greygirlbeast (greygirlbeast) wrote,
greygirlbeast
greygirlbeast

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I Survived the Rapture & All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt (That I Found Lying Empty on the Sidewalk)

This morning (technically, this afternoon), I'm a little taken aback at otherwise sensible people who are feeling sorry for the disappointed, depressed, and down-at-heel followers of Harold Camping. As kids these days are wont to "say," o.0.

Here we have these cowardly fuckers who were hoping to be yanked away to some heavenly playground where they could wallow in eternal bliss, while 97.1% of humanity endured unspeakable horrors and fire and everlasting torment. And I'm supposed to feel empathy or sympathy or whatever for the idiot cult of Harold Camping, because they didn't get their wish? Hah! I admit that I have no especial love of humanity, and I've often thought total annihilation might not be such a bad thing, BUT at least I include myself among the annihilated. My doomsday is utterly indifferent and doesn't discriminate. I don't imagine some Old Man in the Sky who passes judgment. Who picks and chooses, and is willing and eager to spare you infinite agony if you'll get down on your knees and kiss "his" feet and stroke "his" ego and tell "him" you love no other god but "him."

So, no. The followers of Camping will get no sympathy from me. Let them weep. Let them gnash their teeth and feel the weight of the godless universe upon their cowards' shoulders.

---

Yesterday, I wrote 1,529 words on Chapter Two of Blood Oranges. And Spooky had trouble reading it, because she kept having to stop to laugh. She tells me that's a good thing, and I hope she's right. This is strange new territory for me.

The day is overcast, and it's only 54˚F out there. Hello, pretender to the throne of May.

Spooky has listed a new necklace in her Dreaming Squid Dollworks and Sundries Esty shop. You should buy it. Spooky's necklaces are grand.

Last night, I revisited Gregory Hoblit's Fallen (1998), which I think is somewhat underrated. Spooky had never seen it before. And we played Rift. And read Under the Poppy, which I hope you're reading, too. Also, I read two articles in the January issue of JVP: "New information Wumengosaurus delicatomandibularis Jiang et al., 2008 (Diapsida: Sauropterygia), with a revision of the osteology and phylogeny of the taxon" and "A small alvarezsaurid from the eastern Gobi Desert offers insight into evolutionary patterns in the Alvarezsauroidea."

Proudly Unraptured,
Aunt Beast

Oh, and dinosaur (etc.) photographs:





The venerable Allosaurus mount, unveiled in 1908.



Below the Apatosaurus



Bad Motherfucker



Deinonychus, the guy that helped us understand how birds are just fancy dinosaurs.



One big damn chicken, Diatryma.



We paused to watch rain-shrouded Manhattan. It was beautiful, breathtaking. Oh, and those aren't UFOs or angels in the sky. They're only reflections from the lights behind us.



Rain on umbrellas and a horse.



The view below the bellies of various extinct synapsids.



Spooky shares my horn fetish.



If you happen to have the original edition of Tales of Pain and Wonder, the author's photo was taken in 1999 with me sitting in front of this tusk'd fellow. Or madam.

Photographs Copyright © 2011 by Caitlín R. Kiernan and Kathryn A. Pollnac

Tags: blood oranges, cold, dinosaurs, jvp, kathe koja, museums, nyc, religion, weather, xtian pterosaurs
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