This one, I really have no idea
Aug. 13th, 2013 04:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceI was picking my way neatly through a parking lot downtown, and something about that action had me suddenly thinking about Mary Stewart's romantic thrillers. Why the one thing should trigger the other, I cannot begin to theorise let alone to explain.
Maybe I'm due a reread; it might be twenty years. It might be longer, for some of them. But, weaving between parked cars, in that sort of herringbone pattern? Tweed, Scottishness, Stewart? *shrugs* Something happened, in the deep subconscious tangle that I am pleased to call my mind.
In other news, Mars is a great work left unfinished, abandoned in that sense: not a derelict, not the Marie Celeste. Not the Sagrada FamÃlia either: they're still working on that. This is today's understanding, that Mars is empty, and it doesn't work. Which doesn't stop it trying. Which I guess makes it both the ghost and the machine.
Can you tell that I'm still working this out?
Maybe I'm due a reread; it might be twenty years. It might be longer, for some of them. But, weaving between parked cars, in that sort of herringbone pattern? Tweed, Scottishness, Stewart? *shrugs* Something happened, in the deep subconscious tangle that I am pleased to call my mind.
In other news, Mars is a great work left unfinished, abandoned in that sense: not a derelict, not the Marie Celeste. Not the Sagrada FamÃlia either: they're still working on that. This is today's understanding, that Mars is empty, and it doesn't work. Which doesn't stop it trying. Which I guess makes it both the ghost and the machine.
Can you tell that I'm still working this out?