Link to article: Song Of Myself.
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[[div style="border:solid 5px #cc0099;background #ffffff; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top:10px;"]] Still trying to make sense of this. It's been a few hours since my ex-girlfriend stuck me in some kind of spellbinding grimoire. I can see what's going on outside in fleeting, dreamlike glimpses. But on the inside, there's nothing but an endless void of white, punctuated by flecks of black whenever I think too hard. In fact, it's practically sputtering from whatever passes for my mouth. ... Maybe it's better like this. However long it takes me to die in here, it'll be on my own terms, with no teatimes or happy little maypole dances or any other //Frog And Toad Are Friends// bullshit, and -- ... Okay, that's -- ... (Concentrate...) "The quick brown fox fucked off to South Dakota." WHOA, OKAY. Thought it. Saw it. My thoughts are turning into words on these pages. I can't see my own body, I can't feel any pain or pleasure -- but ostensibly through some fuckery involving the sixth through eleventh senses, I can write just by thinking. And I get the feeling that I've been doing it for a long time, even before I got here. Let's see if I can swim through the white void, get a better look at what's already here... [[div style="border:solid 5px #cc0099;background #ffffff; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top:10px;"]] //The loop has closed.// //The last speck of empty space on the Earth's surface that wasn't affected by the Tower has been swallowed up. Maybe there are a few underground bunkers full of real humans, but they're on borrowed time before they succumb to the ontological enforcement of whimsy...// [[/div]] ...that's the starting point. Then, by the looks of it, I go over everything leading up to the Silver Tower in my own words. I only "exist" inasmuch as what I leave behind on the pages. I've got about 300 pages of life left before I succumb to total nonbeing. Can you believe this shit? She didn't just seal me here, she turned me into a //story.// //"I'll be a story in your head. But that's OK. We're all stories, in the end. Just make it a good one, eh?"// I was done in by a Doctor Who reference. That's the single most Naismith thing ever to have Naismithed. And at this point, I'm not even mad. I became my own shitty opinions. From here on out, Lucerne exists as her side of the story, recreating herself from the ground up. I'm stuck in a blank book, but I'm free to fill my world with whatever I please. Imprisoned, but somehow, more liberated than ever. ...Christ, this is making my lack of a head hurt. But since I've got nothing left but time to think about what I've done, I might as well do it. When I tried to take over the Silver Tower, when I met Penny Naismith for the last time, fifty years of bitterness came to their natural conclusion. But now that it's all said and done, I can't help but remember that as I lay there bleeding out, I saw my entire worldview refuted without argument by Gregory Sniffings. One generous field mouse with some extra custard succeeded where the combined mundane and supernatural military strength of the Human race had failed. And that couldn't have been Penny using him as a puppet, as I thought. If that were the case, the gift would have been conditional, and by now, the Seneschal would have been using everyone as his torture dolls. The people of this world were freer than I believed, just happier. It's only natural that I'd be jealous at how well-off the world is compared to the early 21st century. But the Milne Program was the work of a 21st-century weirdo that I //hate// for still loving. Penny knew something that most of us didn't: that the cure for humanity's dark side isn't a stronger force for good, but enough snacks for everyone. And on top of all that, she admitted she was wrong for taking control. I thought she was no longer capable of owning up to her mistakes. And somewhere down the line, I lost that ability, too. There's a point where the only real difference between crack cocaine and a deeply-held conviction is that one option is simultaneously legal and deadlier. But in the end, how many people of the old world, given the choice, would have wanted the Milne program? Neither of us exactly had the time or clearance to pitch our ideas to the public. Who can say? Now here I am, stuck in an empty book for murdering people who were more sentient then I believed. And there's Penny, proving that even a goddess can learn her lesson. What's done is done. Though I'd like to, I can't bring back any of my victims. But now that Gregory's been divinely tasked as this book's PR agent, maybe I can finally show the world that there's more to the past than fairy tales about an evil red bird and magic panpipes. We can't really know how beautiful our world has become without the old truth, with all its horrors and complexities, as a frame of reference. Maybe that'll be a little more satisfying than turning the world into a lifeless heap of coal. Just a little. ... Gregory Sniffings of Crinkleton. My jailer. My adversary. This world's savior. This witch's apprentice. If you're reading this... thank you. Even after all I put you through, you brought peace of mind to this complete and utter march hare. And I know you hate publicity. But if this world's going to hear my story, then they'll want to hear a little more about what you did after your quest was over... ------ On the day that Gregory left Crinkleton, the last that Polly Twitchers saw of her sweetheart was when he went off to speak with a hare in violet robes. Polly didn't know much about this mysterious hare -- but on the way home, she remembered a conversation she overheard in her cheese shop about a hare of her description. That she had a hand in the Beasting. That she was an enemy of the Goddess. That anyone who spoke to her was never heard from again. But when she ran back to catch Gregory and warn him, he was already gone. Polly was never one to sit and fret. Indeed, she raised hell throughout the city! She rang the church bells! She shouted in the street! She banged on the doors of anyone who'd listen! Before