The sky is...blue. It's windy. All traces of the snow has melted away. The brief "warmth" of yesterday is gone, and much colder weather is on the way. The stark delineations of bare limbs and rooftop silhouettes. Grey shingles and razor-white walls. A wisp of cloud. The world outside my office window.
December was the best December I've had in a very, very long time, and it's impossible not to spend these days back in Providence missing the cabin in Woodstock.
My pajama chair, for example.
Or this photograph, behind shattered glass, of a dapper young John Coltrane.
A hundred little things like that.
At least a hundred.
If nothing else, those three weeks in the Catskills went a long way towards driving home the knowledge of so many things I let go in my life that I have to find a way to get back to, whether it happens in the North or in the South.
No, I wrote nothing yesterday. I did not work whatsoever. I spent the day trying to shake off the Seroquel, and being pissed that I wasn't getting any work done, and marveling that I got any work at all done between December 2013 and November 2014, that year-long Seroquel vacation of mine. Fuck, it's evil shit. MY had was a storm all the way until I finally fell asleep last night, about 3:30 a.m. Some pot did at least take the edge off the hangover.
Later Taters,
Aunt Beast
Photographs Copyright © 2014 by Caitlín R. Kiernan
December was the best December I've had in a very, very long time, and it's impossible not to spend these days back in Providence missing the cabin in Woodstock.
My pajama chair, for example.
Or this photograph, behind shattered glass, of a dapper young John Coltrane.
A hundred little things like that.
At least a hundred.
If nothing else, those three weeks in the Catskills went a long way towards driving home the knowledge of so many things I let go in my life that I have to find a way to get back to, whether it happens in the North or in the South.
No, I wrote nothing yesterday. I did not work whatsoever. I spent the day trying to shake off the Seroquel, and being pissed that I wasn't getting any work done, and marveling that I got any work at all done between December 2013 and November 2014, that year-long Seroquel vacation of mine. Fuck, it's evil shit. MY had was a storm all the way until I finally fell asleep last night, about 3:30 a.m. Some pot did at least take the edge off the hangover.
Later Taters,
Aunt Beast
Photographs Copyright © 2014 by Caitlín R. Kiernan
- Current Location:International Falls
- Current Mood:Vastly better than yesterday.
- Current Music:Belly, "Someone To Die For"
Comments
I sent a story to the newspaper yesterday. Sleep is elusive here too.
but I almost want him to remain nameless.
Yeah, I know the feeling.
It's hard to say since the broken glass distorts the face but I'm pretty sure that's a young John Coltrane. It looks like he's wearing the same outfit in this photo.
Nice pictures.
Yes! Thank you. I knew who it was, right there on the tip of my tongue, but it wouldn't come.
It is. It may have been there since the 1960s. I wonder when it was broken.
or better yet, no drugs at all...
I wish that there would be a different drug than S for you, one without the hangover effects..
Well, there are. I have quite a few.
I hope you can spend time there soon. And find a way to put some of those lost things back into your life.
Cold and grey today: -15F upon awakening, and we've just broken out of the negatives at 3:30.
On warmer news, the Centipede edition of 'The Drowning Girl' arrived today; I'd made the final payment on it last week to end out the year. Man, that's the complete package, isn't it? Content and delivery. The feel of the slipcase, the texture of the paper, the cadence of the words? Pure biblio-porn, uncut and deadly. Heroin ain't got nothing on this shit.
I can relate to the concept of finding a way back to things once let go. I am glad that December and the Catskills gave that to you. Thank you for sharing the photos and experience.