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Larry's Multiverse

dreamed 2008/2/16 by Wayan.


Dawn: good light, so I paint the Quenna Isles on my giant alien-planet model, Lyr.

Midday: go see Sleepwalking through the Mekong, a film on the band Dengue Fever as they tour Cambodia. They play Khmer pop classics from before Pol Pot. The lead singer's Khmer but the rest are Angelenos who liked the music and sing Khmer lyrics by ear. In Phnom Penh, they visit a music school in a slum of concrete high-rises, where students resurrect Cambodian culture, post-Holocaust. They hold a joint concert there in Shantytown. I liked that a lot.

Lunch: at the Sunflower, a Viet restaurant, squeezed between cute tattooed Burner girls and some filmbuffs still discussing "Sleepwalking through the Mekong". Then I wander 16th St; buy mangoes, look through used books, listen to an Andean band at the BART station.

Afternoon: edit Ms. Mira's submission to the World Dream Bank, True Love Is Choice. Then add some follow-up info to H. Barrington's A Musical Amoeba.

Evening: Watch Smallville on TV. A parade of hot girls with odd powers from exposure to kryptonite: Lois and her brilliant cousin Lana, Kera the blonde amnesic, and Chloe the healer. Uh-oh, now we gotta tour Lex Luthor's brain! A grim maze, where Lex's adult self terrorizes his own inner child, snarling "You're weak!" Why's Lex split into abuser & abused? His dad's to blame--a rich, powerful, brutal, paranoid liar.

Digital sketch of a dream by Wayan: in a maroon room, I gape as Larry leaps through a hazy oval gate and disappears.
Welcome to our shamanic seminar
taught by--Larry the smartass?
Saw him last--age ten--a mocker in
our gifted class. A smug kid then--

a smuggerdult now. But Larry backs
up his sneer--he fades to air.
Our final exam: hound his soul-tracks
through the unseen door.

Led by Larry's cackles, I slip through
labyrinths of fractals
brimming with innocent inmates who
each believes her reef

sealed, complete, concrete, and All--
blind to the Pleniverse!
My Earth a drop in the waterfall.
Now it feels a jail.

Fairy portals always lurked,
cracks in cosmic walls--
but all unmarked--they must be learned--
scent where physics fails!

Glow of legend oft surrounds
coral pores--and yet--
the mystereef entire, no one's
ever atlased out.

A rosy glow somewhere inside a cluster of translucent cubes, each signifying a universe.
A lab in a gutted factory zone
where it's a crime to claim
coralheads may lie Beyond--
hence inventors hide--

But get results! Show me with pride
mice who leap crosstime
and back alive; attained Outside
through duct-tape miracles.

I start to map the shaman-field
under the skin mundane--
Sketched in pencil, all is pale;
magic thin and wan--

But not all weak is equal!
A gradient of spell
as radial as a gravity well!
Heart locatable,

a sorcery-whirlpool quite aware
of its fulcrum power.
Axle of the multiverse, replete
with a fey elite

smug as Larry, that gifted brat!
O their core glows amberlush--
shadows and apes, the rest of us
bit players! Expendable. Flat.

A woman sits on a hill of power; on the plain below her, slaves bow, collared and leashed. Click to enlarge.
Hard to take. Did Larry ever mock
at all? These Fair Folk take the cake!
So rude beneath that slick-polite.
But as they intimate that I'm

a rustic wasting his betters' time--
a hedge-witch who really ought to toddle
home to the Halo and play with clods--
privately I topo-model

their typhoon-eye's magic too--
Map out the gods!
Wonders well undammable through
the walls, though Powers that Be

scorn the gradient--will not see
that all the worlds abutting theirs
(though dreary to their jaded eyes)
hide geysers in the seams--

artesian pools of seething dreams
roiling to rival the Core!
And this N-dimensional maze
has myriadly more

neighbors than the six there'd be
in a mere solid tower.
Toying with us as colonies,
the fae blithely state

Slaves rebel by pulling their leashes, toppling their mistress off her high seat. Click to enlarge.
only in Faerie can spirits flower:
barrens past the gate.
That myth has helped them dominate,
but faith in monopoly means

the Corish ignore the Halo's slums
where labs research their doom.
What's Larry's game? Elusive still
but I scent him in the room.

Was he a fae of the Core, Earth-slumming?
He sure had their hauteur!
Or did he spy and they caught him coming?
Suspect, but I'm unsure.

But Larry's spoor will have to wait,
even if it was kidnap.
These Corish imperials richly rate
a savage freedom-slap

and I itch to help the Halo apply it.
I'll join a lab and help them quiet-
ly learn just how to reliably pierce
this dreary sponge of a Multiverse

till that hoarded heartland power
spatters hot as aorta gore.
They got me that furious--those
assholes at the Core.



Hard to write, hard to read--it's an unpleasant insight that the world is vaster than than we ever dreamed, but still run by jerks. With occasional Pol Pots.

But the dream says it doesn't have be. Magic's not constrained to dreams, whatever habit thinks! Miracles are possible even on the matterplane. Just harder. A... gradient.

A maroon hill rising on a hazy dark plain, mapping a concentration of power.

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