greygirlbeast (greygirlbeast) wrote,

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I see light.

I made it into bed, in the strictest sense (that is, I was technically, bodily, in the bed), by 1:30 last night, but Spooky and I sat there talking until almost three. Something woke me at four. Spooky claimed it was her stomach making noises, but I have my doubts. I awoke again at nine, from nightmares I had no wish to go back down to, so I decided I would make do with six hours sleep (give or take; take mostly). Spooky got up at ten, when the alarm went off.

Upon waking, I wrote down as much of the dream/s as I could recall. That part of the dream nearest to the waking event (what is the geometry/geography of dreams?). That part most recoverable by my conscious mind. Too much to write down here. You wouldn't want to read it all. I wouldn't want to write it down again. But there was part that might have been a road trip, or a forced march, or an exodus, or somehow all these things at once. The sky was burning, and the whole world was shades or orange and red. There was a man on stilts. There was something I kept hidden that I was always afraid would be discovered. There were wastelands of twisted steel and the charred corpses of automobiles piled up along the highways. There were bones, too. There were bones everywhere — bleached white, burnt black — and at one point I was explaining to someone traveling with me (I can't say who, because I do not know) which ones were human and how you could tell. There was an old house where I stopped to rest, a house surrounded by dead trees. I sat for a long time on the stairs, listening to the wind and to people talking. A girl, maybe twelve or thirteen, asked me if I was thirsty, and I told her no, though I was very thirsty. There were bloody handprints on the wall beside me. The blood was dry and looked more like rust. Etc. and etc.

The writing went very well again yesterday. I did the first 1,424 words on a new piece for Sirenia Digest which I am calling "Metamorphosis A." I expect to finish it today.

We watched "Heroes" last night, instead of waiting for the Friday night rerun on SciFi. I'm losing patience with the show. The hope I had for it at the start is fading fast as it seems to dissolve into too much of the usual television foolishness. I think, at this point, I'm only watching it for Hiro. I'll likely give up and see the rest on DVD. The commercials drive me crazy. They defeat whatever tension the scripts manage to build. Oh, wait. We'll be back to our story in a moment. But first, listen to people scream at you about new cars and insurance and breakfast cereal and all our other crappy shows (Friday Night Lights????). I'm pretty sure the reason I liked Season One of Battlestar Galactica so much more than Season Two or Season Three (thus far) is that I saw it on DVD, where there were no commercials to undo the tension.

Read chapters IXX and XX of House of Leaves.

I'm excited about the new Pynchon novel, Against the Day. Given the teaser, how I can I not be excited? To wit: Spanning the period between the Chicago World's Fair of 1893 and the years just after World War I, this novel moves from the labor troubles in Colorado to turn-of-the-century New York, to London and Gottingen, Venice and Vienna, the Balkans, Central Asia, Siberia at the time of the mysterious Tunguska Event, Mexico during the Revolution, postwar Paris, silent-era Hollywood, and one or two places not strictly speaking on the map at all.

With a worldwide disaster looming just a few years ahead, it is a time of unrestrained corporate greed, false religiosity, moronic fecklessness, and evil intent in high places. No reference to the present day is intended or should be inferred.

The sizable cast of characters includes anarchists, balloonists, gamblers, corporate tycoons, drug enthusiasts, innocents and decadents, mathematicians, mad scientists, shamans, psychics, and stage magicians, spies, detectives, adventuresses, and hired guns. There are cameo appearances by Nikola Tesla, Bela Lugosi, and Groucho Marx.

Besides, I've never not loved a Pynchon novel.

I suppose that's it for now. That's enough. Do recall that the eBay auctions end this evening, late this afternoon, whichever. The Daughter of Hounds ARC and the lettered copy of Alabaster with chapbook and Spooky's doll. The latter, especially, involves one-of-a-kind items. There will never be another green-haired boy doll. This is the one and only. You'll not regret it.
Tags: dreams, heroes, insomnia, sirenia, thomas pynchon, tv

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