April 24th, 2015

The Red Tree

"And rise with me forever across the silent sand."

Winter's back. Cold spring's taking a vacation, just as the trees begin to get green. Currently, it's 47˚F, with a windchill of 43˚F. Tonight, the windchill will be 23˚F. There's some sun out there, and there's always a siren, singing you to shipwreck.

"You know, that's rarer than an apology from a SJW."

Various thing got in the way of my writing yesterday, and I did little more than edit what I wrote on Wednesday. A much-needed trip to the bank was especially disruptive. But you have to do this shit.

My thanks to everyone who commented yesterday. It helps, knowing I'm not alone in this big empty theatre. We're all alone together, my lucky little possums.

From my Facebook, 17 hours ago: "Remember when we didn't live our lives in public? I'm really fast approaching Just say no to social media. Every day I wake up to some dystopian science-fiction nightmare of white noise and chatter, outrage and poor taste. And all I'd have to do is step away. I do not need social media to stay in touch with anyone."

And here's a sort of a corollary, for this fucked up century: You cannot simultaneously get upset about my not considering you a "real friend" because we've never met and refuse to trust me enough to give me your actual name.

Last night wasn't so bad, though. Spooky made black-eyed peas with pork belly, collards, mac and cheese, and cornbread. We dined like proper hayseeds. We watched the latest Game of Thrones, and I'm beginning to think this will be my favorite season. Then we began Carnivale, which I'll never actually seen. The first two episodes were promising, though I'm not entirely sure Clancy Brown was the best choice for Brother Justin Crowe. But maybe my opinion will change.

Please have a look at the eBay auctions! Thank you!

Aunt Beast