Adrift in the New Inquisition
Mostly cloudy today. But no rain. I am looking at film of what Helene did to so much of the southeast, and it's horrifying. Florida, Georgia, the Carolinas, Tennesee, Kentucky. Again, we here in Alabama got very lucky. I have friends in South Carlina who will be without power for the foreseeable future We're looking at ≥$20 billion is damages, ≥120 dead, and ≥753 currently missing (most of whom are likely fatalities). Our high today was almost 75F. Oh, and some jackass took advantage of the chaos to steal Nathan Ballingrud's motorcycle. Pretty sure we should deal with bike thieves the way we used to deal with horse thieves.
The day is a weird blur. I did some work on MP2, the section on the premaxilla (more of that tomorrow), I wracked my brains for a new title for the chapbook/novella. I spoke with SubPress. I spent soem time with the long neglected Bashi Marl sediment. I email Mike Polcyn in response to a text he sent me (I cannot get over my loathing of texting). So, lots of stuff, but the day still felt unproductive.
No one's reading this. Sure you are, and you...but back in the day, twenty, fifteen years ago, people read blogs. I read blogs. Full, reason out, rational thoughts. Coherent misadventures. Not the short, wet farts of Twitter and Facebook.
These days, the income from the shop is really helping to make ends meet. And in a world where ground beef is almost unafforable, every little bit helps. Please look. Please think about buying something. Yeah, I know. We're mostly all in the same leaking boat. We could not hardly imagine this sinking boat as we were flying high in the 90s and things were still pretty decent in the 90s. But here we are. And this is not begging. This is handselling the things we have made, the things that are not easy to make.
I began reading a really silly book of cryptozoology, mostly looking for material for Sirenia Digest vignettes. Not even gonna dignifify this book with the author an title. It's one of the entirely uncritical approaches to the subject, written by someone who'll believe anything. Anything at all. What must it be like, to believe things because you want to, because, say, they make the world more interesting, or (as with religion) they give a random cosmos order and make sense of mortality. I have never been able to do it. It must be swell.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
3:22 p.m.
The day is a weird blur. I did some work on MP2, the section on the premaxilla (more of that tomorrow), I wracked my brains for a new title for the chapbook/novella. I spoke with SubPress. I spent soem time with the long neglected Bashi Marl sediment. I email Mike Polcyn in response to a text he sent me (I cannot get over my loathing of texting). So, lots of stuff, but the day still felt unproductive.
No one's reading this. Sure you are, and you...but back in the day, twenty, fifteen years ago, people read blogs. I read blogs. Full, reason out, rational thoughts. Coherent misadventures. Not the short, wet farts of Twitter and Facebook.
These days, the income from the shop is really helping to make ends meet. And in a world where ground beef is almost unafforable, every little bit helps. Please look. Please think about buying something. Yeah, I know. We're mostly all in the same leaking boat. We could not hardly imagine this sinking boat as we were flying high in the 90s and things were still pretty decent in the 90s. But here we are. And this is not begging. This is handselling the things we have made, the things that are not easy to make.
I began reading a really silly book of cryptozoology, mostly looking for material for Sirenia Digest vignettes. Not even gonna dignifify this book with the author an title. It's one of the entirely uncritical approaches to the subject, written by someone who'll believe anything. Anything at all. What must it be like, to believe things because you want to, because, say, they make the world more interesting, or (as with religion) they give a random cosmos order and make sense of mortality. I have never been able to do it. It must be swell.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
3:22 p.m.