superiorspectre: (*journal: GRR)
((backdated to early Christmas morning, following this post.))

You don't know me, but J's a friend someone I care my old boss

Oh, to hell with this. I know J. You're important to him & considering he sent Mac to look for you during the plagues, you're also a shapeshifter, which might be relevant.

He's a dog right now, & he's not at all rational. Reads me as a threat, same for Mac, though she's trying to keep him from being stupid anyway.

I think he might pay attention to you if you tried to get through to him.
superiorspectre: (*journal: solemn)
I know the latest post on the journal network is probably making you want to dismember things right now.

It's doing the same to me, for reasons... Well, I've explained them to your subconscious, but not to you directly. I'd say it's a fun little story, but really, it's anything but.

Gwen knows the details, but if she's sympathetic and understanding or asks me if I'm all right I might stab her with something, and that's a habit that won't have ended well for me one timeline over, so best to skip it entirely.

All of which is a long-winded way of asking if you can spare the emotional energy to talk.

Over the journals is fine.
superiorspectre: (*journal: solemn)
[[OOC: The poetry filter is for whoever out there likes poetry, so as not to annoy people who don't.]]

Black Rook in Rainy Weather

On the stiff twig up there
Hunches a wet black rook
Arranging and rearranging its feathers in the rain-
I do not expect a miracle
Or an accident

To set the sight on fire
In my eye, nor seek
Any more in the desultory weather some design,
But let spotted leaves fall as they fall
Without ceremony, or portent.

Although, I admit, I desire,
Occasionally, some backtalk
From the mute sky, I can't honestly complain:
A certain minor light may still
Lean incandescent

Out of kitchen table or chair
As if a celestial burning took
Possession of the most obtuse objects now and then --
Thus hallowing an interval
Otherwise inconsequent

By bestowing largesse, honor
One might say love. At any rate, I now walk
Wary (for it could happen
Even in this dull, ruinous landscape); sceptical
Yet politic, ignorant

Of whatever angel any choose to flare
Suddenly at my elbow. I only know that a rook
Ordering its black feathers can so shine
As to seize my senses, haul
My eyelids up, and grant

A brief respite from fear
Of total neutrality. With luck,
Trekking stubborn through this season
Of fatigue, I shall
Patch together a content

Of sorts. Miracles occur.
If you care to call those spasmodic
Tricks of radiance
Miracles. The wait's begun again,
The long wait for the angel,

For that rare, random descent.

-- Sylvia Plath
superiorspectre: (*journal: solemn)
I heard about what happened.

I can't imagine what you must be going through right now, but if you need anything...

Just let me know, all right?

Take care of yourself.
superiorspectre: (*journal: GRR)
It looks like the most recent plague is affecting shapeshifters -- they get stuck in one form and fall ill. Considering the Biblical version killed off a good portion of the livestock, if you know any shapeshifters, this would be a very good time to find them and make sure they're receiving some form of medical care.

[Locked to Kashtta residents]

I'm looking for Luke. I don't know both of his shifter forms, but one of them's a kitten, so if you find that kitten or any other animal you don't recognise, please get him to either Juliet or Owen and then let me know you've found him.

Juliet, Owen, sorry for volunteering you, but for all that neither of you is trained in veterinary medicine, we don't have someone that is, so you're the next best thing.

[Locked to Julian Sark]

THIS IS WHY YOU GIVE YOUR FRIENDS THE ADDRESS OF YOUR FLAT.


Remember what I said, Julian. If you die first, I will be VERY PISSED OFF.

Please just let me know you're all right. I know you're not in a form that can WRITE today, but please, when you get through this, LET ME KNOW.
superiorspectre: (*journal: GRR)
Julian...

I was quite happily agnostic before this started, but the universe does have its sense of humour. First a Stephen King version of the Devil, and now this...

If you're familiar with the Plagues of Egypt, well, this shouldn't need much explanation.

I haven't seen you for a while. Are you all right? I don't suppose you have any older siblings you haven't mentioned?
superiorspectre: (*journal: solemn)
[Locked to Gwen and Sam]

I ran into Time Agent 462O1 (currently Jason Randall) today. I still don't consider him a threat, even in the face of extreme emotional stress, which he & I were both subjected to.

He was, however, in the general area of the Kashtta. I recommend keeping a close watch on the area, in case there are any further signs of trouble. While my personal estimation remains unchanged, I don't think any of us want to risk the possibility that I may be wrong.

Currently, he seems v. conflicted, torn between the impulses and modes of behaviour associated with John Thane, and those of Jack Harkness. This is causing a great deal of emotional distress, as neither identity fits, & both are @ odds w/ each other when it comes to interacting w/ us, or the world in general.

I suspect part of him wants to make contact w/ us, as all the previous emotional baggage is still there, but he's prevented from doing so by the conviction that we would try to push him back into the role of Jack Harkness, which he quite emphatically doesn't want. I gave him the option to walk away or to talk, & he chose to stay & talk w/ me for some time, before the situation became emotionally volatile & we went our separate ways.

He appears to be a shapeshifter now, poss. related to the changes in Rift alterations which happened some time ago. I'm not sure of his forms: he went part way into the shift & then was talked back down.

