The weather was pretty much a carbon copy of...a bunch of days before it. But somewhat warmer. We made it to 84˚F. I went almost exactly twenty-four hours without eating, and I'm not even sure why. Sometimes, I just do not see the point in it. This morning I proofread "Oneironaut Collage," and it turns out it's a better story than I thought. But there were probably a couple hundred line edits, and by the time I was done reading it, I just didn't have the energy to actually make the changes. So, that's tomorrow. Look for the digest, as I said, on Saturday. There are some things I posted to Twitter and Facebook today: Being repeatedly hailed as one of the best in your field, and yet realizing your income is pretty much the same as twenty years ago and always, always worrying about money, that's the life of this freelance. Kids, don't become a writer. Just don't, because one day you will be old and ill and unimaginably tired and the money WILL fucking matter. (NOT a Marxist screed against "the rich." Really. I do not even know how you can get there from here. This is on me, on MY decisions.) I actually had to archive that one and hide it, because it was attracting a lot of comments I did not want to have to deal with. The ludicrous assumptions people make, like that Marxist thing noted above. And the people who want to give you pep talks, because they know. ~ and ~ Okay, a comment on my philosophy of writing that might not attract politics: “The answer is never the answer. What's really interesting is the mystery. If you seek the mystery instead of the answer, you'll always be seeking.” -Ken Kesey. And the object is the search, in writing *and* science... ~ and ~ When art is made a prisoner of the dictates of any given political party or movement or ideology it ceases to be art and becomes propaganda. Please, please, please have a look at the Big Cartel shop . If you're not wnating to buy something by me, there's a lot of Spooky's very reasonably priced tie-dyeing. Thank you. Later Tater Beans, Aunt Beast 4:23 p.m.