April 27th, 2006

bear by san

(no subject)

Progress notes for 26 April 2006:


New Words: 724
Total Words: 13,831 
Pages: 68
Deadline: August 1
Reason for stopping: really time for me to head to bed. also, end of scene and I have no idea what happened next

Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
13,831 / 100,000

Stimulants: milk
Exercise: gym, with ashacat. weight training, calisthenics, core, and then a long ramble around Elizabeth Park to see the tulips and the magnolias and the fruit trees in flower; also, walked back from the garage after dropping Eunice off.

Not really mail, but there's a few fragments of my Locus interview online. The Reader's Digest condensed version, as it were. Dude, my eyes are totally not that color. They're blue. Really blue. That's just bizarrrrreeee.

Justina Robson's filet-o'interview is here.

Today's words Word don't know: 
Words I'm surprised Word do know: besmirches
Mean Things: Just snapped Andre's head around pretty good.
Tyop du jour: n/a
Darling du jour: n/a
Books in progress: Wendy Moore, The Knife Man;
Interesting tidbit of the day: via supergee, redaxe offers up icon-sized Adam West Batman sound effect title cards.  Anne Barton, on the NY Review of Books, is my new best friend as she sporks the old year's crop of Shakespeare biography. Word up!

Continuing the comic-book theme, odditycollector with The Best I Refute Thee evar regarding denials of sexism and objectification of women in comic book art.

I refute thee! I refute thee! I refute thee!

It's the anal floss on Hal that really makes it.

Other writing-related work: I updated my Amazon blog, but it's all terribly stodgy.

And to close, a little more Vincent Millay.

Oh, sleep forever in the Latmian cave,
Mortal Endymion, darling of the Moon!
Her silver garments by the senseless wave
Shouldered and dropped and on the shingle strewn,
Her fluttering hand against her forehead pressed,
Her scattered looks that troubled all the sky,
Her rapid footsteps running down the west —
Of all her altered state, oblivious lie!
Whom earthen you, by deathless lips adored,
Wild-eyed and stammering to the grasses thrust,
And deep into her crystal body poured
The hot and sorrowful sweetness of the dust:
Whereof she wanders mad, being all unfit
For mortal love, that might not die of it.

Sonnet 52, Edna St. Vincent Millay

Pursuant to the recent discussion of whether Percy Shelley is overrated, I think Vincent is massively under-rated. But then, she was a girl, and queer, and poly. (Which of course is what's wrong with Ginsberg, too. Well, not the girl part.)

I mean, Seamus Heaney is nice and all, but he's not all that.

bear by san

He who burns the most wood on his hearth is least warmed by the sight of it growing.

Not only doth Chaucer hath a blog; crowleycrow hath a blog. You may better know him as the author of Lord Byron's Novel: The Evening Land. And other works.

Corvids everywhere!

(I contemplated using this image as a writing icon, but decided, really, even on my worst days, the magpie mind doesn't deserve that fate.)

Phillip Stubbs was right; working in entertainment does make heretics of us all. Only not in the way he thought.

(No, not making the 'shipping Jesus thing up. Thought Richard Baines may have been.)

bear by san

I'm a good Christian. I own a juicer.*

via supergee, a conservative Christian blogger comments on how to be a good Christian wife.

Having read other posts on the site, and the W. quote in the subhead, I would be leaning toward calling this a parody. Except, apparently not. Please do continue through to other recent posts. I found them edifying.

I would ask that those chasing the link from my blog not flame the woman. Because, well. I think she's already got her hands full what with the makeup before the morning orange juice. And, a generous response to the misguided seems to me the Christian thing to do. Also the Buddhist one. (Pagans, Muslims, heathens, heretics, and Jews, of course, are free to follow their consciences and the teachings of their own faiths.)

"You have heard that it was said, 'An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.' But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also.** And if someone wants to sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well. If someone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles. Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you."

(Matthew 5:38-42, NIV)
Actually, I can make a case that she's right about the FCOJ/whoredom link. After all, those in lower socieconomic groups are both less likely to be able to afford/have easy availability of fresh fruit... and also more likely to resort to the sex trade as a means of earning a living. Of course, if the tips are good enough, you could probably afford fresh fruit.

*except for the Christian part.

**yes, I do know this could be construed as dropping him a moon, but I don't think that's what Jesus meant, yo.
bear by san

We lift up our prayer against the odds / And fear the silence is the voice of God.

So, I think I have a poltergeist.

Ever since I moved into this apartment, I have been randomly breaking small insignificant things. A knick-knack, a brandy snifter. That sort of thing.

Now, I am not normally a clumsy person, and stuff was literally jumping out of my hands. ashacat offered to have her father bless the place for me; he's a Hindu priest. I smudged: though I am not really practicing anymore, I am not adverse to prayer as a harmless palliative.

Hey, sometimes a little superstition helps.

Shortly before I went to the UK, I managed to break a glass and take a chunk out of my foot. No pain, mind you, but I bled all over the place. Anyway, since I got home, nothing broken. I actually thought about that today.

Well, when I got home from archery tonight, a lamp that had been on my bedroom windowledge was smashed on the floor. And just now, while I was sitting on the sofa, I heard something crash in the kitchen. Well, I eventually got up to look.

A glass that had been sitting in the sink, away from everything else in the sink, had shattered into three pieces.

Okay, I can take a hint.

Now, none of this stuff has been really destructive or creepy. And everything that's broken has been small, nonessential, or ugly. So I'm not upset. Just, yanno, inconvenient to keep breaking stuff.

So. I'm naming him Claude. Hopefully that and a little conversation will make him feel wanted, and he'll stop breaking my stuff. ashacat, if he doesn't, I may need your dad's help after all.

I have warned him, by the way, that there will eventually be a cat.

it is the heart that kills us in the end
just one more old broken bone that can not mend.

In other ghosty news, the Charles W. Morgan is apparently haunted. (remember the model from the Boston science center, buymeaclue and truepenny.

And yes, we can go to Mystic when you come visit for the Shakespeare exhibit at Yale.