I went for a walk with Jeff, finished “Guy d’Angelique” and posted it – it already has two hits, lol, I do have subscribers so they would have gotten a push email when I posted. It topped 12000 words and it’s DONE like the relief is unspeakable. MAYBE EVEN INEFFABLE. Anyway you can’t see it if you don’t have an account because I don’t want my shit scraped for AIs.

I’m going to drink tea and cry about something else now (I cried so much writing that but mostly because I’m still processing the end of GOmens2 and writing a story IN ANOTHER FANDOM was my styptic against all those fucking cuts). No I will not really cry, I think I’ll eat salad instead.

Recently learned that Al and Jen BINGEWATCHED Twisted Metal after we recommended it and so Jeff and I are smirking at each other every time we think of that.

walked down to the weed store, lord but I’m in poor shape, even downhill was tough, and coming back uphill involved me planting my ass on every bit of furniture between here and there at least once.

Procured a poopsi at the donair place across the street from the weed store and after finishing it managed to make it home. I was dressed entirely in black so let’s just say the sun’s still doing their job.

ordered thai- nom

I am now in a parasocial relationship with an actor NOT IN HIS ROLE but in his role as HUCKSTER for the role. (David Tennant, as Crowley in Good Omens.) This is perilous layers of unproductive meta (I use it in the sense of people walking in and among and beside the artistic ideas which are being represented by an engrammatical ‘story’ as players, production staff, writers, relatives of the writers of the original text, media reporting on the fixed form of the engrammatical ‘story’, people creating paintings and gifsets and fan edits and AO3 stories and beadwork and t-shirts which reflect their emotions and experience, the feeling of reaching across and through an artwork and just holding hands with someone and crying, just crying, because you feel seen and loved, and then wearing them while they stream about the engrammatical ‘story’ because it’s something precious and fleeting and needs to be shared), as I will demonstrate,

as I’ve already BEEN through this with Misha Collins as Castiel, so I’m shoving the idea out of my mind like a warbler who’s twigged to the cuckoo’s egg. Not very successfully. These things happen.

Whether this newfound tendresse, or the caution it will hopefully engender as I heave it from my sensorium with many a psychic grunt and wail, will inform the longing I hope to continuously expose as a feature of Totally Boned (as you may not know, the longest of my current projects and the one which, despite itself, continues to show signs of actually being … worth charging money for.)

Anyway, the pattern-seeking in art across disciplines – the meta’s an outgrowth of this. I mean, as a cultural phenomenon it has all the appearance of some weird variant of an anxiety attack, or as more likely on second consideration, a cultural displacement behaviour for the ever trending anxiety that is our daily portion. Sad to say this is the shit my ADD brain was made for. I don’t worry about what I’ve got in my head, all I’m concerned for is that the useful items appear in the order in which they are needed, at least with respect to my creative life; I’ve never known to have truly seen whether I can do that in my personal life. It seems to me that there was a time, but I ain’t got the hormones to do that no more; ‘most everything has shrunk, my field of vision most of all. “The air gets thinner but the view gets better,” as Ingmar Bergman once remarked. In my case I’m looking through a smaller aperture. I can’t control my mood, or, necessarily, my energy level, so writing is hard some days and not others. Multi-thousand word days SOUND good, but I burn glucose and brain chemicals like a fucking thermal lance while I’m doing it and feel like hell for literally days afterwards so I now am writing to an upper limit of 750 words a day for my health. I know that sounds funny, regrettably I care not with great lots of uncaringness, parcelled out for your convenience. My hypocrisies and vices are what they are; we’re living on borrowed time, all of us, and the reason I’m angry I didn’t get a resolution in this Season 2 of Good Omens is that I think society is about to break in half and then get ground to powder

so I’ll never get one. Logistics of war, of plague, of planetary threats unknown.

On the other hand, in a basement in Pasadena, a cabal of high school students, queer studies professors, elderly film directors, amateur set decorators and body double actors are depending on one young non-binary person to carry the weight of successfully using AI to create an entire film to ‘fix’ the notorious last season of a long running TV horror-comedy. Let those who ponder the meta, who enter the liminal space of the meta with the breath of a prayer, take warning, for that, my fellow lunatics, is a project with a much better chance of seeing daylight before the apocalypse really bites than S3 of Good Omens. We who have faith have faith for a reason. In other words, I’m making fun of it, but I have to; if I can’t mock what I believe in, I’m a victim, not a collaborator with an idea. And this whole Pasadena thing I made up on the spot, because it would be a great idea for a Destiel fanfic and I needed to make a note of it.