spoke

Currently reading: Otherland. I'll probably start the final book sometime tonight, if not here then on my lunch break.

This is the first time I've read through these books and remembered - everything. All the secrets, the answers to the mysteries. It's so strange, looking at certain characters and knowing these truths about them and seeing the hints. Tiny little feathers, those hints, constantly blown away by the tensions and the urgencies of the moment.

Even if the urgency of the moment is Paul being bored and frustrated. Sheeesh.

I wish I could convey how much this story means to me. It's so, so pragmatic in the beginning. Bills and family trouble, teenage frustrations and old wounds that haven't healed, and then. Slowly, slowly trickling into music of half understood words, mysteries presented in scattered keys and overlooked characters. The world is a story being written by someone who can only communicate in images, and the people seeing the images don't even know there's a story to be read.

I don't know. I'm falling asleep sitting here.

The song I was listening to over and over during the first book, because beginning to end this might be the music that plays beneath all other sounds. Peter Gabriel - Mercy Street

I need to make an Otherland icon, 's what I need to do.