"I fear our blood won't rise again.."
Yesterday was a terrible day. It's as simple to state as that. Since coming off Lamictal early in January, I've had two seizures. The first was March 4th, while we were at the Athenaeum. It was minor, not much more than a blip. The second was last night, and it was serious, and it left me feeling as if I'd been run over by a car. But I will not go back on Lamictal. Yes, well. In a lot of ways, the past few months have been the worst period of my life since the winter of 1991-1992. I honestly never imagined anything would ever again get as bad as that time was (I write about it in the introduction to To Worlds and In Between). If this winter would end, maybe I could begin to put whatever is left of myself back together.
I would like to leave this sordid, squalid, shiny Now, this shitstorm future Modernist apocalypse. I'll take 1924, 1949, 1955. Keep your computers, your internet, your affluence, your endless time displacement and exhaustive entertainments, your supposed freedom.
Yesterday's stale Hell:
Yesterday, I had to proofread "-30-", a story I wrote for Sirenia Digest in late December 2010. It's being reprinted in Paula Guran's Magic City. I was surprised at how well it holds up. Next to The Red Tree and The Drowning Girl, "-30-" is my most autobiographical piece of fiction. I also finished the 500 signature sheets for A Mountain Walked. Now, I mail them to Ligotti.
Vince's illustration for "Chewing on Shadows" arrived, and today I'll be putting together Sirenia Digest #97. Unless I go back to bed, which I would be well within my rights to do.
I recall being pleasantly surprised by Thor (2011), but, after all, it was directed by Kenneth Brannagh and Joss Whedon. Last night, Kathryn and I watched Alan Taylor's Thor: The Dark World (2013). It was one of the dullest things I've managed to set all the way through it quite a long while. The script was so bad the film would have been better off without a script. It was pretty, and a lot of stuff happened. I think that's the best I can say for it. The only bright spot was Tom Hiddleston, and even he mostly just looked bored.
I read "Dental and tarsal anatomy of ‘Miacis’ latouri and a phylogenetic analysis of the earliest carnivoraforms (Mammalia, Carnivoramorpha)" and "A diminutive new tyrannosaur from the top of the world." I read more of Carson McCullers.
And here we are again.
Somewhere It's Warm,
Aunt Beast
I would like to leave this sordid, squalid, shiny Now, this shitstorm future Modernist apocalypse. I'll take 1924, 1949, 1955. Keep your computers, your internet, your affluence, your endless time displacement and exhaustive entertainments, your supposed freedom.
Yesterday's stale Hell:
Yesterday, I had to proofread "-30-", a story I wrote for Sirenia Digest in late December 2010. It's being reprinted in Paula Guran's Magic City. I was surprised at how well it holds up. Next to The Red Tree and The Drowning Girl, "-30-" is my most autobiographical piece of fiction. I also finished the 500 signature sheets for A Mountain Walked. Now, I mail them to Ligotti.
Vince's illustration for "Chewing on Shadows" arrived, and today I'll be putting together Sirenia Digest #97. Unless I go back to bed, which I would be well within my rights to do.
I recall being pleasantly surprised by Thor (2011), but, after all, it was directed by Kenneth Brannagh and Joss Whedon. Last night, Kathryn and I watched Alan Taylor's Thor: The Dark World (2013). It was one of the dullest things I've managed to set all the way through it quite a long while. The script was so bad the film would have been better off without a script. It was pretty, and a lot of stuff happened. I think that's the best I can say for it. The only bright spot was Tom Hiddleston, and even he mostly just looked bored.
I read "Dental and tarsal anatomy of ‘Miacis’ latouri and a phylogenetic analysis of the earliest carnivoraforms (Mammalia, Carnivoramorpha)" and "A diminutive new tyrannosaur from the top of the world." I read more of Carson McCullers.
And here we are again.
Somewhere It's Warm,
Aunt Beast