November 19th, 2008


"Pull something good from from the ashes, now be still."

I actually have time to make a journal entry this morning. Booya.

First things first. My reading this evening is at KGB Bar, and KGB Bar can be found at 85 East Fourth Street, Manhattan. The affair begins at 7 p.m. and ends at 9 p.m. (EST). I'll be reading second, probably starting around 8 p.m. (which is, of course, my 9 p.m.). I will sign anything you bring. I will not have books for sale. I am told that Mobile Libris will be selling books, however, but I don't know what they'll have. So, yes. Please come. There will be alcohol. Sadly, there likely will not be blood or naked boy whores.

Yesterday was mostly spent trapped in the Providence Place Mall. Or Hell. Or at least an antechamber to Hell. Of course, my Hell is not your Hell. Your Hell probably has fire and shit. Mine has Xmas music and badly dressed shoppers and price tags. I have to pay to park in Hell, and there's always a "food court."

But yes, we found clothes. Three hours in the goddamn mall. Gagh. If prostitution were really illegal, malls would be forced to close. And, for that matter, I'd be forced to stop writing.

Then I had the hair thing at 6 p.m. (CaST), and the color went well, but, even though I asked the stylist not to straighten my hair, she straightened my hair. I spent part of the night unstraightening it.

We picked Sonya up from the train depot at 8:30 p.m. (CaST), made a quick swing by Eastside Market, then got Chinese takeaway for dinner. Sonya and Spooky had something with shrimp. I stuck to dumplings and friend rice. Afterwards, there was much talk, late into the evening, about writing and publishing, about exhaustion and wellness and the lack thereof, about what I might read tonight, about the hideously cheesy photomontage covers dark-fantasy books get these days, about the grand absurdity of Stephenie Meyers, about Derek Jarman and Tilda Swinton and Bob Dylan and WoW and The Red Tree and Shakespeare, George Sands and Chopin and Francis Bacon (the painter), about Tarsim's music videos and also the general inability of science fiction to function as a predictive medium, about metafiction and Danielewski, about reviewers and editors, about Boston and Manhattan, about goats falling from the sky, and, really, that's about all I can recall. It was better than most evenings around here.

We got to bed about 3 a.m. (CaST).

Anyway, hope to see some of you guys tonight. My readings are few and far between, because it's just not my thing, so if you desire to see me and/or want to hear me read, you might want to try to make it (assuming you're in the neighborhood).

Also, my thanks to Gary Braunbeck for sending me this bit of good news.
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