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Jul. 29th, 2005 11:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gone_byebye14 North Moore Street
Manhattan
28 July 2004
"Why are you doing this, Ray?"
"Because I can? Because I've wanted to since I was seven years old?"
"Uh-huh. What's the real reason?"
"I can't just fulfill a childhood dream on a whim?"
"Not this one, no. Not like this. You've changed since you started going to that place. . ."
(I don’t take coffee I take tea my dear / I like my toast done on one side / And you can hear it in my accent when I talk / I’m an Englishman in New York)
He watched Equilibrium again last night, for the third time. The first was alone in his room in Milliways. The second was back at the Firehall, again, alone. The third probably wouldn't have happened, only Winston found the DVD and expressed an interest, which led to some interesting arguments over the exact nature of Librian society. Those had gone on beyond the end of the movie and eventually sucked even Egon in.
Of course, just at the moment he's got a maglight in his left hand and the light switch for the back storeroom under the fingers of his right, so it's not exactly the social structure of life under Father that's coming to mind.
(See me walking down Fifth Avenue / A walking cane here at my side / I take it everywhere I walk / I’m an Englishman in New York)
"Is that bad? I mean, seriously- is that a problem?"
"No. No, it's not. It's just- strange, that's all. I mean, you think before you do stuff now. You never used to do that."
"Well, yeah, I guess I do. Considering what happened when I didn't-"
"That's the thing. I don't think I remember you ever actually taking the time to stop and learn from your mistakes before, except for the ones that took off your eyebrows."
"That only happened twice."
"Whatever. The point is, now you do, and it's kind of weird. I’m not objecting. I'm just saying."
"Okay. . ."
"Which is why I'm asking. Why are you doing this? I seriously want to know."
(I’m an alien I’m a legal alien / I’m an Englishman in New York / I’m an alien I’m a legal alien / I’m an Englishman in New York)
The storeroom is empty, he made sure of that. He closes his eyes, concentrating, calling the pages of the book (Chinese Broadsword Techniques for the Beginner) into mind. They'll be forgotten in a few days' time- not even a photographic memory holds such things forever- but he hopes to have at least the beginnings of them engraved into his muscles by then. Reflexes don't forget, even if the brain does.
When he's sure he's got them securely in the front of his thoughts, he turns out the light and darkness falls.
(If manners maketh man as someone said / Then he’s the hero of the day / It takes a man to suffer ignorance and smile / Be yourself no matter what they say)
He couldn't say why, though he tried. There was a difference between knowing and saying and the gap between the two was too big to bridge, even for himself. He knew. He just couldn't put the words to it.
(I’m an alien I’m a legal alien / I’m an Englishman in New York / I’m an alien I’m a legal alien / I’m an Englishman in New York)
The maglight (modified, the bulb made brighter, the beam's scatter narrowed to a slenderer column- what good is a tool if you don't make it really yours, after all) flicks into life.
Funny, he hasn't heard his pulse pounding in his ears like that since the last time he spoke to
Romana.
(Modesty, propriety can lead to notoriety / You could end up as the only one)
The flashlight (a stand-in for a sword that's a stand-in for a real sword that'd be a stand-in for another weapon) comes up in its initial arc. It's a smooth move, a perfect move. It matches the one in the picture perfectly.
Why am I doing this? Because there are things I can't fix.
(Gentleness, sobriety are rare in this society)
The next move comes across smoothly as well.
Because I've learned things nobody else knows, things most people can't ever know no matter how hard they try, and it isn't enough, it doesn't help-
It's the third, the downstroke, that sets off the buzzer at the back of his neck. The beam intersected the photosensor he attached to his pants- if he'd been using a real blade he'd have lost his leg at the thigh. He sighs, straightening, and goes back to the beginning.
(At night a candle's brighter than the sun)
Up. Across. Down. This time his wrist remembers before his brain does, pulls up short. There's no buzz now.
Because New York sees us as heroes part of the time and exterminators the rest of the time. Because there are things out there that not even we can stop- things we wouldn't ever have thought of.
He steps through the move and brings the flashlight around again with only one hand, missing his elbow by centimeters- if that. All right, no buzzer, he'd have kept that arm, but repeat the move anyway. Up. Across.
