You took your dead to the house of plenty and you laid it at their feet
I got home to discover the mail had brought my contributor's copy of Else, the latest annual not-Not One of Us publication. It contains my poem "Epic Cycle," written on and for the centenary of the cease-fire of World War I. It came from thinking about myth, about remembrance, about how easy it is to make something beautiful when no one is left to say otherwise; one cataclysm of the twentieth century concludes its period of mourning and the twenty-first steams straight ahead with its own apocalypses; here we are, here we are, here we are again. Other contributors of strangeness include Zane Mankowski, Caspian Gray, and Victoria Nordland. You can purchase this publication; you can submit work for the next issue; I recommend doing both. Not One of Us is one of the last true print 'zines I regularly interact with and I treasure it. It has always given my work a good home.
Otherwise my day has mostly consisted of late buses, rain, and a book I ordered not yet arriving, but I made it to my doctor's appointment (I have a sinus infection; at least it's my first in more than a year; I've got antibiotics) and I got to see a beautiful sunset of shale-blue and grill-orange, one of those startling combinations that looks artificial except it happens all the time, while waiting for the bus home. It's a really nice planet, even if the weather is rather badly off-kilter. I wish people cared more about not wrecking it for the rest of us.
(Yesterday was for all extents and purposes nonexistent, but the day before that I met![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
a_reasonable_man and his wife for the recent restoration of Andrei Rublev (1966) at the Coolidge and not only did I love the movie, I had a very nice dinner at Ganko Ittetsu Ramen beforehand and discovered a cheap and well-preserved paperback of Barbara Hambly's A Free Man of Color (1997) downstairs at the Brookline Booksmith. I had brought my copy of Graveyard Dust (1999) to read on the buses, so it felt fortuitous. And went well with gankara miso ramen.)
Courtesy ofmoon_custafer: Sheila Sim in A Canterbury Tale (1944). I have very few singular favorite things, but that is definitely my favorite movie by Powell and Pressburger and I could call it my favorite movie without lying. I keep coming back to writing about it. I love that it was Pressburger's, not Powell's, darling.
Dr. Autolycus says I should not leave this couch any time soon.
Otherwise my day has mostly consisted of late buses, rain, and a book I ordered not yet arriving, but I made it to my doctor's appointment (I have a sinus infection; at least it's my first in more than a year; I've got antibiotics) and I got to see a beautiful sunset of shale-blue and grill-orange, one of those startling combinations that looks artificial except it happens all the time, while waiting for the bus home. It's a really nice planet, even if the weather is rather badly off-kilter. I wish people cared more about not wrecking it for the rest of us.
(Yesterday was for all extents and purposes nonexistent, but the day before that I met
a_reasonable_man and his wife for the recent restoration of Andrei Rublev (1966) at the Coolidge and not only did I love the movie, I had a very nice dinner at Ganko Ittetsu Ramen beforehand and discovered a cheap and well-preserved paperback of Barbara Hambly's A Free Man of Color (1997) downstairs at the Brookline Booksmith. I had brought my copy of Graveyard Dust (1999) to read on the buses, so it felt fortuitous. And went well with gankara miso ramen.)Courtesy of
moon_custafer: Sheila Sim in A Canterbury Tale (1944). I have very few singular favorite things, but that is definitely my favorite movie by Powell and Pressburger and I could call it my favorite movie without lying. I keep coming back to writing about it. I love that it was Pressburger's, not Powell's, darling.Dr. Autolycus says I should not leave this couch any time soon.
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It seems wise to heed Dr. Autolycus's advice.
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I will evangelize about them until either the magazine dies or I do. I wish it had more of a web presence only so that more people knew about it.
It seems wise to heed Dr. Autolycus's advice.
I didn't let him get away with taking his fee out of the recycling, but I have otherwise been a model patient.
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Kneading treatments and plenty of high-octane purrs were also applied.
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Thank you!
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I meant to email you congratulatorily about the amount of theatre you have managed, albeit proportionally to illness (boo), but my bus vanished into the Busmuda Triangle and I had to walk an unexpected mile, so I forgot. I am still glad.
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He's a wise cat when he's not being a trash panda.
(He's probably a wise cat even then, I'm just not going to let him stick his head into washed-out milk cartons because of it.)
but my bus vanished into the Busmuda Triangle and I had to walk an unexpected mile, so I forgot. I am still glad.
Thank you. It's been worth it. I am sorry about your bus.
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It's a great movie.
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He holds the all-encompassing PrrD.