"...in the year of the chewable Ambien tab."

On this day, two years ago, I wrote:

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.

The sentiment remains the same, to the letter.

Yesterday was a day off. After not leaving the house for thirteen days, I managed to leave the house. Fuck you, Mistresses Agoraphobia and Social Anxiety. I'm not going to live like that. I'm not going to hide in this room, in my words, while the world goes by. Anyway, yesterday we went out into the filthy winter-bound city. Humans make such a nasty, sad mess of the snow. It was too ugly to stare at very long, so we headed for Conanicut Island. I played Arcade Fire on the iPod and read David Petersen's marvelous Mouse Guard: Winter 1152 while Spooky drove. As soon as we were clear of Providence, the ugly black trash-littered snow was replaced with white snow laying on all the forests and fields, so white and undisturbed it might well have fallen only yesterday. We crossed the Jamestown Bridge, and below us the sea was choppy and the waves whitecapped and precisely the color of slate. The sky was overcast, a blue-lavender hiding the sky (which helps).

We stopped briefly at Zeke's Creek Bait and Tackle and Seafood (which is closed for the season), to survey the frozen saltmarsh.

We continued to Beavertail, where the wind was so fierce it was hard to stand. The temperature was somewhere in the '30s, but I can only imagine what the windchill must have been. On the eastern, windward side of the point, we could only stand to be out of the car for a few minutes at a time. It wouldn't have taken long to get frostbite. It was a little better on the lee shore, and we watched huge crows that might have been ravens, and flocks of seabirds bobbing on the rough water. Then we headed over to West Cove, the beach where we hunt sea glass. It was a bit more sheltered (also a lee shore). Spooky found a few pieces of glass. I found the premaxilla of a cormorant. It was a freezing, bleak day, but the air was clean, and there was a grandeur in the bleakness. That is my world, out there, not in this dreadful room, trapped at the dreadful fucking keyboard. We headed back home about five p.m.

This would be a good day for comments.

There are photos, behind the cut:

( 13 February 2011 )

The Question @ Hand Redux, and a WARNING (!!!!)

Though I've had a few good responses, I'm a bit disappointed in the number of replies to the most recent Question @ Hand. Maybe it was a poor question, or maybe I phrased it poorly. I was very much hoping to get an article out of it for Sirenia Digest, but so far, there's just not enough for that. A number of people who wrote excellent bits for the first two questions have been silent; of course, it was a year ago I did this last, and maybe those folks no longer follow the LJ, or have jumped ship for that wretched Facebook thing, or something.

Anyway, this is my last solicitation for replies. I think people aren't thinking in terms of bodyart (though performance pieces are good, too), which is really what I was after. Thanks to those who have replied (and please don't reply with unhelpful comments like "You're already a work of art!" Nice sentiment, but not what I'm after). And no short stories, please. Again, I appreciate the effort, but ideally replies ought to fit into the comment space (which can be pretty long).

Also, just got this delightful, hilarious graphic from kylecassidy, the cover for The Red Tree, complete with warning label for the sexually squeamish:

( Fear the Gay! )

Also! A new website for the exquisite Lolly Jane Blue, who, I think, blows Lady Gaga out of the water (and I say that as a casual sort of Lady Gaga fan).