Yesterday was one of the most unabashedly shitty days I've had in a long time. Today, I'm in the the stunned silence after the blast, my ears ringing.

No writing. No writing since July 18th.

I sat in the reading room at the John Hay Library and signed the signature sheets for Beneath an Oil-Dark Sea. I signed my name 760 times. Two hours. Mindless, robotic. But at least there was air conditioning.

Providence is having it's annual few days of hot weather, and this house – no AC, except one all but pointless window unit – is an oven. On Monday, we sat here and baked. Yesterday, we got out. I didn't work on Monday.

...Or bow down and be grateful and say "Sure, take all that you see,"
To the men who move only in dimly-lit halls and determine my future for me ~ Fleet Foxes.

Sunday's episode of True Detective, brilliant. I have no idea how they're going to wrap this all up in only three more episodes, but, then, that's another thing about noir, the abrupt ending.

There's a film I must recommend in the strongest possible terms, Zak Hilditch's These Final Hours (2013). You'll recognize some of On the Beach (1959) and some of Sunshine (2007), and you will see a smart, sorrowful, deeply humane film that gets the "world will end in fire" scenario right. It's streaming on Netflix. See it.

We also saw Tom Green's Monsters: Dark Continent (2014), a film with no notable weakness aside from it's unfortunate title. It's a sequel to Gareth Edwards' very excellent Monsters (2010). The mundane nightmare of war in the Middle East punctuated by cosmic awe. This one's also streaming on Netflix.

TTFN,
Aunt Beast