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Dino Bard

Dreamed 2005/2/7 by Wayan

THAT DAY Lyr, a wet super-Earth; sketch by Wayan. Click to enlarge.

I spend all day on my crazy art project, Planetocopia--a set of web-tourable utopian worlds. Fill in some regional tours on Serrana, then sketch my first orbital view of Lyr (right). Don't have a physical globe of Lyr yet, so it's rough. Need more clouds? Lyr is wet...

Got an email critiquing an early planet in the series: Venus Unveiled. "Air that dense would be toxic." If true, it'll be a problem on Lyr, too. So I re-research to be sure. Find my answer in Sylvia Earle's Sea Change. Nitrogen NOT a problem--as I thought, my partial pressure around 3-3.5 atmospheres is equivalent to about 20-25m of water (75'), not quite into the zonk zone starting around 30m (100'); a minority of visitors might feel a mild buzz, but it's not going to knock tourists out. Long-term, extra oxygen (30% above Earth's partial pressure) might age tissue, but I think we could handle it. Our bloodstreams adapt to thin air by adjusting hemoglobin levels; I assume blood will thin out in over-rich air, so most tissues would get roughly the optimal amount. Oxygen's been that rich on Earth in the past. And even in our era, caisson workers did hard labor for years in up to several times our oxygen level; their great hazard wasn't oxygen OR nitrogen rapture, but the Bends, if they depressurized too fast, in minutes not hours--not a realistic hazard on either my Venus or Lyr.

Hmm... unless you snorkel on those worlds! Both have lovely reefs, but I better warn against diving more than a few yards down. Within seconds pressures rise--just five-ten meters down, nitrogen DOES get druglike. Rapture of the Shallows!

Planets fluffy as housecats... till they pop out their claws.

THAT NIGHT

I'm curled up by the bar in the Bazaar
Cafe, San Francisco's best venue for
songwriters. Here mere cover-tunes are
banned. Originals alone may soar. Or sour.

The crowd is dream-outré--tigers, a lone jaguar,
and half a dozen feathered dinosaurs.
That's a full house! Guests so dire require
dinosaurian space. Beware--

Don't crowd your proud neighbors, or
blood blooms. Not raw temper--for all
predator-cubs soon learn restraint--but sheer
spikiness and scale. No one dare sprawl.

Up front a dino bard, crest up, croons four
improvised ballads. Odd--the raptors all ignore
his lyrics. Never rude--chat quietly, or
peck screens. Neglect. Heard him before?

But the tigers of the Bazaar demur!
Watch Earth's biggest sweetest singing bird.
One tigress even leaps snake-fluid onto dais
and curls up, monster-kitten, round our bard.

The song soothes her huge paws--slowly claws
sheath in velvet. That's the job of art!
Still sadly bared: humanity's jagged flaws.
But even tigers long to tame! I bless her start.

A tigress curls around a feathered dinosaur singing in a cafe. Dream sketch by Wayan. Click to enlarge.

NOTES IN THE MORNING

YEARS LATER

I was slow to act on this. I'm a good composer of dream-songs but a clumsy musician--just not neurologically wired for it. But I spent a full year going weekly to the Bazaar Cafe and trying out originals; now my friends and I are recording them as The Krelkins.



LISTS AND LINKS: bars & cafes - Only In San Francisco - animal people - dinosaurs & tigers - music - social & career advice - flirting & sexy creatures - dream poems & pencil art - Planetocopia - a 2nd dream provoked by the Bazaar: Mirrorcunt

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