Because I can't fix everything and I can't save everyone.
Down. Again, no buzz; up again and past the elbow.
(Takes more than combat gear to make a man / Takes more than a license for a gun)
There are things people have to save themselves from- I know that now-
The buzzer goes off. That would've been his right arm, at mid-forearm. The image is not lost on him; he smiles, just a little, and returns to the beginning.
-but there are things I can do something about. Even if I don't know it yet.
That one goes more smoothly. He repeats it twice more and goes on to the next exercise. All of these are one handed, he realizes; didn't the Jedi in the movies use two hands for most of their fighting? No matter. He'll move onto that when he's ready. (Learn to fall before you learn to fight. Unless you like being hurt? No?)
There are other people who love this city. Other people who'd protect it with their lives if they had to. They owned this building. They own the stable across the street. They do other things. They're here. I know that much. Hell, there's even three of them right in this building.
The new moves are more complicated and he keeps hearing the buzz he built into the shirt, over and over and over until he has to stop for a moment and get the giggles out of his system at the thought of the Black Knight hopping amongst a pile of severed limbs and shouting that it's only a flesh wound.
(Confront your enemies, avoid them when you can)
All right. Better. Back to the practice.
I don't have to do this alone-
His leg stays 'intact' for the first time, but it's still tricky, and he has to repeat the new move four more times before the beam consistently fails to intersect his forearm. Part of him wonders if the Jedi use both hands because it makes it much harder to whack one off by mistake when you have both hands on the saber handle.
-but they shouldn't have to, either.
He takes a deep breath and runs through the first three exercises back-to-back-to-back.
I set out to know things when all of this started. Things nobody else would know. Everything that I could. I wanted to understand, I wanted to know, and oh, boy, did I ever get what I wanted-
(A gentleman will walk but never run)
The first run doesn't set off the buzzer, but only because he didn't wire his shoes for solar, an oversight he's going to have to remedy. The second run leaves him sprawling as he lunges too far in his enthusiasm and his foot goes out from under him. It takes him a moment to catch his breath.
I know. Knowledge is power-
He pushes himself to his feet, wincing, shaking out his ankle. (Why do we fall? So we can learn to pick ourselves back up.) Okay, he knows what he did wrong. Try that again.
power corrupts if you let it, yeah, but what it means is responsibility-
The ankle almost gives way again and he realizes it's not the fault of his technique. He's not ready for that speed yet. His balance isn't there. He takes a deep breath, concentrates, forces himself to slow down.
(If manners maketh man as someone said / Then he’s the hero of the day)
It will be a while, he knows as he moves, before he can handle even those basics at any kind of speed. He needs to get them so engraved on muscle and bone and sinew first that he couldn't forget them even with the fangs of a terror dog two inches from his face. Then the speed. Then.
I can't take responsibility for what anybody else does. I can't solve Peter's problems for him. Even if I want to.
(It takes a man to suffer ignorance and smile)
That's okay, though. That's how it's supposed to be.
Deep breath, in, out. Back to the beginning.
But there are some things I can solve, and can do, and can fix, and what's the point of being a scientist and understanding all the creepy knowledge in the world if you're only doing it because you want to know? What's the point of sitting on my thumbs when there's stuff out there that needs doing?
(Be yourself no matter what they say)
And over, and over, and over again, sometimes setting off the buzzer, sometimes not-
If my knowing stuff means that I understand a danger, then it's my responsibility to do whatever I can to meet that danger, as far as I'm able. This? This is making myself more able. I do this because I know what will happen if I don't. Maybe someone else'll step up to the plate, maybe not, but I'm not going to take that chance. Not if it lies in my power to protect my friends, my home, my city, my girl, my people, my world. No. No one can fix everything.
- the ray of light slices through the dark.
All I can fix is me.
((Be yourself no matter what they say) I’m an alien I’m a legal alien)
((Be yourself no matter what they say) I’m an Englishman in New York)
((Be yourself no matter what they say) I’m an alien I’m a legal alien)
((Be yourself no matter what they say) I’m an Englishman in New York. . .)
And okay, it's also wicked cool.
