see Geist as male, if only as a balance to Sunday, but s/he's mostly androgynous mentally.
When someone dies, especially suddenly, their whole life flashes before their eyes. Unconsciously, they're seeking immortality. They're seeking a telepath.
When I was nine I was taken to my dying grandfather's bedside. I had never particularly liked the old man; my mother loathed him. He'd almost been a member of the Gestapo, you see. War ended just days too soon for him. My father was very conservative, in that same facist kind of way, but he wasn't what you would call actively racist. I was always rather liberal. I didn't know then where I got that from.
He died, while I stood there.
A person's personality comes from their memories, mostly. Not the person themself, you understand, but some part of them. You know what they would do in a situation. You know why they would do it. Sometimes the memories mesh, and you don't know their memories from yours. Sometimes you do know, and they're seperate. I prefer the first, really. When they're seperate two things can happen. One, you get schizophrenic symptoms, or two, you get DID symptoms. Either you've got another person in your head who you can chat to and drawn ideas from, or you've got another person in your body and you wake up five days later wondering why you have a swastika painted on your naked chest. Sometimes you just get fragmented memorries and no person, sometimes you get all person and apparently no memories. I have to keep a very strict diary to know who I am.
My parents signed me over to the asylum in a fit of desperation four months after my grandfather died.. It wasn't just the sudden emergence of a multiple personality disorder, nor was it the odd schizoprenic symptoms. They just didn't want me any more. A few weeks later I was told that my father had killed my mother and her twin brother. It was my fault. I told him about mother and Uncle Gervas, my grandfather told him where I'd come from and what he ought to do about it.
I don't really like to think of all that happened between then and now. I have a sociopath in my head, and a close friend, and some complete strangers. If I was normal, I'd be completely fucked up now. In a way I'm lucky to be a telepath - I need never know myself.
Most telepaths only know themselves. They're hermits, I've learnt. They have to be. They can't be around people who might experience a blissful state. They get addicted.
I always thought orgasm was pretty blissful myself, and in my old trade I was around that a lot. They're treating me like some kind of freak for it.
I wonder if they let telepaths masturbate?
I call myself 'Geisteskrankheit' these days. It's a mouthful, so most people shorten it to 'Geist'. They call me Geisteskrankheit here.
James was my Seeker, and hence becomes my Contact. He's the Contact for several telepaths, mostly German like me. He has a knack for finding them. Us. It makes me wonder if he's not telepathic himself, but he insists he isn't. He's been trying to talk me into choosing a Retreat for several days now. I make the people here nervous, like I'm leaking memories of sex or something. I probably am, actually. Or Sunday is.
I don't want to be on my own. No one seems to understand this, no matter how much I explain. I don't want to go to Iceland, or the Sahara, or the Himilayas. I don't want to talk to people via the written word alone. I'm barely even literate as it is. My diary is all pictures, which suits me because my memories are too.
James showed me a picture of an Egyptian Retreat, and I almost turned into my grandfather. Their memories are just as powerful and easily triggered as mine, especially by images. Of course they are; they play by my rules now, no matter what. James knew. Maybe he's even been trained to deal with this kind of thing. he asked me my name, to which I responded "Adolf", worryingly, and then asked about Sunday. That brought me back to myself. I do wonder if he thinks my real name is "Adolf", though. Hopefully he knows that no one in Germany calls their kids that any more. It was no more my granfather's real name than Geist is mine, of course.
The Egyptian picture is in my diary, along with a drawing of Sunday. Just to remind me. My Gradnfather and I are very seperate, so I don't know why Egypt was important to him, or why he said "Adolf". Normally I wouldn't remember any of such an episode, but I didn't slip completely. They've been training me here, when they can bear to go near me. They gave me a list of things I wasn't to think about, and that's the first stage of training. I'm living with the Seekers, practising not thinking, so when I move to the Seminary I don't destroy too many minds.
It's hard not to think about sex when you're a teenager.
It's very hard not to think about sex with James, right now.
They don't let Contacts or Seekers into the Seminary, but that's hardly going to stop me thinking about him. It's scaring me, a little. I've never really thought of someone I liked like that. Someone who wasn't thinking it about me first. I used to associate sex with a lot of bad things, you know? The idea of having sexual impulses of my own was pretty scary. Sex was what the ugly perverts wanted. I only responded because I used their thoughts and feelings to hide my own disgust. At least, that's what James said. I never really thought about it that much. It was sex. It allowed me to eat without worrying about the police. I had nothing to lose. I might even allow me to gain something.
