"We hope your rules and wisdom choke you..."
Comments, they do a body good.
Here in Providence, our weirdly "warm" winter (well, pre-winter, late autumn) continues. Presently 46˚F. Miserable, but hardly cold by Providence standards. Bright and sunny. Leafless trees.
On Wednesday, I wrote 1,464 words on Black Helicopters. Yesterday, 1,869 words. There is some possibility that I may finish the novella today, and if not, then tomorrow for certain. I have quite a lot to get done before Monday, when my vacation begins - my genuine vacation - which will extend until January 2nd...or 3rd. I need to get Sirenia Digest #84 out first, though, and that will likely happen on Sunday. I also have to get some work done on one of the Alabaster: Boxcar Tales scripts. But all these things have to be done by Monday. Long weekend. Sadly, it will not also be lost, not in that merciful Charles R. Jackson sense of "lost weekend." Likely I will be sober. Well, at least during the daylight hours. I make no promises after sunset.
My thanks to Brit Mandelo and Niall Alexander, who have both chosen The Drowning Girl: A Memoir as their favorite book of 2012, over at Tor.com. You can read the article here. Note, Mr. Alexander is the same Mr. Alexander spoken of in my entry of December 12th, that speculative Scotsman who left me flattered, but baffled.
And, changing the subject, touching on a pet peeve...why the fuck is everyone so goddamned obsessed with community? Whatever happened to a simple and loose assemblage individuals given to cooperation in certain prescribed circumstances? I say, fuck desires for community. Double fuck the bizarre longing for tribes. Worse still, and more laughable, the belief that tribes can be created and fostered on the internet. Also, while we're at it, while I am raining down condemnation, fuck Camille Paglia. Just because. She pisses me off. Always has, always will. I get that way about academic phonies and charlatans. No communities of delusion. No sham tribes. No pseudo-intellectuals. Also, no Justin Bieber. Thank you. My spleen feels much better now.
Later, kittens.
Righteous,
Aunt Beast
Postscript: Please note that I am not a bad person. I am a wicked (yet righteous) person.
Here in Providence, our weirdly "warm" winter (well, pre-winter, late autumn) continues. Presently 46˚F. Miserable, but hardly cold by Providence standards. Bright and sunny. Leafless trees.
On Wednesday, I wrote 1,464 words on Black Helicopters. Yesterday, 1,869 words. There is some possibility that I may finish the novella today, and if not, then tomorrow for certain. I have quite a lot to get done before Monday, when my vacation begins - my genuine vacation - which will extend until January 2nd...or 3rd. I need to get Sirenia Digest #84 out first, though, and that will likely happen on Sunday. I also have to get some work done on one of the Alabaster: Boxcar Tales scripts. But all these things have to be done by Monday. Long weekend. Sadly, it will not also be lost, not in that merciful Charles R. Jackson sense of "lost weekend." Likely I will be sober. Well, at least during the daylight hours. I make no promises after sunset.
My thanks to Brit Mandelo and Niall Alexander, who have both chosen The Drowning Girl: A Memoir as their favorite book of 2012, over at Tor.com. You can read the article here. Note, Mr. Alexander is the same Mr. Alexander spoken of in my entry of December 12th, that speculative Scotsman who left me flattered, but baffled.
And, changing the subject, touching on a pet peeve...why the fuck is everyone so goddamned obsessed with community? Whatever happened to a simple and loose assemblage individuals given to cooperation in certain prescribed circumstances? I say, fuck desires for community. Double fuck the bizarre longing for tribes. Worse still, and more laughable, the belief that tribes can be created and fostered on the internet. Also, while we're at it, while I am raining down condemnation, fuck Camille Paglia. Just because. She pisses me off. Always has, always will. I get that way about academic phonies and charlatans. No communities of delusion. No sham tribes. No pseudo-intellectuals. Also, no Justin Bieber. Thank you. My spleen feels much better now.
Later, kittens.
Righteous,
Aunt Beast
Postscript: Please note that I am not a bad person. I am a wicked (yet righteous) person.