The study of literature threatens to become a kind of paleontology of failure, and criticism a supercilious psychoanalysis of authors. ~ John Updike*
Picking cave matrix today. I finished Jeff VanderMeer's briliant Dead Astronauts. I think he has become both my favorite living weird writer and my favorite living science-fiction writer. Oh, and my favorite living skink.
And Spooky's hair is purple now, and I got a package from Billy, from far away New Orleans. There was a cute little skeleton thingy and a bag of Zapp's potato chips and a shit ton of signature sheets for Subterranan Press' forthcoming The Best of Dark Terrors.
I had a fried baloney sandwich for dinner. RP in SL. More episodes of The Big Bang Theory.
Monotony fucking rules.
* I might argue the situation has worsened greatly since Updike said that, as the study of literature now seems to have devolved into a moralistic crusade to ferret out perceived offenders of this or that social crime.