Thursday, June 10, 2004
Yesterday, I didn't write. In fact, I haven't really done anything worth mentioning since last Friday. That has to stop, of course. And it needs to stop today. The blood...I mean, the words have to start coming again. There's still time before the trip to New England to do the next short story, if I'll just quit screwing around and do it. I'm going to try to start it today. The only remotely constructive thing I did yesterday was some photographs (and Spooky actually did the photography), inspired by the LJ communities MyFakeDeath and Art of Death (brought to my attention by Mella and Moira, respectively). Here are the best of the lot:
I'm most impressed with that top one. I found the whole thing extremely cathartic (though even I found lying in fake vomit a little less than pleasant), and Spooky and I are now planning far more elaborate deaths. It was sort of like typing "the end," with a little more force. Practice makes perfect, right? Anyway, the only other interesting thing about yesterday was cracking open The Chronicles of Riddick: Escape From Butcher Bay and completely losing myself in the game for more than three hours. There is an unexpected satisfaction in pulling that trigger, especially if the person you're shooting at shoots first.
The quill from a buzzard
The blood writes the word
I want to know am I the sky
Or a bird
'Cause Hell is boiling over
And Heaven is full
We're chained to the World
And we all gotta pull
Well, except for Mr. Ronald McDonald...I mean Ronald McReagan...I mean Ronald Reagan. He seems to have slipped this mortal coil with more undeserved pomp and fanfare than any of us could ever hope for. I know, I know. I said I couldn't say anything nice, so I was going to keep my mouth shut. But I wanted to pass along this link to a BBC News article. That's my goodish deed for the day.
Time to stop typing and go brush my teeth. And do what I pretend is exercise. And find some caffeine. And see if I can bleed a little bit more.
12:18 PM
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