Caitlín R. Kiernan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
greygirlbeast) wrote2008-01-07 12:57 pm
greygirlbeast) wrote2008-01-07 12:57 pm
It's a dream-kill-dream world in here...
My thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jacobluest for the marvelous subject line.
Yesterday, I wrote 945 words and finished "The Crimson Alphabet." It closed with "W is for White Noise," "X is for Xenotropic," "Y is for Yuki-onna," and "Z is for Zipper." And I am pleased. Part Two will, of course, be included in Sirenia Digest #26 later this month.
Not much else to yesterday that's worth posting here. I did not leave the house. Spooky made an unexpectedly wonderful dinner of spinach and red bell-pepper quiche with chicken sausage on the side (spiced with garlic and more red pepper). The weather warmed up into the high '60s.
This morning a dream that seemed a continuation of the dream from yesterday morning, and I really, truly do hope I'm not entering another round of the sorts of recurring nightmares that led to my writing "A Season of Broken Dolls" and "In View of Nothing." I don't know that I'm up for that sort of dual life right now, mentally or physically. Anyway, for what it's worth, there was a great deal more wandering about on that "space balloon" vessel. I saw Africa through the porthole again. There were catwalks, like in a dirigible. The air was intensely cold and dry, and my lips were so chapped they bled. At one point, I was in a rather vast sort of cargo bay, hiding behind a wall of plastic crates, listening to a conversation I could not clearly make out. And later, I was in my compartment, dressing the orange man's gunshot wound. Blood up to my wrists, white gauze and surgical tape (but no scissors, and I "cut" it with my teeth), no exit wound. He'd apparently passed out and was motionless and did not talk as I worked. Later still, I was sitting in something like a dining car/lounge, smoking and drinking coffee, and trying to look inconspicuous in my huge fur coat.
For we're living in a safety zone.
Don't be holding back from me.
We're living from hour to hour down here,
And we'll take it when we can.
It's a kind of living which recognizes,
The death of the odourless man.
When nothing is vanity, nothing's too slow.
It's not Eden, but it's no sham.
(David Bowie, "The Motel")
Oh, Spooky listed more eBay items last night. Please have a look.
Today, I need to go Outside (yes, Outside!), and find a day-planner for 2008, as Green Tiger Press, makers of the splendid "Magic Spectacles" day-planners I've used the last four years have not released one for 2008. My doctor's appointment was put off until Friday. I'll spend part of the day on the corrections for the 3rd edition of Tales of Pain and Wonder, answering questions forsovay, who kindly consented to proof that monster of a ms. for me. I'd simply read it too many times to trust my eyes.
Okay. Coffee, proof of the reality of evolutionary exaptation.
jacobluest for the marvelous subject line.Yesterday, I wrote 945 words and finished "The Crimson Alphabet." It closed with "W is for White Noise," "X is for Xenotropic," "Y is for Yuki-onna," and "Z is for Zipper." And I am pleased. Part Two will, of course, be included in Sirenia Digest #26 later this month.
Not much else to yesterday that's worth posting here. I did not leave the house. Spooky made an unexpectedly wonderful dinner of spinach and red bell-pepper quiche with chicken sausage on the side (spiced with garlic and more red pepper). The weather warmed up into the high '60s.
This morning a dream that seemed a continuation of the dream from yesterday morning, and I really, truly do hope I'm not entering another round of the sorts of recurring nightmares that led to my writing "A Season of Broken Dolls" and "In View of Nothing." I don't know that I'm up for that sort of dual life right now, mentally or physically. Anyway, for what it's worth, there was a great deal more wandering about on that "space balloon" vessel. I saw Africa through the porthole again. There were catwalks, like in a dirigible. The air was intensely cold and dry, and my lips were so chapped they bled. At one point, I was in a rather vast sort of cargo bay, hiding behind a wall of plastic crates, listening to a conversation I could not clearly make out. And later, I was in my compartment, dressing the orange man's gunshot wound. Blood up to my wrists, white gauze and surgical tape (but no scissors, and I "cut" it with my teeth), no exit wound. He'd apparently passed out and was motionless and did not talk as I worked. Later still, I was sitting in something like a dining car/lounge, smoking and drinking coffee, and trying to look inconspicuous in my huge fur coat.
For we're living in a safety zone.
Don't be holding back from me.
We're living from hour to hour down here,
And we'll take it when we can.
It's a kind of living which recognizes,
The death of the odourless man.
When nothing is vanity, nothing's too slow.
It's not Eden, but it's no sham.
(David Bowie, "The Motel")
Oh, Spooky listed more eBay items last night. Please have a look.
Today, I need to go Outside (yes, Outside!), and find a day-planner for 2008, as Green Tiger Press, makers of the splendid "Magic Spectacles" day-planners I've used the last four years have not released one for 2008. My doctor's appointment was put off until Friday. I'll spend part of the day on the corrections for the 3rd edition of Tales of Pain and Wonder, answering questions for
sovay, who kindly consented to proof that monster of a ms. for me. I'd simply read it too many times to trust my eyes.Okay. Coffee, proof of the reality of evolutionary exaptation.
no subject
no subject
problem is, the publisher is no longer making the Magic Spectacles planners :(
no subject
You're very welcome. It was mostly a clever ploy to read "Salammbô Redux (2007)."
Unrelated to anything else in this post, but I thought you might be interested: Peter Watts on John Carpenter's The Thing (1982).
no subject
Unrelated to anything else in this post, but I thought you might be interested: Peter Watts on John Carpenter's The Thing (1982).
I stopped reading when he made the tired old idiotic comment about Ripley going back for Jones...
no subject
Ah. It was the Antarctic shape-changing that made me think of it.
no subject
Ah. It was the Antarctic shape-changing that made me think of it.
Have you somehow not seen The Thing? (probably the best "Lovecraftian" film ever, unless that's Alien).
dream
no subject
Never. Alien, yes: it's one of my favorite films. But I've only ever seen The Thing from Another World (1951).
no subject
no subject