C'mon. The man is human.
Manhattan
28 July 2004
"Why are you doing this, Ray?"
"Because I can? Because I've wanted to since I was seven years old?"
"Uh-huh. What's the real reason?"
"I can't just fulfill a childhood dream on a whim?"
"Not this one, no. Not like this. You've changed since you started going to that place. . ."
(I don’t take coffee I take tea my dear / I like my toast done on one side / And you can hear it in my accent when I talk / I’m an Englishman in New York)
He watched Equilibrium again last night, for the third time. The first was alone in his room in Milliways. The second was back at the Firehall, again, alone. The third probably wouldn't have happened, only Winston found the DVD and expressed an interest, which led to some interesting arguments over the exact nature of Librian society. Those had gone on beyond the end of the movie and eventually sucked even Egon in.
Of course, just at the moment he's got a maglight in his left hand and the light switch for the back storeroom under the fingers of his right, so it's not exactly the social structure of life under Father that's coming to mind.
(See me walking down Fifth Avenue / A walking cane here at my side / I take it everywhere I walk / I’m an Englishman in New York)
"Is that bad? I mean, seriously- is that a problem?"
"No. No, it's not. It's just- strange, that's all. I mean, you think before you do stuff now. You never used to do that."
"Well, yeah, I guess I do. Considering what happened when I didn't-"
"That's the thing. I don't think I remember you ever actually taking the time to stop and learn from your mistakes before, except for the ones that took off your eyebrows."
"That only happened twice."
"Whatever. The point is, now you do, and it's kind of weird. I’m not objecting. I'm just saying."
"Okay. . ."
"Which is why I'm asking. Why are you doing this? I seriously want to know."
(I’m an alien I’m a legal alien / I’m an Englishman in New York / I’m an alien I’m a legal alien / I’m an Englishman in New York)
The storeroom is empty, he made sure of that. He closes his eyes, concentrating, calling the pages of the book (Chinese Broadsword Techniques for the Beginner) into mind. They'll be forgotten in a few days' time- not even a photographic memory holds such things forever- but he hopes to have at least the beginnings of them engraved into his muscles by then. Reflexes don't forget, even if the brain does.
When he's sure he's got them securely in the front of his thoughts, he turns out the light and darkness falls.
(If manners maketh man as someone said / Then he’s the hero of the day / It takes a man to suffer ignorance and smile / Be yourself no matter what they say)
He couldn't say why, though he tried. There was a difference between knowing and saying and the gap between the two was too big to bridge, even for himself. He knew. He just couldn't put the words to it.
(I’m an alien I’m a legal alien / I’m an Englishman in New York / I’m an alien I’m a legal alien / I’m an Englishman in New York)
The maglight (modified, the bulb made brighter, the beam's scatter narrowed to a slenderer column- what good is a tool if you don't make it really yours, after all) flicks into life.
Funny, he hasn't heard his pulse pounding in his ears like that since the last time he spoke to
Romana.
(Modesty, propriety can lead to notoriety / You could end up as the only one)
The flashlight (a stand-in for a sword that's a stand-in for a real sword that'd be a stand-in for another weapon) comes up in its initial arc. It's a smooth move, a perfect move. It matches the one in the picture perfectly.
Why am I doing this? Because there are things I can't fix.
(Gentleness, sobriety are rare in this society)
The next move comes across smoothly as well.
Because I've learned things nobody else knows, things most people can't ever know no matter how hard they try, and it isn't enough, it doesn't help-
It's the third, the downstroke, that sets off the buzzer at the back of his neck. The beam intersected the photosensor he attached to his pants- if he'd been using a real blade he'd have lost his leg at the thigh. He sighs, straightening, and goes back to the beginning.
(At night a candle's brighter than the sun)
Up. Across. Down. This time his wrist remembers before his brain does, pulls up short. There's no buzz now.
Because New York sees us as heroes part of the time and exterminators the rest of the time. Because there are things out there that not even we can stop- things we wouldn't ever have thought of.
He steps through the move and brings the flashlight around again with only one hand, missing his elbow by centimeters- if that. All right, no buzzer, he'd have kept that arm, but repeat the move anyway. Up. Across.
