March 18th, 2012


"When everyone you need, they all seem to be asleep."

I've taken enough meds tonight to put a very large rhinoceros to sleep...and here I am awake, hoping I can sleep a little before noon. But also knowing I'm not sleeping for fear of dreams.

But, also, the nocturnal obsessions, the intrusive thoughts, that come far less frequently than they once did: all my unrealized futures (most importantly, lost paleontology); work I need to be doing, but it's not been done because my sleep and mood are off again; deadlines; books I need to write, and books I wish I'd never written; lost family and family I have not seen in years; lost friends, many lost to inexplicable and vicious acts of betrayal on their part – but lost all the same; memories of the nightmare of high school that come rising back as if they occurred yesterday; worries about Kathryn's security; money, money, money; my teeth, most of which are likely beyond saving; the fickle publishing industry; the limitations of my intellect; my odd species of agoraphobia and my come-and-go ability to socialize, Howard Hughes, shut-in most of the time; missed opportunities; lies I've told that can never be untold; someone who posted a five-star review on, but found 7/7/7 annoying, which, very sadly, means they missed the point completely, as 7/7/7 is the heart of the novel; and this goes on, and on, and on.

This is not a fucking cry for pity or commiseration. This is only me awake, talking. The fucked-up part is I'm doing it in public.

I've been watching the old "Godzilla" Kaiju late at night. Ishirô Honda Gojira (1954) and Sora no Daikaijū Radon (1956), and Motoyoshi Oda's Gojira no Gyakushū (1955), along with the South Korean "Godzilla" imitator, Kim Ki-duk's Taekoesu Yongary (1967). The whole "Godzilla" thing got pretty silly pretty fast, but the earliest films are very watchable, and I think Gojira deserves to be recognized as an important film. A shame it all deteriorated into such foolishness as Honda's Kingu Kongu Tai Gojira (1962) so very quickly. Anyway, I have an essay in this I might someday manage to write.

And I need to write something about Thomas Ligotti, and something else about Thomas Ligotti.

And, mostly, I need to fucking sleep.

Impossibly Awake,
Aunt Beast

"The television was snowing softly, as she hunted for her keys."

I had in mind to make some sort of coherent blog entry. Maybe about the Great Blog Mass Extinction. Maybe about how The Drowning Girl: A Memoir is meaningless without "7/7/7." Maybe about the specific reasons that Offspring was such a stinkeroo of a movie (except for Pollyanna Mcintosh, who was, as you know, bow tie). But I slept maybe four and a half hours last night, and still managed to write 1,014 words today. Oh, sure. They were probably shit, but that is not the point. And I just do not have a blog entry in me. Instead, I leave you with photos I took last night, as Spooky read to me about Lórien, in those blissful hours when I thought sleep was still ahead of me. Oh, and two from outside Pandemonium on Thursday.

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