Yesterday, I wrote 1,343 words, beginning and finishing the third section of "A Birth in the Wood of Self-Murderers." You get Dante, Blake, Conrad, and Dylan Thomas, plus dryads and keys to Hell. And a spaceship adrift. Thank me later.
And it has me in the frame of mind to read The Heart of Darkness again.
Today, in theory, I pull Sirenia Digest together. We shall see, shall we not?
Another Decade Getting High Until You're Free,