I keep thinking "Oh, I'll be back online soon, doing what I always do. I just have to get through this next week, and then everything will settle down and I can go back to writing about inconsequential crap like video games and porn and my cats ( Read more... )

I've got a friend in the hospital that I am terribly worried about (the fact that I won't talk more is out of respect for someone else's privacy, not my lack of concern; I'm really fucking worried) and our car just got totaled! We weren't in it at the time, thank goodness. It was parked, and some cowardly and likely drunk asshole creamed it and ( Read more... )

Rape is a "pre-existing condition." Enjoy maybe getting AIDS.Sometimes I want to resign from the human race just for the pleasure of saying "I have nothing in common with you shitfuckers. I hope you die in agony. Alone. Except for those 3d6 priapic wild pigs ( Read more... )

Got bad news today.

My dad had to have Mathurin put down.

Long-time readers will remember Matt. (Mathurin's entries, obviously, are tagged appropriately.) He was my first black cat. Got him when I was 14. He's been living with my dad. The old cat was senile and crazy, but it was a happy kind of crazy, so we never really felt it would be ( Read more... )

Oh, dear god. Just as I was preparing my own tribute, one month to the day after Heath's untimely departure, Geoffrey Chaucer one-ups everyone, and laments the death of Sir William Thatcher.

What a pleasure, to have tears of delight instead of sorrow.

". . . He chaungid hys sterres, ros out of lowlinesse ( Read more... )

It's sleeting out and black, black, black ( Read more... )

The first time I cried over someone I did not personally know, I was sixteen. I was at the mall, and had just heard that Fritz Leiber was dead. I sat on a hard bench and sniffled quietly because I had never gotten to tell him how his stories had inspired and comforted me. And I cried, too, for Fafhrd and Mouser, tireless companions, now gone ( Read more... )

While making out the short list of folks to get holiday cards, I had this niggling feeling I was forgetting someone ( Read more... )

One year, nine months, eight days.

Yet I walk into my childhood home and still expect to see my mother in the hallway.

I'm not sad, it's just . . . does the empty space where you expect them to be ever fill up? Or do we carry around these emptinesses forever, like negative silhouettes inside of us?

Tulsa's historic Camelot Hotel burns.I grew up in the shadow of Camelot. Not many people can say that ( Read more... )