too long, "anyone who'd listen" turned out to mean "everyone." The Lord Mayor called an emergency meeting. Gregory's father recused himself from parliament until he was sure his son was safe. The Crinkleton Crinickle canceled the next day's issue so that their printing press could be used for missing mouse posters. The town church went into a filibuster of nonstop prayer for their lost mailmouse. Eventually, Lepus Horace-In-The-Hole, Gregory's oldest and dearest friend by far, caught wind from the burrow-network of his relatives that Gregory had been seen in University Village to the east. Most Crinkletonians had mixed feelings about the University of Wal-Mart. In particular, none of them cared for its irresponsible dean, and Mr. Toad's impulsive experiments were the subject of many a nasty rumor. But Polly? Polly had no love for UWM at all. They rejected her brother's application. ("Twitching one's whiskers" wasn't a major.) A few of their owls made nasty remarks about her hat. And now -- the ultimate insult -- they had lured their beloved into some unethical experiment to turn him into a half-mouse, half-beasted-doormat, to see if one side would eat the other, while that hare would take boring notes about it with sloppy penmanship! (She had quite the imagination.) So one night, she rallied the whole town into a mob. She armed them with a dreadful arsenal of bagpipes, cymbals, squeak-horns, bang-pans, and various other things that go "doink", "squonk", and "fweeble". (She considered torches and pitchforks for a moment, but let's not go crazy. You might hurt someone!) They schemed to march to University Village -- and unless Gregory was returned to her arms posthaste, Polly Twitchers' army would subject the whole town to such a deluge of noisy disturbances that even the Moon and stars in the sky would be severely irritated! And just as the furious procession went into its first furious step... ...The thoroughly exhausted Mr. Gregory Sniffings in question staggered down the road. A pair of pixies fluttered in his trail. He carried a large, purple book in his hands labeled "Lucerne." And though he blushed and hid his face the whole time, the Pixies explained everything to the crowd. Thanks to Gregory, Lucerne and the Beasting were no more, and the Scarlet Bird of legend was dead at last. In an instant, the frenzied mob became a frenzied feast. Half of Crinkleton woke up at noon with a hangover. Even the pixies danced in the street with the Crinkletonians in Gregory's honor. But the hero in question wanted nothing more than the elysian warmth of his bed at home. Polly and Mr. H-In-The-H walked him home on their shoulders. The rabbit spoke first: "Greg, ya marvelous rapscallion, I'd reckon you oughta catch as many winks as you can while you're still able. Because the second you're up, you're not leavin' this house until you tell me //every stinkin' detail!"// "Only if it's over breakfast," said Gregory. "Ha! Then mark my words, I'll whip up the kinda mornin' feast that would make the King of Jiraffibanda [[footnote]](Old-world east-central Africa.)[[/footnote]] look away and pout in jealousy, I will! By the Goddess, I'll... er, uh..." The next part of that boast was something he'd been working on for a while. But the glance Polly shot him was loaded with unspoken intent. So Mr. H-In-The-H winked, mouthed a silent //"Go get 'im!"// to Polly, and scurried off. Gregory planted his left forepaw on the knob of his front door -- but Polly covered it with her right. "Greggy, if I might be so bold as to have a word with you, first..." Gregory laughed. "Miss Polly, these past two days have left me fresh out of boldness. So if //you've// got any left, I'm all ears." They slipped into his guest room. And in minutes, Gregory forgot his exhaustion for more important topics. They spent the night on the longest conversation they'd had up to that point, but far from the longest one of their lives. And because I've already embarrassed Gregory enough, what they talked //about// was none of your business. The only other thing I'll say on the matter was that five years later, Gregory and Polly planted their first swaddleflower in their front lawn. Imagine their surprise when, from the slowly-parting buds, came the white ears of a newborn hare. Perhaps the Goddess thought it fitting. Who knows? In any case, Gregory kept in contact with his ancestor, the Goddess -- though, true to her word, she soon told the world to stop calling her a Goddess. This didn't catch on too well. Even so, the Silver Tower's shadowy, ominous reputation came to an end. Parts of it were even open to the public as a museum! (Not that many were willing to hoof it that far across a frozen lake, but still.) Prayer, an act that was once a one-way conversation in hopes that someone would listen, became plain and honest dialogue. The Goddess herself wants to give her job another few years or so before choosing a successor. (Personally, I think Scrungles has this in the bag.) Rumor has it that she plans to opt out of reincarnation so that she can be in Corbenic with her dad. ... The last thing I'll say about Gregory Sniffings is that he never truly stopped worrying. He led a happier life, and his newfound reputation led to some degree of confidence -- but sometimes, no amount of neuroscience or character-building exercises can change the fact that some people were simply born to give too much of a shit. But that was the very thing that made him too powerful for the Seneschal. Let's be honest, such caring too much might be Gregory's weakness. But it could very well be the opposite. And with that -- heroics notwithstanding, //please// give the poor dweeb some privacy. [[/div]] [[=]] [[image 682graduates.png]] ++ **ENDING 3-EX: THERE AND BACK AGAIN** //[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iCzd4uCrURo Dance on the wire]// //[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iCzd4uCrURo To the breeze that carries change]// //[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iCzd4uCrURo Tonight, you will see the Great Pan in the stars]// //[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iCzd4uCrURo The Piper at the Gates of Dawn you'll hear]// [[/=]]