And ghosts walk in the shadows of an obsolete scene

My poem "Larva" is now online at inkscrawl. It's a huge and polyphonic issue; its name is the journey. Editor samhenderson talks a little about it here. "Larva" was written last summer; it's a ghost poem. I realized after I'd written it that the first line echoes Robyn Hitchcock's "Sometimes a Blonde," but it is also exactly the way I felt that night, realizing I could not recognize anymore some of the people I once cared for very much. It contains some of my feelings about Ashmedai.

Yesterday, sleep-wise: disaster. At quarter of five in the morning, I finally decided to take some painkillers for the headache, which did nothing at all; I slept for an hour and a half before I had to get up in time to eat some sheep's milk yogurt and make the MIT Swap. I was light-headed and heavy-eyed for the rest of the day. Yesterday, everything else-wise: I bought all twelve issues of Hugo Gernsback's Radio-Craft in 1939 for substantially less than the asking price, bound all together in good condition. (I knew when I opened pages at random and found an article on radio at the New York World's Fair and another about recording and playback in the 1938 Pygmalion that I was not going home without it.) I found an antique wrench for my father, who is planning to incorporate it into a piece of art. I had a ginormous lamb sandwich with goat cheese and tomato chutney at Flour, which was many blocks closer to the Swap than I'd remembered. I watched derspatchel, muffyjo, and the incomparable Socko perform excerpts from Chinbeard and Fedoro at the Anarchist Society of Shakespeareans' Shakespeare Slam and then I read my own "Anonymity," which is the Kit/Will Roland Emmerich takedown coming out someday from Fantastique Unfettered. nineweaving took us for dinner at M3 afterward. PMRP steering committee meeting gave me some things to look forward to and some things that need work, which is about what we expected. Rob played a lot of Beatles Rock Band.

And then I did not really catch up on my sleep, being woken every hour by construction noise between six and noon, but I saw the poetry announcement above as soon as I woke and I have a new issue of Sirenia Digest to read and things are going to be all right. It's been a weird summer. I suppose most of them are. It is not over yet.