So, this is sort of weird. But bear with me.

In October 2011, I left Second Life determined that I would never, ever return. I'd made that promise to myself many times previously, but I'd never managed to keep it for more than a few months. I was always, without exception, driven to that point by idiotic drama created by other inhabitants. Make no ( Read more... )

Couple of things I just wanted to post before bed. First, the beautiful opening credits to Watchmen. Thank you, YouTube*:

Click to view

And, also...thank to robyn_ma, if Nareth were a one-eyed, pink-gun wielding, double-amputee superhero with robotic legs (with an alias, of course):


( Read more... )

More than anything, right now, I am glad to have received the news that Harlan is home and recovering from his recent surgery ( Read more... )

Today is mine and Spooky's 6th anniversary. And we both forgot until this ayem, when I remembered. We met, face to face, while I was MCing Convergence 5 in New Orleans in 1999 (ah, goth love), and thereafter we began spending a lot of time together. But we didn't really hook up until this date in 2002. That's the date from which we count the ( Read more... )

Today, Ray Harryhausen is 88 years old. 1920 all the way to...here. To now.

Yesterday, I did 1,349 words on Chapter Two of The Red Tree, which made it quite a decent writing day. I think I'm coming to that point where the book begins to build the momentum that will carry me to THE END. And yes, all the fears and doubts are still here with me, but ( Read more... )

The last two days are a little blurry, in my effort to recall them. Thursday was pretty much what I had expected it would be, except we also read over "Scene in the Museum (1896)," which I've decided I like quite a lot. It whispers when one might expect it to howl, and that pleases me.

Yesterday, we went to a ridiculously early matinee of The ( Read more... )

I was an old woman, a very old woman. In my eighties, perhaps, and I had, at some point, inherited a squalid little flat in Boston that had been left to me by Quentin Crisp. I don't know how this had been accomplished, as Crisp died in 1999 and tended to live in squalid little flats and flop houses in Manhattan, not Boston. But there I was, and he ( Read more... )