I would like to leave this sordid, squalid, shiny Now, this shitstorm future Modernist apocalypse. I'll take 1924, 1949, 1955. Keep your computers, your internet, your affluence, your endless time displacement and exhaustive entertainments, your supposed freedom.
Yesterday's stale Hell:
Yesterday, I had to proofread "-30-", a story I wrote for Sirenia Digest in late December 2010. It's being reprinted in Paula Guran's Magic City. I was surprised at how well it holds up. Next to The Red Tree and The Drowning Girl, "-30-" is my most autobiographical piece of fiction. I also finished the 500 signature sheets for A Mountain Walked. Now, I mail them to Ligotti.
Vince's illustration for "Chewing on Shadows" arrived, and today I'll be putting together Sirenia Digest #97. Unless I go back to bed, which I would be well within my rights to do.
I recall being pleasantly surprised by Thor (2011), but, after all, it was directed by Kenneth Brannagh and Joss Whedon. Last night, Kathryn and I watched Alan Taylor's Thor: The Dark World (2013). It was one of the dullest things I've managed to set all the way through it quite a long while. The script was so bad the film would have been better off without a script. It was pretty, and a lot of stuff happened. I think that's the best I can say for it. The only bright spot was Tom Hiddleston, and even he mostly just looked bored.
I read "Dental and tarsal anatomy of ‘Miacis’ latouri and a phylogenetic analysis of the earliest carnivoraforms (Mammalia, Carnivoramorpha)" and "A diminutive new tyrannosaur from the top of the world." I read more of Carson McCullers.
And here we are again.
Somewhere It's Warm,