greygirlbeast: (twilek1)
Comment today, kittens. It'll help.

Three years ago, on December 24th, I wrote these lines:

"Last night, as I tried to find sleep, Spooky and I talked about having a farm. I would give up writing, I said, except for those things I wanted passionately to write, and we would have goats and chickens and an old horse and sheep and bees and rabbits. Orchards of apples and blueberry bushes behind fieldstone walls. We would have an enormous garden. It would be hard, hard work, but we would be as self sufficient as anyone can hope to be in this odd millennium. We'd only need to buy grain and sugar and coffee and such. We'd have a windmill for electricity, and a well. It was a pretty dream, no matter how impossible, to have before sleep and the inevitable nightmares, a dream of dirty hands and sweat and not sitting in this chair every goddamn day, worrying about sales figures."

Three years later, I still resurrect the daydream, now and again. Or Kathryn will. It's not dead.

---

Last night, [livejournal.com profile] mizliz (in response to my second entry yesterday), expressed her confusion over the meaning (to use the word loosely) of Z'omglol. Not wanting to dig too deeply into the politics and semantics of the more asinine denizens of MMORPGs – which would be, depending on the game, 75%-90% of the players – I'll toss out the quick answer, cribbed from that most tiresome of sources, the "Urban Dictionary." To wit:

zOMG is a varient of the all-too-popular acronym 'OMG,' meaning 'Oh My God'. The 'z' was originally a mistake while attempting to hit the shift key with the left hand, and type 'OMG.' Also used in all-caps, 'ZOMG' is generally used in a sarcastic manner, more often than not a humiliating fasion [sic]. It is also used as a device for stating the obvious.

Which is to say, in gaming, it shows up in the "too cool for school" crowd, the faux rebels who believe themselves so above it all (especially the concept of RP) that they choose these ironic names. Even though, for the most part, they couldn't define irony if their weaselly little existences depended on it. Because, you know. When there's no room in hell the dead will walk the earth. You're welcome, kittens.

---

Yesterday, though. I am neglecting yesterday. We'd planned to watch the original Star Wars trilogy, but got started too late and only made it through Star Wars (that would be – ahem – "Episode IV: A New Hope") before dinner (leftover meatloaf with Brussels sprouts and mashed potatoes, Precious). I saw Star Wars when it was first released in theatres back in 1977, thirty-four years ago. I was in eighth grade. And I thought Star Wars was the coolest thing I'd ever seen. Until The Empire Strikes Back came along in 1980, a film I loved so much I saw it twenty times in theatres that summer. Looking back at Star Wars (1977) yesterday, it seemed astoundingly quaint. I know that there was an intentional innocence that Lucas was trying to capture, but the quaintness goes far beyond that. And, too, the acting is often terribly wooden, a fact I blame on Lucas, who simply is incapable of good direction. One reason that The Empire Strikes Back is so much better than its predecessor is that the directing reins were passed to Irvin Kershner. Anyway...playing the SW:otR MMORPG, I wanted to revisit. And it was...odd.

I can also say that I have settled on a title for the second "best of" volume (which will not be out until 2014, so please don't ask ridiculous questions about pre-orders). I'm liking Weave a Circle Round Her Thrice: The Best of Caitlín R. Kiernan (Volume 2).

Also, I read Wilum Pugmire's rather enchanting "The Fungal Stain." And then, having managed to get into bed before two-thirty a.m. (!), I proceeded to watch an amazingly creepy film, Jesse Holland and Andy Mitton's Yellowbrickroad (2010). I know that critics pretty much brushed this one aside, but by the time it ended (about four-thirty a.m.) I was so disturbed I had to switch the light on to get to sleep. I find no shame in admitting such a thing. Yellowbrickroad is clearly very heavily influenced by both House of Leaves and The Blair Witch Project (and were I not writing this, I'd say The Red Tree). It is one of those stories about a Wrong Place. Or...well...the less said the better. It's a slow burn, quiet with sudden moments of horror, whispered impossibilities, and a marvelously surreal ending. The ending (and pacing) are likely why so much of the slasher crowd couldn't wrap their brains around this film. Anyway, this is my recommendation. See it (it's streaming free from Netflix).

And I should go. Because, even though this is my vacation, I have work to do. January is beginning to look like the worst train wreck in history.

Quasi-Vacating,
Aunt Beast
greygirlbeast: (starbuck4)
Took the "Break in Case of Emergency" pill this morning at five ayem, that tricksy gem in my prescription pharmacoepia, that I so very rarely touch. Because it hits within mere minutes, and it hits like a freight train (the passenger sort would only stun) and wears off about eighteen hours later. I slept more than 8.5 hours, a sleep which culminated with a dream of a post-apocalyptic (not one word, that adjective) plague that slowly, horribly transformed the infected into bat-like alien things. It isn't a dream I wish ever to go near ever again.

