However, on Friday, I wrote 1,058 words on a new story for Sirenia Digest , which I am calling "Derma Sutra (1891)," which wasn't meant as a pun. It just came out that way.
When the night shows,
The signals grow on radios.
All the strange things,
They come and go, as early warnings.
Stranded starfish have no place to hide,
Still waiting for the swollen Easter tide.
There's no point in direction.
We cannot even choose a side.
I took the old track,
The hollow shoulder, across the waters
On the tall cliffs,
They were getting older, sons and daughters.
The jaded underworld was riding high.
Waves of steel hurled metal at the sky.
And as the nail sunk in the cloud,
The rain was warm and soaked the crowd.
—— Peter Gabriel
Sorry. Those lyrics just seem especially significant to me this morning. Anyway, there's a pretty fabulous review of A is for Alien over at Matt Staggs' "Enter the Octpus." Any day I draw a comparison to David Cronenberg is a good day. Oh, and Spooky has relisted a couple of books on eBay, so please check that out (because, until rent is free...).
Last night, we saw Michael Davis' Shoot 'Em Up (2007), which was a nice surprise from a director I'd never expected to appreciate. It's just a big, dumb, offbeat, extremely fun action film. I wish I'd enjoyed the screen adaptation of Sin City (2005) half that much. Actually, I think Shoot 'Em Up and Neil Marshall's delightful Doomsday (out on DVD this week, I think) would make a grand double feature. Oh, and I really am loving the "Kingdom of Sand" rp in Second Life, but I think I said that in an earlier entry.
Yeah, so now the platypus and I gotta go shoot some caffeine directly into our veins. Leave the light on...