Airplanes are leaving from the airport
I am back from the ICFA in Orlando. On the whole, I had a very good timeāthe reading went well, I met some wonderful people, and I have copies of Guy Gavriel Kay's Beyond This Dark House (2003) and Peter S. Beagle's We Never Talk About My Brother (2009), among other books. I heard papers on the science fiction poetry of Phyllis Gotlieb, the Paris Morgue, present-day Elizabethan theater; I should have written papers on The Last Unicorn and A Tale of Time City. After dark one night, Eric and I played basketball on the hotel's court, lit up arc-white. I forgot to bring my bathing suit again.
I love flying in and out of Boston. The plane wheels in over the water, last night as dark as fishskin and pleated in swells beneath a pure red after-sunset, the whole bar of the horizon cinnabar under ink-spreads of cloud; the channel buoys held on and off like fireflies, green, red, flickering sea-paths back and forth between the islands, whitewater flecks out of the dusk. There were thunderheads building when we took off from Orlando. I think we confuse in-flight snacks and seatbelt signs with domestication of sky and sea, so that clouds become less relevant than however many channels you can watch from the screens on the back of each seat, the sun in the stratosphere is an interference. Nothing is really tame. We just like to think so; and are surprised when people drown.
I love flying in and out of Boston. The plane wheels in over the water, last night as dark as fishskin and pleated in swells beneath a pure red after-sunset, the whole bar of the horizon cinnabar under ink-spreads of cloud; the channel buoys held on and off like fireflies, green, red, flickering sea-paths back and forth between the islands, whitewater flecks out of the dusk. There were thunderheads building when we took off from Orlando. I think we confuse in-flight snacks and seatbelt signs with domestication of sky and sea, so that clouds become less relevant than however many channels you can watch from the screens on the back of each seat, the sun in the stratosphere is an interference. Nothing is really tame. We just like to think so; and are surprised when people drown.

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Nothing is really tame. We just like to think so; and are surprised when people drown.
Yes.
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I'm glad you had a good time. And it's cold here, anyway. Not a good season for visiting.
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I once flew over a thunderstorm, with fan-vaulted lightning below us, an electric Chartres.
And now they go about, urging you to shut your little plastic blind.
Nine
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Needed: an expert on Etruscan mythology, for the moon of Orcus
S/1 90482 (2005) needs your help
Thought it might pique your interest...or if you know someone else who would be keen, could you please let them know?
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