herr_bookman (
herr_bookman) wrote2013-10-22 12:24 am
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Hannibal Thread Summary Part I
[Dossier | Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV]
Saw someone playing Yrael’s harpsichord today – one Dr. Hannibal Lecter, a psychiatrist from Baltimore, 2013. He is terrifying. The man guessed my era based on my clothes; he read my habits, abilities, research--even where I was going! He moves deliberately, allows people to fill in their own assumptions, and asked for my business card. He also very clearly wanted to keep me around in the conversation, likely so I could trip over my own feet and--lo and behold!--I gave him my name... which he was extremely interested in as a reader/writer association.
---
I next met Dr. Lecter while he tended bar, which was good, as I meant to find out how aware Dr. Lecter is of the unique nature of the bar's patrons, and their canons. I do not believe he is yet, but will be shocked if he doesn't learn soon.
I also wonder how quickly he is integrating into the fabric of the bar; he is already tending, and clearly takes everything in stride, and may know Sunshine. "Are you afraid of me, Autor?" he asked, knowing the answer. I left.
---
Dr. Lecter found me this time, playing Chopin's Fantasie Impromptu. He complimented me on my interpretation--which was wholly unsettling--and then spoke about describing the bar to his therapist. Afterwards, we theorized about the fictionality of ourselves, the bar's patrons, and the bar itself, to the point where it's possible that we are in the process of being written as some manner of meta-narrative. The discussion was fascinating, and I hate to say it, but the lack of existential horror on his part was thoroughly refreshing.
He did say, however, that he interprets other people, and refuses to let other people interpret him. He will try to find his narrative in the library and change it--good luck with that, I say. He also invited me to his world to have dinner and peek around his office. I declined.
---
Ahaha! Dr. Lecter found me in the library today. He was humming a gorgeous, ghastly Nicholas Lens piece regarding a sacrificial lamb. He was also thoroughly nnoyed with Charles. Apparently the telepath had not only read his mind--really? you would have done the same--but underestimated Dr. Lecter's own ability to read. "Rudely self-righteous," he said, and latched on to the fact that I had Charles' dissertation in an effort to have me help persecute the telepath--more than I had by having it out in the open for him to see. Again, I declined... though I must confess that I was tempted to help him with this; Charles is no friend of mine, and I concede I have a lot to learn from Dr. Lecter.
"You write, I read," he said. "Such as it is, it will come in handy." He wants me around for my own ability to read and interpret; I only fear that someday, he won't allow me to say no.
Note: He actually did find his own canon! Huh.
---
I returned Charles' dissertation to him. He does not appear to have picked up on my vague hint in the note.
---
Dr. Lecter is holding a Bastille Day barbeque "for all more recent arrivals to celebrate our great privilege in finding a way to this place". What? Who arrived? How recently?
---
I did manage to escape the barbeque, but just barely--Dr. Lecter offered an invitation in person, calling me friend. Enemy, Disciple, and Nemesis were quick to follow, after which I was told I was offered a choice. When I declined his repeated invitation and turned to leave, he said, "One day, I will feed you, and convert you."
If he was ever playing, he isn't anymore.
---
This week has been so busy! I've been spending time with little Rae, who has run into some problems at home. I'd also set up plans for the ice rink at the same time--which of course became so much bigger as time went on--and ended up making cookies with her. Unfortunately, Dr. Lecter tracked her down (always by the food, he is). It seemed as if they knew each other, but then he asked her name; if he knows the older Rae, then he'll be able to attack her by gathering information from the younger version. As I walked up--and interposed myself between them--he was asking her about her inability to eat meats. He called me rude, and then Rae dragged me away.
---
He smelled my grenades! The man has the nose of a bloodhound! I'd sent Rae home with flower crowns, and was wearing one I'd made out of gladiolae for laughs when Dr. Lecter struck up a conversation re: my grenades blowing my gonads off. Um.
Then he tried to define what I was to write and how I should conduct myself, under the guise of "constructive criticism." When I objected, he said that people who didn't apply such would be found "rudely obstinate." Rude, rude, rude; I asked him what it meant, and he said, "a lack of civilization... the set of rules and skills that allows us to live together in groups of specialized individuals." Its opposite is utter mayhem, and nothing then is sacred.
It is, essentially, his keyword, and he will act against individuals he labels uncivilized. I don't know how, but it will be nasty. He complimented me for my boldness in asking; the first genuinely positive statement I think I've heard from him.
