o/~ one pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small... o/~

There's a slim strip of consciousness that lies in the no-man's-land between daydreams and deeper fantasies. It's the place in your mind that twists reality slightly and hands it back to you with the edges obscured and the colours brightened, running into each other and making your eyes ache to look at them.

It's the space in which what might have been comes clear, and the afterimages of our otherselves walking away from us down other roads hover at the edges of our sight. That brand of wistfulness seems to have caught and held some of the folks on my friends list lately, and I am an edgy, restless, inquisitive Cairsten tonight.

So tell me your might have been. Tell me about the road you could have walked, the one you did walk, and the differences between the two. Tell me about the time you had to choose, and how it changed you. Tell me what you gained from it, what you lost. And then... tell me if you think it was worth it.

(no subject)

Cold Missouri Waters
(Words & music James Keelaghan)

My name is Dodge, but then you know that;
It's written on the chart there at the foot end of the bed.
They think I'm blind, I can't read it -
I've read it every word, and every word it says is "death."
So, Confession - is that the reason that you came?
Get it off my chest before I check out of the game?
Since you mention it, well, there's thirteen things I'll name:
Thirteen crosses high above the cold Missouri waters.

August 'Forty-Nine, North Montana...
The hottest day on record, and the forest tinder dry.
Lightning strikes in the mountains;
I was crew chief at the jump base, I prepared the boys to fly.
Pick the drop zone, C-47 comes in low,
Feel the tap upon your leg that tells you go.
See the circle of the fire down below;
Fifteen of us dropped above the cold Missouri waters.

Gauged the fire; I'd seen bigger,
So I ordered them to sidehill and we'd fight it from below.
We'd have our backs to the river,
We'd have it licked by morning even if we took it slow.
But the fire crowned, jumped the valley just ahead -
There was no way down, headed for the ridge instead.
Too big to fight it, we'd have to fight that slope instead -
Flames one step behind above the cold Missouri waters.

Sky had turned red, smoke was boiling.
Two hundred yards to safety, death was fifty yards behind.
I don't know why I just thought it:
I struck a match to waist high grass, running out of time.
Tried to tell them, "Step into this fire I set.
We can't make it, this is the only chance you'll get."
But they cursed me, ran for the rocks above instead -
I lay face down and prayed above the cold Missouri waters.

And when I rose, like the phoenix,
In that world reduced to ashes there were none but two survived.
I stayed that night and one day after,
Carried bodies to the river, wondered how I stayed alive.
Thirteen stations of the cross to mark to their fall;
I've had my say, I'll confess to nothing more.
I'll join them now, because they left me long before -
Thirteen crosses high above the cold Missouri waters;
Thirteen crosses high above the cold Missouri shore.


There's stuff I want to say, but I'm nowhere near focussed enough today. Maybe in a few hours.