No, that was Sunday. Sunday thought she might gain something. I know that.
The picture of Sunday next to Egypt, that's not right either. The only things that are right in that picture are the colours, and that's only because I don't have any colours.
Sunday didn't give me memories, just dreams. I know nothing about her, but I know her.
James has a photograph of Sunday. He's debating showing it to me. He doesn't want me to see it because he knows it will upset me, but he think it might be useful in drawing me out when I get lost. I can see it through his eyes as it is, and he 'knows' wrong. Not only that, but it would draw Sunday out. Has been. She finds it very insulting. I find it kind of creepy. She's dead and blue and has bloody bites taken out of her. Cold and diseased and dead and canabalised. I've had no indication that they know I remember that.
Everyone knows. He died. He died alone. He died of Bliss. Everyone knows at once and someone's leaked it from the Seminary to a messenger who just couldn't not think. Happily starved to death. Everyone want to know if touching yourself can do that. They know it doesn't. It has to come through someone else. Everyone want to know who was there. Everyone want to know why someone else isn't dead there. Everyone think the area ought to be searched.
I. I. I I I. I, my, me. I think, my thoughts, me me me.
Everyone think. Everyone want. Everyone need to know: Can we die of gossip too?
End part one, I guess. I needed a place to end that, for now. Thoughts?
(Edit: It occurred to me to update Greenhelm. That twice a week thing disappeared a long time ago, didn't it? And I've still got another ten or so chapters before I run out of what I've already written. Anyway, we're finally getting to the better part.)
May take this to next writing group meeting, depending on how far I get. One fun part of that writing games was giving people my characters to play with: Babes and Jesse. I've written nothing with either in, so seeing how other people wrote them, knowing basically nothing about them, was very entertaining. And surprisngly accurate to my thoughts.
Anyway, random telepathic novella beginning. Geisteskrankheit (pronounced: Geist-us-kronk-height} means insanity, according to Google translator, or 'mental health' in online dictioaries, and Geist means spirit, or variations thereof. Currently I see Geist as male, if only as a balance to Sunday, but s/he's mostly androgynous mentally.
When someone dies, especially suddenly, their whole life flashes before their eyes. Unconsciously, they're seeking immortality. They're seeking a telepath.
When I was nine I was taken to my dying grandfather's bedside. I had never particularly liked the old man; my mother loathed him. He'd almost been a member of the Gestapo, you see. War ended just days too soon for him. My father was very conservative, in that same facist kind of way, but he wasn't what you would call actively racist. I was always rather liberal. I didn't know then where I got that from.
He died, while I stood there.
A person's personality comes from their memories, mostly. Not the person themself, you understand, but some part of them. You know what they would do in a situation. You know why they would do it. Sometimes the memories mesh, and you don't know their memories from yours. Sometimes you do know, and they're seperate. I prefer the first, really. When they're seperate two things can happen. One, you get schizophrenic symptoms, or two, you get DID symptoms. Either you've got another person in your head who you can chat to and drawn ideas from, or you've got another person in your body and you wake up five days later wondering why you have a swastika painted on your naked chest. Sometimes you just get fragmented memorries and no person, sometimes you get all person and apparently no memories. I have to keep a very strict diary to know who I am.
My parents signed me over to the asylum in a fit of desperation four months after my grandfather died.. It wasn't just the sudden emergence of a multiple personality disorder, nor was it the odd schizoprenic symptoms. They just didn't want me any more. A few weeks later I was told that my father had killed my mother and her twin brother. It was my fault. I told him about mother and Uncle Gervas, my grandfather told him where I'd come from and what he ought to do about it.
I don't really like to think of all that happened between then and now. I have a sociopath in my head, and a close friend, and some complete strangers. If I was normal, I'd be completely fucked up now. In a way I'm lucky to be a telepath - I need never know myself.
Most telepaths only know themselves. They're hermits, I've learnt. They have to be. They can't be around people who might experience a blissful state. They get addicted.
I always thought orgasm was pretty blissful myself, and in my old trade I was around that a lot. They're treating me like some kind of freak for it.
I wonder if they let telepaths masturbate?
