Hardly a night goes by that I don't dream of collecting fossils. This morning, it was the delicate bones of small dinosaurs, from clay and mudstone beds of Cretaceous age (along with the remains of huge crabs). The sediments were greys, oranges, browns – muddy/rusty colors. The bones were jet black (so were the crab bits). It was a gorgeous dream. Yesterday, I wrote 1,477 words on Black Helicopters , despite intrusions from the Outside and, generally, a magnificently angrifying day. And I should say that virtually no one will ever see how this bizarre novella is actually rather autobiographical. I think. Now, I write more. Onward, Aunt Beast * I can't fucking believe I have no tag for "distraction."