meno mosso

Somehow, even with the headache, yesterday was a very productive day. Almost everything on my do-list was attended to. Almost. And now, today, I have Daughter of Hounds to contend with, again.

When I'm finished with this entry, I need to speak with my agent, and then I have to go back to the book.

There should not be this reluctance.

Tonight, Spooky and are going to see The Decemberists at The Variety Playhouse. This will be the first show I've been to since...well, I don't know. The last time The Dresden Dolls played the now-defunct Echo Lounge. That must have been...what?...September, maybe. I honestly can't quite recall. Some long time ago that isn't really a long time ago at all. Anyway, it feel a little weird, going to a show. I keep forgetting, not becasue I'm not excited about it, just because I never go to shows anymore. Spooky keeps having to remind me, and I keep being surprised. I probably wouldn't be going to this show, except the Playhouse is non-smoking.

Only two eps of Deadwood left in Season Two. Last night was particularly good. The writing in this series continues to amaze me. If anything, it's getting more daring, not less. It's one of those I-can't-believe-this-is-on-television kind of things. Like Farscape and Dead Like Me and Firefly and Six Feet Under (back at the start, at least) and the best moments of The Sopranos and Millinneum and the first few seasons of The X-Files. Deadwood has everything going for it — the writing, the directing, the acting, the cinematography, everything. Last night, Brad Dourif was in fine form in his tattered, muddy velvet suit.

And I'm still plugging away at Doom 3, when I probably should be reading. But gods it feels good to "kill" those assholes. The soundtrack and sound effects in this game, I've decided, coupled with the dark and disorientation, are what makes it so genuinely disquieting. It's not the monsters. The monsters might be grotesque, but once you seen them a few hundred times and you know that pulling the trigger makes them go away, the monsters aren't so bad. It's the darkness and the things you hear.

I'm prattling, procrastinating — but please be reminded of the ebay auctions. The offer of FULL-COLOUR MONSTER DOODLES with "buy-it-now" and fixed-price purchases (such as Silk) ends at midnight tonight. Also, we have a copy of the "Alabaster" chapbook up, though it has no buy-it-now feature. I only have three or four of these left, so bidding will be necessary.

angry songs

I always have an angry song. I doubt I could surivive without them. I growl and hiss them out when there's nothing else left to me. My last angry song was VNV Nation's "Dark Angel." My new angry song is NIN's "The Hand That Feeds":

You're keeping in step,
In the line,
Got your chin held high and you feel just fine.
Because you do
What you're told,
But inside your heart it is black and it's hollow and it's cold.

Just how deep do you believe?
Will you bite the hand that feeds?
Will you chew until it bleeds?
Can you get up off your knees?
Are you brave enough to see?
Do you want to change it?

What if this whole crusade's
A charade?
And behind it all there's a price to be paid
For the blood
On which we dine,
Justified in the name of the holy and the divine?

Just how deep do you believe?
Will you bite the hand that feeds?
Will you chew until it bleeds?
Can you get up off your knees?
Are you brave enough to see?
Do you want to change it?

So naive,
I keep holding on to what I want to believe.
I can see,
But I keep holding on and on and on and on...

Will you bite the hand that feeds you?
Will you stay down on your knees? (x8)

I wonder if anyone's sent these lyrics to Sister Condoleeza Rice yet? Then again, I think she probably likes the view from down there.