Dear sweet fuck, it's pink.
Screw this candy-assed Valentine's Day shit. The Romans got it right with Lupercalia. Now, if you want to sacrifice a couple of goats and a dog to Lupa, then run around town naked, save for a bloody thong of goatskin -- that's a goddamn reason to get out of bed. This sugar-coated hearts and flowers crap? Not even a weak echo of a genuine fertility rite. Do it up good and proper, or leave me the hell alone.
Gods, I'm in no mood for a journal entry.
On this day, exactly twenty years ago, I spent Valentine's Day in the Birmingham jail. Oh, later on, I was cleared of all charges and the case dismissed by a judge who was clearly dismayed that the warrant had ever been signed and demanded, right there in the courtroom, to know the name of the magistrate who'd done it. But there was a wonderful irony, all the same. Pink heart-shaped mylar balloons in general lockup helped me to understand the true value of the surreal.
What is there to even say about yesterday? It was spent solving a continuity problem in the The Red Tree, but I can't disclose the nature of the problem without creating a horrendous spoiler. It was tedious, and far more time was spent flinging pages about the office, making indecipherable red marks on the printout, and cursing my own stupidity, than was actually spent writing. But, in the end, the problem was solved. Verily, Spooky has the patience of...well...not a saint, and thanks to Lupercus for that.
Last night we watched Zack Snyder's remake of Dawn of the Dead (2004) again, the first time since we saw it in the theatre. I still say it's the best zombie film ever made. Danny Boyle's 28 Days Later (2002) might be tied, except it's not actually a zombie movie.
Please have a look at the new eBay auctions. Bid, even. The platypus and the dodo agree it's better than getting liquored up and squandering all your money on prophylactics and whores and chocolate, in a vain attempt to convince yourself Valentine's Day is anything more than just another corporate-perpetuated excuse to sell greeting cards and high-fructose corn syrup.
* My thanks to livia_llewellyn, from whom I stole the new icon.
Gods, I'm in no mood for a journal entry.
On this day, exactly twenty years ago, I spent Valentine's Day in the Birmingham jail. Oh, later on, I was cleared of all charges and the case dismissed by a judge who was clearly dismayed that the warrant had ever been signed and demanded, right there in the courtroom, to know the name of the magistrate who'd done it. But there was a wonderful irony, all the same. Pink heart-shaped mylar balloons in general lockup helped me to understand the true value of the surreal.
What is there to even say about yesterday? It was spent solving a continuity problem in the The Red Tree, but I can't disclose the nature of the problem without creating a horrendous spoiler. It was tedious, and far more time was spent flinging pages about the office, making indecipherable red marks on the printout, and cursing my own stupidity, than was actually spent writing. But, in the end, the problem was solved. Verily, Spooky has the patience of...well...not a saint, and thanks to Lupercus for that.
Last night we watched Zack Snyder's remake of Dawn of the Dead (2004) again, the first time since we saw it in the theatre. I still say it's the best zombie film ever made. Danny Boyle's 28 Days Later (2002) might be tied, except it's not actually a zombie movie.
Please have a look at the new eBay auctions. Bid, even. The platypus and the dodo agree it's better than getting liquored up and squandering all your money on prophylactics and whores and chocolate, in a vain attempt to convince yourself Valentine's Day is anything more than just another corporate-perpetuated excuse to sell greeting cards and high-fructose corn syrup.
* My thanks to livia_llewellyn, from whom I stole the new icon.