Madame Clonazepam and I are old, old friends. I first made her acquaintance way back in, I think, 1988. She's been a constant companion ever since.
Yesterday, I wrote 1,028 words on this story that has no title. But it's one of my ghoul stories, set in Pnath. It should be noted that my ghoul stories fall into at least two camps: 1) Those that fit with the Low Red Moon/Daughter of Hounds/"The Dead and the Moonstruck" continuity and 2) those more mythic Dream Land tales (id est, "The Peddler's Tale, or Isobel's Revenge" and "Pickman's Madonna"). Except, it's really a lot more complicated than that. There might actually be FIVE categories. But this one is in that "Peddler's Tale" universe or tradition or what the fuck ever. Surrender all notions of continuity, kittens, when it comes to my work. Whatever's there, it's a slipshod, scattershot affair.
I am extremely disappointed at the news of HBO having cancelled Vinyl.
From my Facebook yesterday:
1) I know know that a group of ghasts is referred to as a gulp.
2) If Kipling and the USPS can use more than a single "nor" with "neither," then so can I.
~ and ~
I've never actually felt sorry for Republicans before. This is very strange.
Too much RP lately, but it's been pretty good stuff. Yes, I still do that. What, do you think I've grown up and gotten a social life? You think I sit around in hipster bars talking Proust and chin whiskers and microbrews?
Oh, there's more eBay. Please have a look. Selwyn needs a new thingamajigger.