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I don't think I even got five hours sleep last night, and I woke confused and angry. Now I have to try and set all that aside and work. I'm not awake, and the sky is much too blue. I can see it through the limbs and leaves outside my office window. Another two or three weeks, at most, and those leaves will be gone, and there will be no green remaining to protect me from the hungry, empty-bellied Rhode Island sky. The worst of it, of green autumn and of winter and of cold spring, is not the chill. The worst of it is the sky. Currently, it's 80˚F in Providence.

Yesterday, I wrote 1,442 words on "Animals Pull the Night Around Their Shoulders." And the mail brought my contributor's copy of Black Wings V: New Tales of Lovecraftian Horror, edited by S.T, Joshi, which reprints "Far From Any Shore."

Last night, I watched Stuart Rosenberg's The Pope of Greenwich Village (1984). It's sort of inexplicable that I'd never seen it.

Please have a look at the current eBay auctions. Bills must be paid and so forth. Thank you.

Later,
Aunt Beast

Comments

( 3 comments — Have your say! )
setsuled
Sep. 14th, 2016 04:06 pm (UTC)
Last night, I watched Stuart Rosenberg's The Pope of Greenwich Village (1984). It's sort of inexplicable that I'd never seen it.

I thought Mickey Rourke was really good in that. Something about it didn't connect with me somehow, maybe it's not the movie's fault.

Are you done with Hitchcock? I was hoping to see you talk about Shadow of a Doubt, Notorious, or Stage Fright.

thingunderthest
Sep. 14th, 2016 06:35 pm (UTC)
The title keeps making me think this is about the penis.

maybe I am just being sensitive.
greygirlbeast
Sep. 14th, 2016 08:16 pm (UTC)

Hahahaha.

Edited at 2016-09-14 08:21 pm (UTC)
( 3 comments — Have your say! )