Did I ever tell you my favorite color was blue?

And then of course I forgot to post anything for Lovecraft's birthday, but rushthatspeaks and I did catch In the Mouth of Madness (1995) at the Brattle on Sunday night. It's like someone constructed a H.P. Lovecraft story out of Stephen King parts. It is also so meta that it doesn't just settle for disappearing up its own ass, it more or less bursts out of its own chest afterward and waves at you. Suddenly that one icon of cucumberseed's makes perfect sense.

Yesterday involved a dentist's appointment for which I had to get up at stupid o'clock, but since most of this afternoon was taken up by the wooden hot tub at Inman Oasis and wandering around the Harvard Museum of Natural History with derspatchel afterward, I have no grudge against the week so far. I re-read John Bellairs' The House with a Clock in Its Walls (1973). There's a shout-out to M.R. James' "Count Magnus" in the graveyard scene. Also, I had no idea in fourth grade that Odilon Redon was not as much of Bellairs' invention as the Fifth Michigan Fire Zouave Lancers or New Zebedee. I really envy Mrs. Zimmerman that coiling purple dragon.

I have found on YouTube one of the classic things my grandparents first played for me: Shelley Berman, "Department Store." I am now trying to avoid spending the rest of the night listening to Bob Newhart.

Green likes to be wet

I wrote a poem about Lovecraft last night. It was probably to be expected after my weekend at the Brattle and my thoughts on Berkeley Square (1933), but considering I'd been working on an entirely different poem all evening (and the last things I'd listened to before I went to take a shower were Shelley Berman and Bob Newhart), I was a little surprised. "Being Providence" just sold to The Revelator. For a variety of reasons, I am really pleased.

rushthatspeaks has both a poem and a review up at Strange Horizons this week. You should read them. I have nothing to do with the magazine's nonfiction, but I consider it an honor to have been able to publish the poem.

Let's hear it for fundraising a Tesla museum.