Saw someone playing Yrael’s harpsichord today – one Dr. Hannibal Lecter, a psychiatrist from Baltimore, 2013. He is terrifying. The man guessed my era based on my clothes; he read my habits, abilities, research--even where I was going! He moves deliberately, allows people to fill in their own assumptions, and asked for my business card. He also very clearly wanted to keep me around in the conversation, likely so I could trip over my own feet and--lo and behold!--I gave him my name... which he was extremely interested in as a reader/writer association.
---
I next met Dr. Lecter while he tended bar, which was good, as I meant to find out how aware Dr. Lecter is of the unique nature of the bar's patrons, and their canons. I do not believe he is yet, but will be shocked if he doesn't learn soon.
I also wonder how quickly he is integrating into the fabric of the bar; he is already tending, and clearly takes everything in stride, and may know Sunshine. "Are you afraid of me, Autor?" he asked, knowing the answer. I left.
---
Dr. Lecter found me this time, playing Chopin's Fantasie Impromptu. He complimented me on my interpretation--which was wholly unsettling--and then spoke about describing the bar to his therapist. Afterwards, we theorized about the fictionality of ourselves, the bar's patrons, and the bar itself, to the point where it's possible that we are in the process of being written as some manner of meta-narrative. The discussion was fascinating, and I hate to say it, but the lack of existential horror on his part was thoroughly refreshing.
He did say, however, that he interprets other people, and refuses to let other people interpret him. He will try to find his narrative in the library and change it--good luck with that, I say. He also invited me to his world to have dinner and peek around his office. I declined.
---
Ahaha! Dr. Lecter found me in the library today. He was humming a gorgeous, ghastly Nicholas Lens piece regarding a sacrificial lamb. He was also thoroughly nnoyed with Charles. Apparently the telepath had not only read his mind--really? you would have done the same--but underestimated Dr. Lecter's own ability to read. "Rudely self-righteous," he said, and latched on to the fact that I had Charles' dissertation in an effort to have me help persecute the telepath--more than I had by having it out in the open for him to see. Again, I declined... though I must confess that I was tempted to help him with this; Charles is no friend of mine, and I concede I have a lot to learn from Dr. Lecter.
"You write, I read," he said. "Such as it is, it will come in handy." He wants me around for my own ability to read and interpret; I only fear that someday, he won't allow me to say no.
Note: He actually did find his own canon! Huh.
---
I returned Charles' dissertation to him. He does not appear to have picked up on my vague hint in the note.
---
Dr. Lecter is holding a Bastille Day barbeque "for all more recent arrivals to celebrate our great privilege in finding a way to this place". What? Who arrived? How recently?
---
I did manage to escape the barbeque, but just barely--Dr. Lecter offered an invitation in person, calling me friend. Enemy, Disciple, and Nemesis were quick to follow, after which I was told I was offered a choice. When I declined his repeated invitation and turned to leave, he said, "One day, I will feed you, and convert you."
If he was ever playing, he isn't anymore.
---
This week has been so busy! I've been spending time with little Rae, who has run into some problems at home. I'd also set up plans for the ice rink at the same time--which of course became so much bigger as time went on--and ended up making cookies with her. Unfortunately, Dr. Lecter tracked her down (always by the food, he is). It seemed as if they knew each other, but then he asked her name; if he knows the older Rae, then he'll be able to attack her by gathering information from the younger version. As I walked up--and interposed myself between them--he was asking her about her inability to eat meats. He called me rude, and then Rae dragged me away.
---
He smelled my grenades! The man has the nose of a bloodhound! I'd sent Rae home with flower crowns, and was wearing one I'd made out of gladiolae for laughs when Dr. Lecter struck up a conversation re: my grenades blowing my gonads off. Um.
Then he tried to define what I was to write and how I should conduct myself, under the guise of "constructive criticism." When I objected, he said that people who didn't apply such would be found "rudely obstinate." Rude, rude, rude; I asked him what it meant, and he said, "a lack of civilization... the set of rules and skills that allows us to live together in groups of specialized individuals." Its opposite is utter mayhem, and nothing then is sacred.
It is, essentially, his keyword, and he will act against individuals he labels uncivilized. I don't know how, but it will be nasty. He complimented me for my boldness in asking; the first genuinely positive statement I think I've heard from him.