Refracted Neurons

The interview didn’t go very well. Well, that was almost a misstatement of facts. The interview didn’t even happen. Alys sat for over an hour in a vacant cube, wondering if he had been forgotten. Certain that something was amiss, he again approached the front desk, “Excuse me, but-“ The front door opened with a bang, “I’m late,” gasped the woman in a skirt and matching blazer. She frantically glanced at her phone, then scurried down the hall. The receptionist watched the woman go, shaking her head in dismay, “I would reschedule you, but the same thing will happen.” “Was that Jessica White?” Alys followed her with his eyes. She had dark, fluffy hair and a strange little hopping jog to her step. He had but the merest impression of her face, anxiety etching it into rabbit-like nervousness. “Yes, and if you want to work here, you better follow her.” Alys felt sure that someone would stop and question him as he wound his way through the building, searching for Jessica’s

One of the books I finished recently was Exploding the Phone by Phil Lapsley . It’s a book about phone phreaks, a topic I got interested in when I was toodling around a website on defunct computers. I learned some things I didn’t know; like how a large number of phreaks were blind, and how the first switchboard operators were teenage boys. But the thing that surprised me the most was that it’s very likely I’ve never used an analogue phone. By the time I was old enough to remember talking on the phone, all the systems had been converted to digital. I know I’ve complained before, maybe even ranted, possibly even on this blog about how digital sound differs from voice. Sometimes I worry that society as a whole has forgotten what people actually sound like when they sing. It’s different, right? I’m not the only one who’s noticed this, yes? Listen to someone singing in a cathedral or what the heck, pull out your record player. My point is that the sound, the undigitized sound

Well, it's finally happened; my house has been tagged. Check out this nonsense: It looks vaguely like a Minion. The perpetrator of this crime had his charcoal confiscated.  Charcoal, which I may have brought home from the beach after demonstrating how to use it.  Possibly. ~/~ In spite of the longer days, summer has somehow seemed busier than its sleepy cousins.  I mean, there's sprinklers and bounce houses around every corner.  Who the heck can write while being sprayed with water or dragged into an inflatable castle.  I really didn't think they allowed adults in those things, but apparently if your child is terrified enough, they let you in.  I would try to be a little more reassuring about the bouncy-castle thing, but they are actually unsafe.  Most accidents involve the the bounce house blowing away like some modern Wizard of Oz.  I'm not entirely sure if you could squash a witch with one, but you might be able to suffocate her/him before making o

You say that glass, unbroken never glitters, that shorelines would stand empty, wont for sand. But my love is brittle, as pure as soda-lime, solid as the breakers that glisten on the sea. ************************************************** Now that the weather is sort of nice-ish again, I've been sneaking down to the beach whenever I can.  I don't know if I can even call it sneaking, since I'm carrying a bag of sand toys and cajoling two toddlers across a train-trestle/bridge thing (if you've been to Carkeek Park, you know what I'm talking about).  We actually ran into a traffic jam last time, with a row of twenty toddlers all trying to go down those see-through steps at once.  I've started working on a sort of sequel to Egregious .  So if you enjoyed the original, or you like sci-fi/fantasy mash-ups with a dash of horse carriages, check it out.   I am really working on making my writing more focused, and not being concerned about word-