September 14th, 2015

The Red Tree

Captain Kitten and the Trohlmaster Ride Again

I should try to write an entry, since I didn't yesterday. And time smears and blurs together unless I watch it every goddamn minute of every goddamn day. Hours become years, behind my back.

It's autumn today. Currently, it's 68˚F (and feels like 68˚F) here in Providence, getting cloudy.

And I am finally done with all the proofreading and editing and gathering together of ephemera for The Best of Caitlín R. Kiernan: Beneath an Oil-Dark Sea (Volume 2). All the files were sent away last night to Yanni and Gail, and I am free of it. A journey that began on July 1, 2010, is pretty much finished. Five years. Wow. Beneath an Oil-Dark Sea will be released November 30, 2015, and if you've not yet preordered, please do.

And now, there's very little preventing me from devoting my full time to the screenplay. Everyone's waiting on me. And I hate that feeling.

Alas, a scheduling conflict means we'll not be returning to Woodstock until at last late November.

No movie last night, because I was tired and wanted to do something perfectly mindless, so I played WoW (which is about as mindless as it comes). Shaharrazad, my b'elf warlock, and my main, is working her way through all that Panadaria nonsense. Anyway, night before last I watched Miller's Crossing (1990) for the umpteenth time. I've probably said this before, but I have a feeling I'm the only person whose favorite Coen Bros. film is Miller's Crossing. But it's just such a wry and perfect film. Jesus, the dialogue gives me chill bumps.

The breeze through my window is chilly, but after the long burn of August, it actually feels good.

Aunt Beast
The Red Tree

"The Armies of Night"

I haven't posted lyrics in a while. These are really working for me right now:

I was raised up believing I was somehow unique,
Like a snowflake distinct among snowflakes, unique in each way you can see.
And now after some thinking, I'd say I'd rather be
A functioning cog in some great machinery serving something beyond me.

But I don't, I don't know what that will be.
I'll get back to you someday soon, you will see.

What's my name? What's my station? Oh, just tell me what I should do.
I don't need to be kind to the armies of night that would do such injustice to you.
Or bow down and be grateful and say "Sure, take all that you see,"
To the men who move only in dimly-lit halls and determine my future for me.

And I don't, I don't know who to believe.
I'll get back to you someday soon, you will see.

If I know only one thing, it's that everything that I see
Of the world outside is so inconceivable often I barely can speak.
Yeah, I'm tongue-tied and dizzy, and I can't keep it to myself.
What good is it to sing helplessness blues? Why should I wait for anyone else?

And I know, I know you will keep me on the shelf.
I'll come back to you someday soon myself.

If I had an orchard, I'd work till I'm raw.
If I had an orchard, I'd work till I'm sore.
And you would wait tables and soon run the store.

Gold hair in the sunlight, my light in the dawn.
If I had an orchard, I'd work till I'm sore.
If I had an orchard, I'd work till I'm sore.
Someday, I'll be like the man on the screen.
~ Fleet Foxes, "Helplessness Blues"