Category: Writing

Feel really horrible.  I keep getting the chills.

Later: Running a temp of 101.5.  Jeff bought me lemon sorbet because he is awesome.

 

I have a chest cold!  I am usually the last one to get it, and I have a week to get rid of it before Paul’s homily at Beacon. Time to check if the cough medicine expired already, since it’s been ages since I needed it.

 

Lovely productive day yesterday. I have the pathetic fallacy really really badly. Sun comes out and I write! Guess I’m moving to New Mexico, see you later.

I had three creative epiphanies in rapid succession this morning, and gosh it’s wonderful. One is story/fable/possible myth about a rogue sun and a rogue planet becoming a solar system, one is a piece of video memeart which interweaves George Carlin talking about his relationship with the sun (digitally altered to match a beat, but done like white style 30’s talking blues and Max Headroom) with a very cheerful, kiddypop song about how all religion on earth starts with the sun and that everything the sun does makes it seem godlike. After a while you get in a fight with somebody who worships the sun and you say FUCK YOU I don’t want to worship YOUR GOD anymore so you start worshipping THE EARTH instead since the earth is always there and the FUCKING SUN goes away half the goddamned day anyway.  But in kiddy language, you understand, I’m just trying to convey the basic emotion here. I mentioned to Mike that if I was to essay such a thing it would take me ten years. The last thing I thought of was another long poem, one for the sun.

I have figured out how to back George out of his corner. I’m working on another scene right now. Maor l8r

Here’s the series description.

Here’s an excerpt from the second book.

I get to feed Ayesha for the next three days.

This (ed. removed link which as of 2023Sep22 is flagged as malicious.) really did not go where I was expecting.  As a recovering racist, I found it amusing but the more sensitive SJWs among us may find it horrifying.

Really enjoying New Tricks and Call the Midwife.

Not much else to report.

Migraine yesterday, with brilliant, beautiful scotoma, looking like rainbow Enochian symbols rendered by Marcel Duchamp.  Apart from tiredness and feeling like I’d been socked in the gut and waking up at one am like I’d been shot from a cannon (I got back to sleep) no other symptoms.  Hey, the neurologist said I had atypical migraines. Other people on my fl on facebook had migraine poopiness as well.

As you can see no writing.  Making sure that all the people in this scene speak like themselves and not like me is proving more difficult than I had originally planned.

Brendan and Varisha are negotiating a deal for her to study Theo, currently living on her balcony.  Michel has just hauled Slider up a 14 story building at 30 kph.  Hydra is annoying everybody.  Hermes just quit his job as global telecommunicator; every Sixer either has a phone already or doesn’t care.

The Oldest is about ten thousand feet in the air, stuck in the middle of morphing into a space ship, and George is trying to tease the USAF into blowing him up although they’d much rather capture him for study.

The Eighteen (less Hydra) are trying to figure out how Sixer civil society will work going forward, which efforts are boring the living shit out of the old school Sixers, who would rather do something practical or entertaining.  After their first round of talks  they are going to scatter across BC to learn the indigenous languages.

Various religious and political dignitaries were invited to part of the talks, which took place on tribal territory; the hosts provided a little food but the Catholics, Mennonites and Sikhs all brought tons and everybody else either forgot or thought somebody else was taking care of it.  So it was a feast in spite of itself.

It’s VERY ANNOYING.  I am going backwards.  I ripped out 400 words yesterday and wrote almost enough to end up where I started, but the scene – which is pivotal to understanding the depths of the friendship Michel feels to the two humans he is closest to – now rollicks instead of bollocks, so yay me.

Happy valentines day.  I sent out Galentines yesterday and I have one to distribute today.

No writing yesterday.  Feel like animatronic scrap. Hopefully going shopping this morning will help.

This is a GREAT COMIC. It is so layered about representation, gaming, finding new ways of being and how you feel when your new family member is… well just read it.

 

Laughed SO HARD.

