A torrent of profanity in Latin.
Warm today. Our high was 88F, with a heat index of 89F. It's oddly amusing watching various media outlets (we used to speak of "the news," not media) playing a sort of apocalypse roulette with the HUrricane Lee - WHERE WILL THE LITTLE BALL OF DOOM STOP! - in part because Americans in general have such a bizarrely cavalier attitude about hurricanes (and most deadly natural diasters, and all of climate change).
The void is back, only surrounded now by an dazzling nimbus of red. It might be beautiful, were it not inside my mind.
Late last night I finished the story that is no longer "Mons Niloticus," but is, instead, "Neither From Nor Towards." This morning, I proofed the story. Late this afternoon, I typed in all the line edits. Tomorrow, I'll put together Sirenia Digest 209.
Interviewer (Remember me?): "So, Kiernan, who's your favorite poet?"
CRK: "Almost certianly T.S. Eliot. But my favorite poem is not The Waste Land (1922), but the far more impressive Four Quartets (1940-1942)."
Please visit the Dreaming Squid Sundries shop. Thanks.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast (black and red)
4:17 p.m.
The void is back, only surrounded now by an dazzling nimbus of red. It might be beautiful, were it not inside my mind.
Late last night I finished the story that is no longer "Mons Niloticus," but is, instead, "Neither From Nor Towards." This morning, I proofed the story. Late this afternoon, I typed in all the line edits. Tomorrow, I'll put together Sirenia Digest 209.
Interviewer (Remember me?): "So, Kiernan, who's your favorite poet?"
CRK: "Almost certianly T.S. Eliot. But my favorite poem is not The Waste Land (1922), but the far more impressive Four Quartets (1940-1942)."
Please visit the Dreaming Squid Sundries shop. Thanks.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast (black and red)
4:17 p.m.