"Wild, 'cause I would do anything to tear you off your precious fence."
I'm trying - again - to cut off, get off, ditch the Seroquel, because it's turning my brain to mush. I slept maybe five fitful hours last night, and yet I feel more awake than if I'd slept seven on the Seroquel.
Here in Providence, it's currently a scorching 24˚F, but "feels" like sweltering 29˚F. You will pardon me is that is no consolation whatsoever. Yesterday's stale Hell seems especially so:
As of yesterday, I have left the House every day for fourteen days. It might not sound like much, but it is. I may not have left the House on that many consecutive days in....well...years.
---
Please have a look at the current eBay auctions, but most especially the "Beanie" Platypus + lettered edition of Tales from the Woeful Platypus (2007, long OOP). This is letter O. We met the reserve yesterday, but I'm going to continue pushing because the proceeds of to fix my (still) broken premolar. Thank you.
---
Yesterday I just barely managed to write 652 words on "Chewing on Shadows." Too much haze in my head, and I was having to read articles on Level A hazmat suits, the Genesis probe, ethane-methane rivers on Titan, a "blacker than black" material developed from multi-walled carbon nanotubes, buckshot, North Carolina newspapers, the Huygens atmospheric entry probe, and the possibility of methanogenic organisms in cryogenic hydrocarbon lakes. And my brain, unable to shake off the effects of weeks of 2-(2-(4-dibenzo[b,f][1,4]thiazepine- 11-yl- 1-piperazinyl)ethoxy)ethanol absolutely was not up to the task of fact juggling while writing good prose. Though time is short, I decided to do an SF piece for Sirenia Digest #97 - the aforementioned "Chewing on Shadows" - to prepare me for the cyborg story I need to write immediately afterwards.
Hopefully, despite not having gotten a great deal of sleep, today will go better.
---
The thirteenth and final chapter of Alabaster: Boxcar Tales* can be found in the pages of Dark Horse Presents #32.
And to answer the inevitable questions, without spoilers: Yes, she is. No, really.
Speaking of comics, I just got around to reading Alan Moore and Jacen Burrows Neonomicon, because I've heard the kerfuffle (from some quarters) surrounding it. My objection has nothing to do with sexism and "rape culture." I just find the book fucking wretched in all respects. Dull, glib, badly written, poorly drawn and colored. I couldn't even finish it. Mr. Alan Moore, please stay away from Lovecraft? Please? Meanwhile, I loved the Hellboy: Beasts of Burden one-shot (2010; Dorkin, Thompson, and Mignola).
---
Last night I saw what is surely one of the best 49 minutes of television ever filmed, "Chapter Two" of David Fincher's House of Cards. Wow. Just...wow. Kevin Spacey is brilliant and then some.
Now, I must try again to write the words.
Hello?
Aunt Beast
* To be collected as Alabaster: Grimmer Tales.
Here in Providence, it's currently a scorching 24˚F, but "feels" like sweltering 29˚F. You will pardon me is that is no consolation whatsoever. Yesterday's stale Hell seems especially so:
As of yesterday, I have left the House every day for fourteen days. It might not sound like much, but it is. I may not have left the House on that many consecutive days in....well...years.
---
Please have a look at the current eBay auctions, but most especially the "Beanie" Platypus + lettered edition of Tales from the Woeful Platypus (2007, long OOP). This is letter O. We met the reserve yesterday, but I'm going to continue pushing because the proceeds of to fix my (still) broken premolar. Thank you.
---
Yesterday I just barely managed to write 652 words on "Chewing on Shadows." Too much haze in my head, and I was having to read articles on Level A hazmat suits, the Genesis probe, ethane-methane rivers on Titan, a "blacker than black" material developed from multi-walled carbon nanotubes, buckshot, North Carolina newspapers, the Huygens atmospheric entry probe, and the possibility of methanogenic organisms in cryogenic hydrocarbon lakes. And my brain, unable to shake off the effects of weeks of 2-(2-(4-dibenzo[b,f][1,4]thiazepine- 11-yl- 1-piperazinyl)ethoxy)ethanol absolutely was not up to the task of fact juggling while writing good prose. Though time is short, I decided to do an SF piece for Sirenia Digest #97 - the aforementioned "Chewing on Shadows" - to prepare me for the cyborg story I need to write immediately afterwards.
Hopefully, despite not having gotten a great deal of sleep, today will go better.
---
The thirteenth and final chapter of Alabaster: Boxcar Tales* can be found in the pages of Dark Horse Presents #32.
And to answer the inevitable questions, without spoilers: Yes, she is. No, really.
Speaking of comics, I just got around to reading Alan Moore and Jacen Burrows Neonomicon, because I've heard the kerfuffle (from some quarters) surrounding it. My objection has nothing to do with sexism and "rape culture." I just find the book fucking wretched in all respects. Dull, glib, badly written, poorly drawn and colored. I couldn't even finish it. Mr. Alan Moore, please stay away from Lovecraft? Please? Meanwhile, I loved the Hellboy: Beasts of Burden one-shot (2010; Dorkin, Thompson, and Mignola).
---
Last night I saw what is surely one of the best 49 minutes of television ever filmed, "Chapter Two" of David Fincher's House of Cards. Wow. Just...wow. Kevin Spacey is brilliant and then some.
Now, I must try again to write the words.
Hello?
Aunt Beast
* To be collected as Alabaster: Grimmer Tales.