Buster likes to hide behind the shower curtain and attack my backscratcher through it. This morning Miss Margot joined the partay, and Buster’s response was to jump up and shove Miss Margot off the edge of the bath. She slid to the floor, looking hard done by, and then he leaped over her head and fled the bathroom in as hilarious a display of athletics as I’ve ever seen.

Then Margot followed him and slapped the end of Buster’s tail for spite, (the only part of him still visible from inside the bathroom and a completely pointless effort, since she’s about as effective in that regard as a plushtoy) which made him run down the stairs at about 30 k. Margot is sitting at the top of the stairs quacking to herself in a very self-satisfied sort of way.

 

It was lovely to see Alex, he was in great shape. Katie is well but always clinging to the underside of exhaustion. Her SO is working and I am sure he’s happy to be working, I know I would be.

Biscotti will be distributed in Victoria to the Richly Deserving, and my mOm has already made a good start on it. pOp too I do suspect.

Hey that was HUMOUR YESTERDAY.  More than two gerunds in a sentence is a clue. Of course I’m angry about drivers in Vancouver, it’s impossible to live here in any capacity and not be.  But not head for the gunracks mad, that’s too difficult.

Katie and Alex are due here later this morning.  I’ll try to get her to send some pics while she’s here.

 

 

Vancouver drivers are really random. Something like forty thousand people turn up here every year and they’ve never driven in these conditions, you know, the special hell that is Vancouver conditions, which can change, with Vancouver bicyclists, who are all masochists, and Vancouver pedestrians, who are all on their cell phones and wearing clothing that indicates the citizenry is participating in some particularly aggressive act of mass mourning, or possibly a wish to be killed by a car and thus miss the rest of the Vancouver winter, or perhaps these newcomers to Vancouver don’t drive at all, or have never driven in any country where human life has more meaning than the ten bucks they need to give you a decent funeral including a reading from a dude in a dress. So in addition to the fucking assholes who know what they are doing and are only too happy to demonstrate it in their noisy, whining chariots of penis worship, we have a broad assortment of clueless wimps with baloney skins for tires.

Vancouver drivers are the kind of people who will weld their brakes stopping for a squirrel and then clip a granny at a crosswalk at seventy k without blinking.

Vancouver drivers have such pretty cars! Such expensive cars! none of which seem to have functioning turn signals.

Vancouver drivers treat the distracted driving laws passed in 2010 as “goidloins”. Everybody knows you should not text and drive, and virtually everybody I know with the exception of my son, my brother, my ex and me does it (we had a family member killed by distracted driving so we’re REAL crabby on the subject.)

I’ve asked cabbies to pull over to finish their conversation and had them argue with me! I’ve had cabbies try to find out where they are going on a cell phone GPS while driving dangerously and arguing with me about whether they should pull over or not.  The guy was so fierce he threw me out of the cab, and the licensing commission never returned my call, so they go on the list of Vancouver drivers I fucking hate. I didn’t have to pay for the ride though, so I guess I won that round. And I’ve lost track of how many cabbies drive away before my belt is on and ignore me when I tell them to pull over when I’m done.  Is it misogyny or stupidity? Why not both?

I hate people who don’t know what fucking lane they are supposed to be in. ON A BRIDGE.  How can you not know what fucking lane you’re supposed to be in when you’re crossing one of the lower mainland’s fine death traps, like the Patullo Bridge, which has such narrow lanes that I’m constantly getting other people’s side mirrors stuck in my teeth, and where some fucker in a truck from Alberta did actually try to kill me last year. Jeff toooo.

I hate the fucking fuckers who fucking completely fucked the fucking intersection at Willingdon and Deer Lake Parkway. Those ratfondlers should be dipped in boiling recycled cooking oil and have their interfered-with corpses left for the crows.

I hate with the force of a gamma ray burst all those festering hemorrhoidal pustules on Satan’s ass who designed the signage for the roads coming back from the Tsawwassen Ferry.