Because I can't fix everything and I can't save everyone.
Down. Again, no buzz; up again and past the elbow.
(Takes more than combat gear to make a man / Takes more than a license for a gun)
There are things people have to save themselves from- I know that now-
The buzzer goes off. That would've been his right arm, at mid-forearm. The image is not lost on him; he smiles, just a little, and returns to the beginning.
-but there are things I can do something about. Even if I don't know it yet.
That one goes more smoothly. He repeats it twice more and goes on to the next exercise. All of these are one handed, he realizes; didn't the Jedi in the movies use two hands for most of their fighting? No matter. He'll move onto that when he's ready. (Learn to fall before you learn to fight. Unless you like being hurt? No?)
There are other people who love this city. Other people who'd protect it with their lives if they had to. They owned this building. They own the stable across the street. They do other things. They're here. I know that much. Hell, there's even three of them right in this building.
The new moves are more complicated and he keeps hearing the buzz he built into the shirt, over and over and over until he has to stop for a moment and get the giggles out of his system at the thought of the Black Knight hopping amongst a pile of severed limbs and shouting that it's only a flesh wound.
(Confront your enemies, avoid them when you can)
All right. Better. Back to the practice.
I don't have to do this alone-
His leg stays 'intact' for the first time, but it's still tricky, and he has to repeat the new move four more times before the beam consistently fails to intersect his forearm. Part of him wonders if the Jedi use both hands because it makes it much harder to whack one off by mistake when you have both hands on the saber handle.
-but they shouldn't have to, either.
He takes a deep breath and runs through the first three exercises back-to-back-to-back.
I set out to know things when all of this started. Things nobody else would know. Everything that I could. I wanted to understand, I wanted to know, and oh, boy, did I ever get what I wanted-
(A gentleman will walk but never run)
The first run doesn't set off the buzzer, but only because he didn't wire his shoes for solar, an oversight he's going to have to remedy. The second run leaves him sprawling as he lunges too far in his enthusiasm and his foot goes out from under him. It takes him a moment to catch his breath.
I know. Knowledge is power-
He pushes himself to his feet, wincing, shaking out his ankle. (Why do we fall? So we can learn to pick ourselves back up.) Okay, he knows what he did wrong. Try that again.
power corrupts if you let it, yeah, but what it means is responsibility-
The ankle almost gives way again and he realizes it's not the fault of his technique. He's not ready for that speed yet. His balance isn't there. He takes a deep breath, concentrates, forces himself to slow down.
(If manners maketh man as someone said / Then he’s the hero of the day)
It will be a while, he knows as he moves, before he can handle even those basics at any kind of speed. He needs to get them so engraved on muscle and bone and sinew first that he couldn't forget them even with the fangs of a terror dog two inches from his face. Then the speed. Then.
I can't take responsibility for what anybody else does. I can't solve Peter's problems for him. Even if I want to.
(It takes a man to suffer ignorance and smile)
That's okay, though. That's how it's supposed to be.
Deep breath, in, out. Back to the beginning.
But there are some things I can solve, and can do, and can fix, and what's the point of being a scientist and understanding all the creepy knowledge in the world if you're only doing it because you want to know? What's the point of sitting on my thumbs when there's stuff out there that needs doing?
(Be yourself no matter what they say)
And over, and over, and over again, sometimes setting off the buzzer, sometimes not-
If my knowing stuff means that I understand a danger, then it's my responsibility to do whatever I can to meet that danger, as far as I'm able. This? This is making myself more able. I do this because I know what will happen if I don't. Maybe someone else'll step up to the plate, maybe not, but I'm not going to take that chance. Not if it lies in my power to protect my friends, my home, my city, my girl, my people, my world. No. No one can fix everything.
- the ray of light slices through the dark.
All I can fix is me.
((Be yourself no matter what they say) I’m an alien I’m a legal alien)
((Be yourself no matter what they say) I’m an Englishman in New York)
((Be yourself no matter what they say) I’m an alien I’m a legal alien)
((Be yourself no matter what they say) I’m an Englishman in New York. . .)
And okay, it's also wicked cool.
C'mon. The man is human.
