The colonies of man tremble at our feet…


In the great debate of PC vs MAC…     I choose Cylon.

Maybe that’s because I am one.    Or not.   It was… quite the dream…that one from July of 2008.

I blogged about it, but in the MySpace blog, which didn’t transfer over here.   So, I’ll share that post with you here… but at the end.    I have other things I wanted to mention.

Moving progresses.   Took yesterday off to be available in case NV Energy needed me to let them in.    Spent most of it packing and moving said packed-items over.     I have discovered I am stronger than I knew.   I was moving furniture around all by myself with far less effort than I anticipated needing.    Granted its not huge furniture, as that stuff tends to be a bit too awkward for me to carry on my lonesome, but still…   its not light stuff.   I was tossing it in and out of the car like it was nothing.    Yeah, I move furniture in my coupe.   It should not be underestimated in its ability to move my belongings.    Poor car.    First thing I do after buying it was start moving.    Ten years later and that third door is still awesome for getting boxes (and furniture) in and out of that back seat.

I think we’ll be able to do the heavier moving (that involving a uHaul) a bit earlier than anticipated.    As soon as Gabe’s check gets here we’ll book something.


Anyway…  a trip through the dreamscape from July 15, 2008:

(Mind you, this was prior to Season 4.5 airing)

Toasters and Skin Jobs

So I’ve been trying to hold on to this since about 5:50 this morning when I first awoke.

I’ve dreamt myself as a Cylon.    That’s right.   One of humanity’s destroyers.

The details are, of course, somewhat sketchy but this is what I remember:

The human race is extinct, save one captive:    "Colonel" Sheppard.   Though while the rank was colonel, its the John Sheppard of Mass Effect that we hold prisoner, and not the John Sheppard of the Atlantis expedition.

Further I had only just discovered my awesome cylon programming.   I was in Sheppard’s unit up until whatever calamity befell the remainder of the human race.

The Cylons themselves were seriously culled.   There were only twelve of us left… but the math doesn’t really add up.    We had two sixes, and two eights with us.  One of all the other models [from the 7, not the final five].   Not sure, but I think certain models may be extinct also.   I don’t recall seeing Madame President’s former aide walking around.    Problem is, I’m not the only new cylon to be revealed.   There is another (which also doesn’t add up since all but one have been revealed).   He’s apparently a native american of sorts.   At least he was dressed as such.   But he’s about as ethnic as Admiral Adama isn’t, so there you have it.   Though that is one ethnicity that seems to be missing from the pantheon of Cylon skin jobs…  natives of the Americas.

Originally Tigh and the other "Colonial Cylons" (you know, the four of the final five hiding in the fleet…) were trying to hide me from the rest.   But that ruse ended and the final of the five (apparently not me) helped me adjust to my newly awakened sense of cylon identity.

I briefly considered rescuing Shepard to put an end to the madness, but apparently found myself conflicted in the realization that the Cylons were my people, not the humans… and indeed the Colonials I was most close with were also Cylons (Tigh and such).

I do know that I was talking to a six and mentioned "you know, we have a homeworld of our own" (in reference to the homeworld the Cylons set out to found after the original Cylon war against the Colonies… and that we didn’t need to follow this other new Cylon’s vision of setting up shop on what appeared to be Earth).     She indicated they had basically dismantled it (the Cylon Homeworld) in preparation for their attack on the Twelve Colonies.

I asked them "but what about our plan?"   (‘Cause Cylons have plans.)   That lead to discussion with one of the eights about her unique ability to mate with any genetic makeup.   "But we haven’t tested that with other cylons," the Six and I were quick to interject.

Yes, I was concerned there weren’t many of us Cylons left and wondered how we would perpetuate our race.   Hera being mysteriously absent I was also concerned that we, the Cylons, had lost sight of our objectives.   And we had no ability to resurrect thanks to some rebellious skin jobs and their colonial allies (whom of course were probably some of the surviving Cylons as it was.)

But then I got woken up, so I don’t know the outcome.  

So there you have it.  I’m a frakking Cylon.   The fabled thirteenth model apparently.    I’d love to see what one of those dream books has to say about that.

"When you dream about being a cylon it means…."


One thing I was commenting on later in relation to this dream…   Having lived the experience of finding out everything you thought about yourself was a lie… that you weren’t even human…   well it was an experience to be sure.   Waking up didn’t shake it, and having been put through that let’s just say I was none-to-thrilled to find out all that angst and self-reflection that accompanies finding out you’re a skin job, that I went through in this dream,  was really for nothing.   

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