Monday, December 13, 2004
I have to confess some small degree of guilty amusement over this whole thing with the Madame Tussauds' controversial nativity scene. I just found out that (like no one saw this coming) some indignant Christian fellow was so outraged that he attacked the scene, damaging the statues of David Beckham and Posh Spice. Once upon a time, I might have complained that Madame Tussauds was, at the very least, demonstrating poor judgement and a bit of insensitivity. Screw that. The last thing Christians deserve these days is consideration of their feelings. The nativity scene sounds tacky as hell to me (though I think setting Bush and Blair up as "wise men" is pretty frelling funny), but if Christians take it as a slight, it's a slight many of them have coming. The people of England have spoken (the celebrities for the scene were chosen by a straw poll). Posh Spice and the Virgin Mary are interchangeable. The Christians can deal. Or they can show themselves for what they are and deface private property and go the fuck to jail. The martyrdom will do them good, no doubt.
Spooky's presently packing up all the latest eBay orders. I was drawing the last six monsters until about two a.m. this morning. Thank you all. There's still a copy of Murder of Angels and Trilobite: The Writing of Threshold up. You can even have them in time for Xmas, if you're into that sort of thing. Just click here. Note that the copy of MoA has a bid, so it's not eligible for the "Buy it Now" deal (free Nyarlathotep CD and monster doodle), but Trilobite is eligible.
I'm very anxious to get back to Daughter of Hounds. Wednesday is close. Last night, the first few lines of Chapter One came to me. I caught myself walking down the hall, saying them aloud.
Yesterday, I made good on my promise to go for a long walk with Spooky. We did about a mile, which is saying something, considering how very little exercise I've been getting. It's a wonder I didn't have a frelling heart attack or something. We watched dogs walking their people, stepped in a muddy spot, made fun of hideous Xmas decorations, read sidewalk graffitti, admired admirable old houses, and Spooky kicked an enormous mushroom. Back home, we read a good bit of Phil Hine's Prime Chaos. I'm discovering that I'm getting along with this book much more than I did with Condensed Chaos. I'm not sure if it's a better written book, being less broadly "how to" and more concerned with the details of choas magick, or if I've just become less hostile to magick in general over the last two or three months. I suspect it's a little of both. Something he said, I forget exactly what, made me realize that Farscape did something very interesting with the characters of Zhaan and Noranti, something that I hadn't noticed before. Zhaan is definitely a non-chaos witch, trying, rather unsuccessfully, to adhere to the very strict Delvian path. Pa'u Zotoh Zhaan's a little Wicca, a lot Tibeten Buddhism. Utu-Noranti Pralatong, on the other hand, is a syncretist. She has no single established faith or magickal system, but, literally, makes it up as she goes along. Everything that works is fair game. Her herbalism and magick are an amalgamation resulting from her travels throughout the galaxy, not limited by any particular path. I think she's essentially a chaos magickian. I suppose this should have occured to be before, but it didn't. It's just sort of neat. Anyway, after reading, we had pizza at Fellini's.
I've been getting into the latest Tom Waits cd, Real Gone. It feels more like early Waits to me, and there are no keyboards, which is interesting. Spooky picked it up last week, after trading in a bunch of our duplicates for credit. She also got Nick Cave's Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus and Wovenhand's Consider the Birds, but I've not had time for them yet.
Okay. I think I've probably prattled on more than long enough. I will add that Poppy need not worry that I might be annoyed at the pokes she took at a rather clueless fan of Silk yesterday. The way to show your appreciation of my work is not to endevour to use it as a blunt instrument with which to bludgeon the works of my close friends. And if the fan in question thinks that Silk is still in anyway typical of my work, she needs to read a little more. I remain very fond of Silk. Very, very fond of it. But...oh, whatever. Writing's an awful enough curse without having to worry about people trying to flatter you and managing to make asses of themselves, instead. Sheesh. I need a beer.
1:52 PM
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