I call myself 'Geisteskrankheit' these days. It's a mouthful, so most people shorten it to 'Geist'. They call me Geisteskrankheit here.
James was my Seeker, and hence becomes my Contact. He's the Contact for several telepaths, mostly German like me. He has a knack for finding them. Us. It makes me wonder if he's not telepathic himself, but he insists he isn't. He's been trying to talk me into choosing a Retreat for several days now. I make the people here nervous, like I'm leaking memories of sex or something. I probably am, actually. Or Sunday is.
I don't want to be on my own. No one seems to understand this, no matter how much I explain. I don't want to go to Iceland, or the Sahara, or the Himilayas. I don't want to talk to people via the written word alone. I'm barely even literate as it is. My diary is all pictures, which suits me because my memories are too.
James showed me a picture of an Egyptian Retreat, and I almost turned into my grandfather. Their memories are just as powerful and easily triggered as mine, especially by images. Of course they are; they play by my rules now, no matter what. James knew. Maybe he's even been trained to deal with this kind of thing. he asked me my name, to which I responded "Adolf", worryingly, and then asked about Sunday. That brought me back to myself. I do wonder if he thinks my real name is "Adolf", though. Hopefully he knows that no one in Germany calls their kids that any more. It was no more my granfather's real name than Geist is mine, of course.
The Egyptian picture is in my diary, along with a drawing of Sunday. Just to remind me. My Gradnfather and I are very seperate, so I don't know why Egypt was important to him, or why he said "Adolf". Normally I wouldn't remember any of such an episode, but I didn't slip completely. They've been training me here, when they can bear to go near me. They gave me a list of things I wasn't to think about, and that's the first stage of training. I'm living with the Seekers, practising not thinking, so when I move to the Seminary I don't destroy too many minds.
It's hard not to think about sex when you're a teenager.
It's very hard not to think about sex with James, right now.
They don't let Contacts or Seekers into the Seminary, but that's hardly going to stop me thinking about him. It's scaring me, a little. I've never really thought of someone I liked like that. Someone who wasn't thinking it about me first. I used to associate sex with a lot of bad things, you know? The idea of having sexual impulses of my own was pretty scary. Sex was what the ugly perverts wanted. I only responded because I used their thoughts and feelings to hide my own disgust. At least, that's what James said. I never really thought about it that much. It was sex. It allowed me to eat without worrying about the police. I had nothing to lose. I might even allow me to gain something.
No, that was Sunday. Sunday thought she might gain something. I know that.
The picture of Sunday next to Egypt, that's not right either. The only things that are right in that picture are the colours, and that's only because I don't have any colours.
Sunday didn't give me memories, just dreams. I know nothing about her, but I know her.
James has a photograph of Sunday. He's debating showing it to me. He doesn't want me to see it because he knows it will upset me, but he think it might be useful in drawing me out when I get lost. I can see it through his eyes as it is, and he 'knows' wrong. Not only that, but it would draw Sunday out. Has been. She finds it very insulting. I find it kind of creepy. She's dead and blue and has bloody bites taken out of her. Cold and diseased and dead and canabalised. I've had no indication that they know I remember that.
Everyone knows. He died. He died alone. He died of Bliss. Everyone knows at once and someone's leaked it from the Seminary to a messenger who just couldn't not think. Happily starved to death. Everyone want to know if touching yourself can do that. They know it doesn't. It has to come through someone else. Everyone want to know who was there. Everyone want to know why someone else isn't dead there. Everyone think the area ought to be searched.
I. I. I I I. I, my, me. I think, my thoughts, me me me.
Everyone think. Everyone want. Everyone need to know: Can we die of gossip too?
End part one, I guess. I needed a place to end that, for now. Thoughts?
(Edit: It occurred to me to update Greenhelm. That twice a week thing disappeared a long time ago, didn't it? And I've still got another ten or so chapters before I run out of what I've already written. Anyway, we're finally getting to the better part.)
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Date: 5/12/04 02:34 am (UTC)This is an interesting idea, and story. About the word 'geist' it is also an old Norwegian word for ghost/spirit. Um, not much of a shocker since Norwegian and German are pretty closely related but... um, there it is. :P I just had a "yay, I know what it means"-moment.
What time is this set in?
~Missy~
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Date: 5/12/04 03:15 am (UTC)