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Sunny today. The fucking rain is gone. It wasn't even decent rain. Walking back to the car from the Biltmore, it was like walking through a fucking cloud. I got home wet and cold and sore. Currently, the temperature is 84˚F.

At Necronomicon yesterday afternoon I was scheduled as part of a block of four authors who read between 1:30 and 2:45. I went on last after Michael Cisco, and he's always a hard act to follow, but I think it went well. I read from Agents of Dreamland. It was good seeing people I'd not seen in a long time. We finished the reading up early, and people sat around talking until 3 p.m., when the next panel was scheduled. I got to meet Matthew Jaffe, who did the Albert Perrault paintings for the Centipede Press edition of The Drowning Girl. I met some dude (name forgotten) who once went shooting with William Burroughs. Sonya was there, and Michael, and Ian McDowell, who I'd not seen in something like twenty years. There was Gemma Files and Ellen Datlow, Daniel Gorringe and I saw Peter Straub on the way back down to the lobby. Floor 17 where we did the reading was freezing, but the lobby was sweltering. There's a funny story about seeing Peter on the way down, and maybe I'll tell it some other day. We walked over to the Omni (more walking), and I bought a small Cthulhu sculpture. My Cthulhu collection grows. And then we came home, after walking several blocks back to the van. I was too exhausted and sore by the time we got back to do much of anything, but at least there was stew fish from Pan-a-Day for dinner, and later we saw a Spike Jonze documentary on Maurice Sendak. And it was sweet and sad.

And that was yesterday.

Aunt Beast

1:32 p.m.