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a cat in a room full of dogs

The dreams were spectacularly vivid last night. I cannot now build anything like narratives from them, as they've already faded far too much. There's nothing remaining but bright shards behind my eyes. I feel somewhere south of centre, but at least the funk that began Friday night seems to have released me for the time being. No thanks to the weather, I might add. Today and yesterday, it's like summer in the equatorial ice forests of Nebari Prime out there — cold, wet, drizzle, fog for a sky.

I have decided to allow myself only two more days editing Daughter of Hounds before I send it away to NYC. I could keep picking at it until Friday. But it's making me ill, I think, and I need to be done and get it out of here. I couldn't stand to look at it yesterday. The day was spent wandering, instead. There are too many annoyances left to be dealt with. For example, I forgot that convenience stores in Rhode Island aren't permitted to sell beer or wine, so there this whole thing in Chapter Nine that has to be written out of the ms. Wandering was preferable. At some point, I read part of the type description of Adamantisaurus mezzalirai, a new titanosaurid sauropod from southeastern Brazil. And at some other point, I was looking at the big, gaudy book that's been published about the Broadway musical version of Gregory Maguire's Wicked and getting pissed at how wrong it is (wrong in the "cosmic horror" sense of the word), how the actress playing Elphaba looks nothing like Elphaba and they did Nessarose all backwards, and Spooky says the music is insipid and cloying (thankfully, I've not heard it). But it got me to thinking about a musical of Low Red Moon, because, you know, if some witless producer showed up with a ton of money, it's not like I'd say no. I'd take the damned money, and it would be dumb and gaudy and insipid, and Narcissa would sing happy songs about being neither a ghul nor human, and somehow the ending would be gloriously upbeat. Perhaps I should begin writing lyrics, because Wayne Cilento and Stephen Schwartz and Joe Mantello are likely to be knocking at the door any damn day now, and I don't want them to think me unenthusiastic.

Anyway, the platypus was grateful for some downtime yesterday.

We're trying to plan the week (I mean beside the writing part), and maybe we'll begin reading Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, or maybe we'll go on a Hal Hartley binge. Or maybe it'll be a Wim Winders binge, instead.

This is Day 5 of the letter S auction, the proceeds of which will be going to pay the latest astronomical gas bill. If you don't bid, you can't win, and only the winner will be able to sit around in his or her unmentionables fondling the crushed velvet "cozy" lined in red silk, contemplating the hand-embroidered letter S. That's something to consider. Sure, there will be other letters, but we're talking S here. Also, we have some other auctions going on, and today is an especially wonderful day to begin your subscription to Sirenia Digest. Just click here.

I continue to be pleased with Jane Raeburn's book, Celtic Wicca. Take this short quote, for example: There are no ancient Druid manuscripts. Anywhere. Ever. Anybody who claims he or she has access to one is, at best, projecting a religious belief as historical reality. Sometimes, it's necessary to state the obvious...


Feb. 20th, 2006 05:46 pm (UTC)
Narcissa would sing happy songs about being neither a ghul nor human

I'm not a ghul
And I'm not a human
But I like my sweetbreads
With a nice touch of cumin
Don't care how I get 'em
From Goth girl or junkie
But never from book critics
Cause theirs taste too funky

I had a nice house
Beachfront property
But I stabbed my poor grandpa
Torched the old pile
And went off to steal that bay-BEEEEEE!!!

Cause I'm a
(Ghuls ain't gonna love me cause I don't fit in)
Cause I'm a
(Humans never love me cause I eat 'em for din-din)
I'm a half-breed
And a reject
And a monster far and wide
But that cute little baby's gonna GET ME INSIDE!

Gonna live in that yellow house
On Benefit Street
For the Madame's steel table
Gonna catch all the meat
Gonna find my real family
And no longer live sham-ly
When I'm a GHUL, GHUL, GHUL!
(I'm on my way, baby!)
Feb. 20th, 2006 05:53 pm (UTC)
Okay. I just laughed until I puked.
Feb. 20th, 2006 06:06 pm (UTC)
o.m.g. i think i just peed a little.

i had NO idea the doc had it in him.

to what tune should it be sung, doc?
Feb. 20th, 2006 09:54 pm (UTC)
to what tune should it be sung, doc?

Any one you can force it into.
Feb. 20th, 2006 07:22 pm (UTC)
Best. Showtune. Evah!
Feb. 20th, 2006 09:27 pm (UTC)
. . . Wow.
Feb. 20th, 2006 10:21 pm (UTC)
Here I thought Doc had stopped writing horror. Truly, this is a most chilling glimpse of such the possibility of a musical.

I was using "On Top of Old Smokey" for a while, but it doesn't quite fit.