Today I do not have a migraine. And I started a new poem, which is already an improvement. (I wish I had written Peter Spagnuolo's "Interpol 22019-1.7: The Head of the Hatra Apollo," but that can't be helped and I'm glad someone did.) And tonight is the first installment of TCM's Hammer Horror Fridays, of which I am planning to watch as many as contain Peter Cushing my brain can stand. Happy October. Wish me luck.
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Active Entries
- 1: Let the lights run like rivers all over my skin
- 2: I am bound to these shores, I'll be bound till the end
- 3: Wish everyone could hear when she sings
- 4: All the ghosts, some old, some new
- 5: I cannot feel it, the veil of black, a fine spray of white paint
- 6: I make sure there are hidden messages in my work
- 7: I'll stay out until my mind is like a clear glass
- 8: The wind is blowing the planes around
- 9: Pilgrimage, private life, mortality
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