I didn't really get the new story started yesterday, but I did find a possible title, "Behind the Wall of Sleep, Below the Starless Sky, Above the Sea of Worms."
Last night, Spooky and I started reading Something Wicked This Way Comes. I haven't read it since she and I read it ten or eleven years back, at the place on Mansfield Avenue in Atlanta. It a novel with the texture of my childhood. When my mother gave me a copy of the book, when I was in junior high school, Cooger and Dark's carnival terrified me. I remember, one night, lying awake listening for the sound of the calliope on the wind. Now, I'm the same age as Charles Halloway, and the book means something new to me and something darker than it ever meant before.
I read "Neither bones nor feet: track morphological variation and ‘preservation quality.’" in JVP.