We are surrounded by an ocean of words, and virtually no one knows their meanings.
Yesterday, I began what I hope is a new piece for Sirenia Digest #70 (subscribe!). Currently, it's called "Evensong," and today I'll go back over the 1,134 words I wrote yesterday and see if I can make them a little more melodic, and then try to conjure whether or not the vignette (which it actually is) is leading me anywhere I want to go.
The workload right now has even me amazed. The money's nice. No denying that. But I doubt I'll be able to take more than two or three days off (maybe) until sometime in December.
It's a good thing that, as a small child, I was inoculated against suicide, what with all that talk of hellfire and damnation.
Ah, but two fine gifts yesterday, and thank you, Steven Lubold!
Lee Moyer and I have talking about the cover art for Confessions of a Five-Chambered Heart. He had a great idea for an image from "Dancing with the Eight of Swords," and Bill Schafer has approved it.
There's a lot of shit I'd be blogging about, if I had half the requisite energy. For example, how mass media (televised and print) is largely ignoring the "occupation of Wall Street" and the instances of police brutality associated with it. Officer Tony Baloney, anyone? You know this tune! Sing along!
My bologna has a first name.
It's T O N and Y.
My Bologna has a second name.
It's P U S S Y.
Oh, I'd love to beat him every day,
For spraying girls inside a cage,
Cause we are now a police state from B O L O G N A ! — Anon.
You're a douchebag, Deputy Inspector Tony Baloney. Then again, maybe you give douchebags a bad rep. You're definitely giving the NYPD a bad rep.
I am currently battling a massive resurgence of time displacement. Taking my life back. I managed to get to sleep by three a.m. last night. I'm learning not to fight sleep. The pills are beating back Monsieur Insomnia; now I just have to let them. But yeah, asleep by three ayem, awake at ten ayem. In part, this improvement has followed from the strict adherence to my recently instituted and unflinchingly enforced NO BULLSHIT policy. If it is in my life, and if it turns to bullshit, I make it go away. It is proving an amazingly useful policy for the alleviation of stress of every sort. Three simple words: NOT MY PROBLEM.
And now! Photographs! The first is from Sunday, and the rest from our trip to West Cove on Monday:
Upon the occasion of having finished with the CEM of The Drowning Girl a Memoir.
On the road to Conanicut.
West Cove, upon our arrival. View to the southwest. Note plastic litter along the waterline.
One of many yachts we saw, with ring-billed gulls. View to the south.
Grounds-eye view across the cove, to the east.
A very young, and very deceased, crab.
Northern rock barnacles and a periwinkle.
Aunt Beast stalks the cove! View to the north.
Passing boats. View to the south.
The egg casing of a whelk.
Another grounds-eye view, view to the south and the mouth of the cove.
Who is the Spooky Beast?! View to the northeast.
Evidence of a cult of lobster worshipers! Actually, this chunk of concrete is the inspiration for "Evensong."
All Beauty and Truth,