December 17th, 2007

rengeek kit icarus

(no subject)

Book Report #82: Carol Emshwiler, Carmen Dog

And what an odd mad little book it is. Surreal, picaresque, more a beautifully-written series of allegories than a novel, exactly. And yet peculiarly satisfying, in all its unresolution and fluidity.
phil ochs troubador

living a life that is almost like suicide

Well, I started trying to learn to transition between a real F chord and C chord ("The Garden Song" being my target of choice) and as a result, the barre F chord I was starting to get the hang of maybe has up and gone away again.

Maybe tomorrow.

I wonder if my neighbors are as tired of hearing my asstastic A blues scales over and over again as I am?

Off to shovel out the car so I can go to my massage therapy appointment. Somehow this seems counterproductive.
criminal minds hotch save your life

my past is warpaint

Dear internets:

My Persian lime and my Buddha's hand citron both have buds on them.

Yes, I am contemplating a hideous, Skullcrusher Mountain-esque misbreeding experiment. Although I am somewhat lacking in monkeys.

Also, I am amused that after climbing tonight, my hands are so tired I can barely squeeze the plant mister. Also, I scraped up my left hand when I came off the wall on an overhang. But I will beat that damned thing one of these days.

More upper body strength. And perhaps less of me. Rar!

And, for your delectation, another night of writers bitching about their stories in a working chat...

(Warning! Very politically incorrect. Also, involves a lot of jokes that are not really funny, except that they are, and even then are probably only funny if you (a) engage in some frustrating artistic endeavor and (b) watch television shows or movies about serial killers, or have the kind of library of unpleasant books about criminology that I do.)

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