Desires and dreams and powers

Yesterday brought contributor's copies of Dreams and Nightmares #74 ("Beneath the Garden of Proserpine," dedicated to Greer Gilman) and The Magazine of Speculative Poetry ("The Wandering Ghosts," dedicated to Erzebet YellowBoy), thus proving that I know some awesome muses. Those who procure copies of the above magazines will find in them the excellent work of Greg Beatty, Mike Allen, Helena Bell, Samantha Henderson, Darja Malcolm-Clarke, John Grey, Jennifer Crow, Neal Wilgus—and others—and also accrue points toward the underworld of their choice.

(Last night and today were spent in company of a friend whom I see far too infrequently, and deserve a better writeup than I can give them right now. Content decreases accordingly.)

I have a new roommate. Two years ago, my mother got me a Halloween present. Then she either mislaid or forgot about it, and discovered it in a closet last week in the post-Thanksgiving cleanup; it is the world's most ridiculously cute bat, and fleurdelis28 has kindly hosted its photograph for me.



My skills with a camera really do not do it justice. It is made of black plush, with a soft beanbag belly and little white fangs and slightly mad red eyes; its feet and thumbs and the insides of its ears are pumpkin-colored, and its wings velcro together so that it looks like a monk or a maître d' or possibly Ed Wood's chiropractor. Currently it's perched on a small stack of books beside my computer, where it cocks its head speculatively at me with an expression that might imply imminent threat, or might just be adorable. It reminds me of the sketch on Sesame Street where the Count waltzes to the Batty Bat, with an appropriate backup chorus. (One, two, three, count!) I will have to take more pictures.

In closing, I love Balliol.