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demiurgentCalliope looked around my office. "God, clean much?"
"You can't be surprised."
"Mm? No. No, I've been here before, after all."
"So tell me something -- can other people see you?"
"Have you seen other people?"
I stopped to consider. Aside from acres of porn stars, skiing boggarts, and three legged acrobatic squirrels hanging around the coffee maker, the school had been unusually empty for this time of day. "Now that you mention it..."
"If they look in here, they'll see you hard at work. Well, as hard as you ever work. If they ask questions, you'll answer. It'll all be normal. Even though you're not paying any attention to that side of things at all, today."
"Okay, I realize I'm sounding like a broken record, but--"
"But you don't get it."
"Exactly."
Calliope considered for a moment, and slurped some of the french vanilla coffee she'd picked up from the coffee maker. It was a Keurig, which meant it worked a cup at a time, which meant lovely things, all told. "When do you stop being a writer?"
"What?"
"When are you not a writer?"
I considered for a moment. "I'm always a writer."
"Even though you're not always writing?"
"Right. When I'm not writing, part of me's thinking about what I'll write next. Or planning. Or taking whatever I'm doing and applying it to later writing."
"Exactly. You look at the world through mundane eyes, but inside you've always got writer's eyes taking a second look at everything. Well, today you're looking at the world through your writer's eyes, while your mundane eyes are on the back burner, taking care of mundane things. It's all a matter of perspective."
"Can I get this perspective to be permanent?"
"Nah, you'd go insane."
"Assuming I haven't already?"
"Hey, all writers are nuts." She sipped again. "This coffee really is good."
"It is, isn't it." I sipped my own. Hazelnut with fat free half and half. Though I couldn't for the life of me figure out what the two halves were supposed to be. "So why are you here today, letting me see this way?"
"Because it's your birthday, and because we should talk." She half-smiled. "January 27. Mozart's birthday."
"And Lewis Carroll."
"Please. He was the Reverend Charles Lutwidge Dodgson. Plus, this is the birthday of Hot Lips Page."
"Who?"
Calliope looked at me with disdain. "Hot Lips Page. One of the finest men to ever press a mouthpiece to his lips and blow. A semninal jazz trumpeter. You ought to hear his rendition of "Baby It's Cold Outside" with Pearl Bailey."
"Sorry. I guess I'm behind on my seminal jazz trumpeters."
"You and the rest of the world. You and the rest of the world."
"You can't be surprised."
"Mm? No. No, I've been here before, after all."
"So tell me something -- can other people see you?"
"Have you seen other people?"
I stopped to consider. Aside from acres of porn stars, skiing boggarts, and three legged acrobatic squirrels hanging around the coffee maker, the school had been unusually empty for this time of day. "Now that you mention it..."
"If they look in here, they'll see you hard at work. Well, as hard as you ever work. If they ask questions, you'll answer. It'll all be normal. Even though you're not paying any attention to that side of things at all, today."
"Okay, I realize I'm sounding like a broken record, but--"
"But you don't get it."
"Exactly."
Calliope considered for a moment, and slurped some of the french vanilla coffee she'd picked up from the coffee maker. It was a Keurig, which meant it worked a cup at a time, which meant lovely things, all told. "When do you stop being a writer?"
"What?"
"When are you not a writer?"
I considered for a moment. "I'm always a writer."
"Even though you're not always writing?"
"Right. When I'm not writing, part of me's thinking about what I'll write next. Or planning. Or taking whatever I'm doing and applying it to later writing."
"Exactly. You look at the world through mundane eyes, but inside you've always got writer's eyes taking a second look at everything. Well, today you're looking at the world through your writer's eyes, while your mundane eyes are on the back burner, taking care of mundane things. It's all a matter of perspective."
"Can I get this perspective to be permanent?"
"Nah, you'd go insane."
"Assuming I haven't already?"
"Hey, all writers are nuts." She sipped again. "This coffee really is good."
"It is, isn't it." I sipped my own. Hazelnut with fat free half and half. Though I couldn't for the life of me figure out what the two halves were supposed to be. "So why are you here today, letting me see this way?"
"Because it's your birthday, and because we should talk." She half-smiled. "January 27. Mozart's birthday."
"And Lewis Carroll."
"Please. He was the Reverend Charles Lutwidge Dodgson. Plus, this is the birthday of Hot Lips Page."
"Who?"
Calliope looked at me with disdain. "Hot Lips Page. One of the finest men to ever press a mouthpiece to his lips and blow. A semninal jazz trumpeter. You ought to hear his rendition of "Baby It's Cold Outside" with Pearl Bailey."
"Sorry. I guess I'm behind on my seminal jazz trumpeters."
"You and the rest of the world. You and the rest of the world."
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(no subject)
Date: 2005-01-27 05:43 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-01-27 06:29 pm (UTC)(and these are great!)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-01-27 06:41 pm (UTC)Geez, that sounds dirty.
BTW, I pointed the skuttlebutters this way.
CU
Re: Rabbit 4
Date: 2005-01-27 07:03 pm (UTC)happy birthday, if it indeed really is.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-01-27 07:12 pm (UTC)