Also learnt that he's the one who sent Luke our way -- Luke recognised him as Jack, &, unable to help him (& obv. feeling some distress over encountering expectations based on his prev. identity), he sent him to us, & seemed genuinely concerned when asking after him.



[Locked to Sark]

Julian, I

Could you come by my room?

I think I need

I'd appreciate it.

[Public]

May. 26th, 2009 11:14 pm
superiorspectre: (despair)
Today or this noon
She dwelt so close
I almost touched her —
Tonight she lies
Past neighborhood
And bough and steeple,
Now past surmise.

— Emily Dickinson
superiorspectre: (*journal: GRR)
There's something I need to talk to you about, when you're free.
superiorspectre: (*journal: GRR)
[Locked to Torchwood]

Has anyone noticed that the local mayoral candidate appears to be using a subtle brand of psychic manipulation on the crowds?

Went out for a bit -- yes, Gwen, I left the Tower, so sorry, but I was going to go mad if I didn't get out of there -- and caught the end of his speech. It made me like him, want to trust him, support him. vote for him...

Can we spot the OBVIOUS PROBLEMS with me wanting to do any of those things?

And I didn't even realise until after.

As much as American politics aren't usually our business, this just might be.

[Locked to the Vesmier]

I need a favour. There was a buried packet of memories in my mind which we weren't able to deal with during the Thane situation. I think it's time I saw what was in there. The local mayoral candidate seems to be resorting to psychic manipulation. Very subtle, but it's... Familiar.

I need to know what was done to me.
superiorspectre: (*journal: solemn)
So, if I were to present two options, one being allowing Julian Sark into the Tower, and the other being my absence from the Tower for... however much time we end up taking for wine and conversation, which would be the least problematic from your perspective?
superiorspectre: (adorable)
Child

Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.
I want to fill it with color and ducks,
The zoo of the new
Whose name you meditate--
April snowdrop, Indian pipe,
Little

Stalk without wrinkle,
Pool in which images
Should be grand and classical

Not this troublous
Wringing of hands, this dark
Ceiling without a star.

-- Sylvia Plath
superiorspectre: (nothing worse than too late)
Oh, good, my journal finally caught up with me.

I haven't talked to you in a while, and I'm sorry... Things with Thane have eaten up my attention, but I thought I'd say hello, see how you were doing.
superiorspectre: (a woman in the shape of a monster)
Agent Thane:

You and I have something in common, I think -- right now, most of Torchwood would prefer neither one of us existed, and we both harbour grievances against the Doctor.

If you wouldn't be adverse, I'd like to discuss that with you. At a time an place of your choosing, of course.

Let's just say I'm reconsidering where I stand.
superiorspectre: (Default)
{{Backdated to shortly before this post.}}

Just letting you know, I'm going back with the rest of Torchwood.

I'd very much like to see you again, though. It's been wonderful having a friend in the midst of all the insanity here, and I'm grateful beyond words for that. And I'm always happy to share my cocoa.

...I haven't heard seen Anya since this all began, or heard from her. If you do find out anything, one way or another, I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know. I know you two were close, so I'm hoping...

I hope she's all right, but given how things were that night, I just don't know.
superiorspectre: (broken)
I was wondering if you'd like to stop by my room. Anya's welcome to come, too. I've got cocoa.

I just could use a friend right about now.
superiorspectre: (Default)
I heard from Captain Harkness that you were looking after a friend of mine. Toshiko Sato. He didn't much care to talk about what happened, but I...

I just wanted to make sure she'll be all right.
superiorspectre: (solemn)
This is more or less a test of just how specific one can get with these locks. Psychic journal system and all. I'm still getting used to this. And if nothing else, I wanted to have this here, just for myself.

Shattered Head

A life hauls itself uphill
through hoar-mist steaming
the sun's tongue licking
leaf upon leaf into stricken liquid
When? When? cry the soothseekers
but time is a bloodshot eye
seeing its last of beauty its own
foreclosure
a bloodshot mind
finding itself unspeakable
What is the last thought?
Now I will let you know?
or, Now I know?
(porridge of skull-splinters, brain tissue
mouth and throat membrane, cranial fluid)

Shattered head on the breast
of a wooded hill
Laid down there endlessly so
tendrils soaked into matted compost
became a root
torqued over the faint springhead
groin whence illegible
matter leaches: worm-borings, spurts of silt
volumes of sporic changes
hair long blown into far follicles
blasted into a chosen place

Revenge on the head (genitals, breast, untouched)
revenge on the mouth
packed with its inarticulate confessions
revenge on the eyes
green-gray and restless
revenge on the big and searching lips
the tender tongue
revenge on the sensual, on the nose the
carrier of history
revenge on the life devoured
in another incineration

You can walk by such a place, the earth is
made of them
where the stretched tissue of a field or woods
is humid
with beloved matter
the soothseekers have withdrawn
you feel no ghost, only a sporic chorus
when that place utters its worn sigh
let us have peace

And the shattered head answers back

And I believed I was loved, I believed I loved
Who did this to us?

-- Adrienne Rich, from Midnight Salvage: Poems 1995-1998 (1999)

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