This afternoon, having discovered that trying to work before the move is finished is utter frelling folly, I took pictures down off walls, repaired a light on one of the display cases, packed a few lingering odds and ends, and so forth. Tonight, we had a gigantic Indian feast — lamb vidaloo, chicken madras, saag paneer, veggie samosas, aloo nan, and lots of pullow rice. I ate till I thought I might hurt myself.
I've been trying to reorganize my thoughts, because this move has to end eventually. I've been trying to get my head back into the story place, the place where Daughter of Hounds is waiting to happen. Waiting on me to make it happen. Not much luck so far. Too much distraction. But I am trying.
Lots of thought too on the difficulties I'm having reconciling my continued admiration of science with my explorations of chaos magic. Though the authors I've read so far do pay a sort of lip service to modern physics and continually state that chaos magic is a bridge between the scientific method and magic, none of them have actually done much to demonstrate how one simultaneously holds an empirical outlook and engages in frequent "magical thinking" (to borrow a familiar term from psychology), much less have they demonstrated an adherence to anything resembling scienctific practice. In a lot of ways, this is really the same old problem I had with science and religion, and it's weird territory to be revisiting.
If you've sent me an e-mail in the last, oh, let's say two weeks, and I've still not replied, or if I already owed you an e-mail, apologies. I hate when I don't have time to properly answer letters, even the electronic sort. I'll try to deal with the backlog as soon as things are calm again, but I'm not making any promises.
I've been listening to WRAS 88.5 FM (Georgia State) all evening, enjoying the fact that, this weekend, the djs aren't bound to any format. The music has been much better than usual. Spooky, who was once a dj at WRIU 90.3 (Univ. of Rhode Island), says it's always like that, thing getting better when the djs are left to their own devices, which doesn't surprise me. It works the same way with writers.
Tonight, Spooky and I intend to be boldly retro. We shall play Scrabble and then I'm going to read some Lovecraft. Last night, we watched a documentary on serial killer H. H. Holmes and a spectacularly peculiar Japanese zombie film, Stacy, which might have been worth renting if only for "butterfly twinkle powder." More I will not say.