Walls and trees and people made out of glass, dripping and frozen. So strange somehow plausible, the transparency (brittleness). There's a book I like called
The Tremulous Private Body and it's a renaissance theory thingie in three sections, hard Foucaultblah going until the thirdfinal part's a page long, "Men with glass bodies". Your flesh would melt. (
Drops off like wax)
An ilxor on chat, I can't remember which, wish I could: that a father and son "communicate in this half-invented lyrical language". 'half-invented'! 'lyrical'! So so hot right now.
City of shadows, city of quartz. Cities of anything - I love how the bigvariedness and strangeness of cities plays into the fixedness, constancy of the other noun, literalised metaphor making it strange again. That's what I love in RPGs, right there, place. Logic and place. That's why I need a word stronger than love for 'Loom' which gives you all that and so gently tears it apart, shared vulnerability behind all that proud difference. (I was a teenager)
Made of shadows. Shifting and dancing purpleblack, every colour. I'm gonna play Planescape again now, start to finish all the way through.
― Gravel Puzzleworth (Gregory Henry), Wednesday, 9 February 2005 05:33 (twenty-one years ago)