And I'm not awake. My left eyelid (blind eye), keeps closing of its own accord.

[livejournal.com profile] readingthedark arrived early in the evening, we had dinner from the hot bar at Whole Foods, then headed to the show at the Met. The first band sucked empty donkey ballsacks. Don't even recall the band's name. A bunch of fucking hipster poseurs from Brooklyn trying to audition for the Grand Ole Opry. But the second band, Joe Fletcher and the Wrong Reasons, were rather damn bow tie. Singer looked a lot like Michael Wincott (swoon), and the sound was sort of like a collision between Rockabilly and Bob Dylan and Nick Cave and a really skanky honky-tonk five miles outside Yazoo City, Mississippi.

Brown Bird (buy Salt for Salt TODAY), returning home after a long tour, looked a little haggard, but sounded better than I've ever heard them sound. A mountain of bow tie. It was even worth enduring the drunks and texting idiots. And here's a thing? Why do people pay to attend a show, then spend the whole goddamn show texting? Or even spend five minutes doing it? Are they truly so attached at the genitals to their cell phones and social fucking networks that they can't stop that shit fot a couple of hours and just listen? Anyway, fuck them, and Brown Bird remains the finest Appalachian-Roots-Yiddish-Doom-Folk band anywhere on Earth.

And that's all I'm writing today. I'm still stoned, and I'm on vacation, motherfuckers.
greygirlbeast: (mirror)
Thanks to everyone who's taken (or may yet take) the time to comment on this morning's entry. It really is something I've sort of allowed myself to agonize over the last couple of weeks. Unduly, I'm certain, but knowing that doesn't stop me from fretting.

Yesterday, I got back to work on the selkie story, "For One Who Has Lost Herself," after not writing anything for several days. I'm really liking this piece, and it was good to come back to it. I did 770 words yesterday. I'm thinking this story will likely come to about 4,000 words. Sirenia Digest #5 is shaping up to be a longish issue, which is a good thing. The chaos of the last week, the silly day-to-day drama I bring upon myself or which wells up from myself, has made a bit of a frelling train wreck of my schedule. I'm late getting Alabaster proofed, haven't finished the illustrations for "Night," have this whole website redesign thing to deal with, and the Bradbury intro to write. On top of it all, I expect the Daughter of Hounds editorial letter any day now. And Joey LaFaye is begging me to start writing it a full two months before I'd planned to begin.

I've done an amusing little interview sort of a thing for Jeff VanderMeer's blog, VanderWorld, that I still need to e-mail him this evening.

At least the country's gone back to Caitlín Standard Time.

I've been devouring papers on new dinosaurs. Most recently two papers from the latest issue of Geodiversitas, descriptions of the ankylosauroid Antarctopelta (only the second dinosaur named from the antarctic, Cryolophosaurus being the first) and the new carcharodontosaurid theropod from Argentina, Mapusaurus. Drad and awesome beasts. And, if you follow those links, you'll see I'm still stuck on writing articles for Wikipedia.

We've been making good progress with Margot Adler's Drawing Down the Moon, which is definitely the most informative book I've yet to find on Wicca and Neo-Paganism. Next, I think we'll read The Triumph of the Moon by Ronald F. Hutton. Suddenly, so many things about magick and Wicca that have confounded me for so long seem to be coming together. There's a newfound clarity, and new rituals are unfolding in my mind, though I haven't yet written any of them down.

I spent way too much of last night in front of the television, but first there was a documentary on mega-tsunamis, and then the new ep of The Sopranos, and then another documentary, on feathered dinosaurs and dinobirds and early birds. And after that, I started playing Kingdom Hearts II, because Spooky went and rented it yesterday. I've stayed away from the PS2 and the X-Box since finsihing Ico back in December or January, and now Spooky has made a damn'd recidivist of me. But how could I say no to a game with Rikku, Yuna, and Paine? Still, nothing had prepared me for the sheer, balls-to-the-wall, mind-bending weirdness that is Kingdom Hearts. Wow. I mean, imagine dropping a couple of hits of acid and then visiting Disney World with a bunch of cosplayers. It's something like that. But it is is a gorgeous game. I think I'm becoming a stone-cold Square Enix junky, which seems more unlikely than I can even say.

Okay. Last thing. We're down to the final twenty five hours of the "choose your own letter" Frog Toes and Tentacles auction. The winner may choose from M, N, O, P, Q, R, T, U, V, W, and Y. And, of course, you get the handmade silk and velvet "cozy" sewn by mine and Spooky's own paws. Please have a look and consider the degree to which winning this auction would enrich your life. Thank you. Now I'm gonna go outside for a bit and catch the last of the day. There's a marvelous wind out there which I hope will continue into the night.

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Caitlín R. Kiernan

February 2012

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