ashlyme

$radiantfracture: a white rabbit swims underwater (water rabbit)$

A nice thing about being unable to focus is that I also can't focus on being miserable. Case in point: after a truly incomparable series of missed appointments and scheduling errors yesterday, I sat down wretchedly this morning, in true anxiety about my mnemonic capacity, to see if I could at least still recall two touchstone poems memorized in high school: Shakespeare's Sonnet 116, ("Let Me Not to the Marriage of True Minds") and "Kubla Khan".

The choice of sonnet is a bit mysterious to me now (the craft is exquisite; the marriage never materialized), but "Kubla Khan" makes perfect sense.

Writing it out again (all except the bit about the bouncing rocks in the middle, where I get hopelessly lost and always have) I could not help looking at "Kubla Khan" this time with my own fixations in mind, and before I knew it I had forgotten my forgetfuless and was happily sloshing around in the sacred river Alph.

( Anyway, some thoughts on Kubla Khan as it might fit into the epics course, interspersed with the Poem Itself )

The poem, sans interruptions, can be read here.

§rf§

sovay

It was cold enough in the intermittent late sun that I should have worn gloves, but I walked out and photographed the flowering things of my neighborhood.

( I'll salt circle your brain if I have to. )

It was a delight to run into Elana Lev Friedland on North Street. We talked cosmic horror and capitalism until my hands stiffened up. I dove for the bag of bagels as soon as I got home and made myself one with cream cheese and lox, the latter eagerly shared by Hestia. She has taken to leaping onto the top of the washing machine at the slightest rustle that might suggest deli meats. I fell asleep in the evening, but

spatch cooked me scrambled eggs and afterward

rushthatspeaks and I talked over our days. I am fascinated by the blue-based earthtongue.

Current Music: Eliza McLamb, "Salt Circle"

$radiantfracture: Gouache portrait of my face with jellyfish hat (Super Jellyfish 70s Me)$

radiantfracture

Congratulations to everyone who made the ballot for the Aurora Awards, but really mostly to Rachel A. Rosen for rocketing into three (3) (three!) (3!!) categories:

Best Novel - Blight, second book in the Sleep of Reason series
Best Short Story - “What If We Kissed While Sinking a Billionaire’s Yacht?“
Best Fan-Related Work, Wizards and Spaceships Podcast

Tribute to her excellent writing (and talking) and also to the uncrushable grit of small press publishing.

§rf§

muccamukk

Gay Men's Chorus of Los Angeles - "Where Is My Husband"

Watch on YouTube

Amazing! They did the chorio, too!

moon_custafer

Yesterday was Bicycle Day, and today is 4/20. I looked up Owsley Stanley AKA “the Grateful Dead’s chemist,” and fell down a rabbit hole of 1960s counter-cultural references. I’d only known of Wavy Gravy by name, but his Wikipedia page is impressive. Also in his Greenwich Village beatnik days he sort of looked like a thinner version of Victor Buono as “Bongo Bennie” on 77 Sunset Strip.

Simon Fisher Turner and others talk about scoring the reissue of The Great White Silence.
Plus you get someone from the BFI remarking “Gaumont, one of the (Terra Nova expedition’s) sponsors, had specifically requested footage of penguins, and by God did they deliver.”

Turner’s Wikipedia page is also a rabbit hole.

L.T.C. Rolt's ghost stories are kind of like M. R. James, except Rolt was an industrial historian rather than a medievalist, so a large number of the stories are about haunted railways tunnels, canals and in one case, a car-racing track. It’s a good thing I watched that video of a foundry a few weeks back, or I’d have had a hard time visualizing the climax of 'Hawley Bank Foundry.'

Even more so than James or other ghost-story writers I’ve encountered, Rolt will give the reader just enough information to guess what likely happened, and then end the story very abruptly, implications hanging. He’s also quite adept at something I’d subconsciously noticed with this genre and still don’t have a convenient name for.

See, the protagonist’s usual job in these stories is to be the witness to/victim of events, so he (the characters are usually men) doesn’t actually do all that much. But at the same time, for the story to be believable we need to believe in him, so he’s got to be characterized economically, yet vividly.

Also the supernatural elements are scarier if our protagonist 'isn’t prone to flights of imagination.' In Rolt’s stories, that means we meet a gallery of veteran railway workers, hard-headed retired manufacturers from the Midlands, etc, along with the usual ambiguously-middle-class urban professionals on holiday. We usually meet them rather briefly.

sovay

It was very nice to be told by the ophthalmologist this afternoon that I do not need surgery on my eye. I had been given some reason for concern. It was aggravating to be told that I should persist in spending hours of my time with a warm sheep, i.e. the cereal-filled microwaveable hot pack that lives in our freezer applied to my face, but at least it's working.

I read like a medical diary. Yesterday had social interludes in the form of

rushthatspeaks and

selkie and

genarti who dropped unexpectedly by with a lifetime supply of bagels and other heymishe staples from Mamaleh's. I paused Samurai III: Duel at Ganryu Island (宮本武蔵完結篇決闘巌流島, 1956) in order to show

spatch that Kōji Tsuruta lived up to his character's billing of looking more like an actor than a swordsman, which had sounded self-referential until he stepped onscreen as if exactly out of an ukiyo-e print. This evening I felt so set on fire that I curled up in bed for an hour and Hestia snuggled herself under the covers and pushed her head kitten-fashion against my knee. I made myself a sesame bagel with chopped liver and watched another of the Warners B-pictures written by Raymond L. Schrock that TCM has been running to more than fast-cheap effect so long as they do not contain Ronald Reagan. I feel as though I measure my time by what I can do in between managing my health.

I cannot manage the state of the world and it remains exhausting. Nearly a decade of my life seems to have folded itself like a tesseract of the Echthroi and it is hard at the moment not to feel that all that happened in the interval is that people died.

Current Music: Snail Mail, "Dead End"

skygiants

I've been meaning for months to write up Knight Flower, the Joseon-era kdrama about a RESPECTABLE WIDOW BY DAY, VIGILANTE BY NIGHT who spends her days dutifully kneeling by her husband's portrait and serving her mother-in-law and her nights running around town in a black mask dispensing justice by the sword.

I enjoyed this drama very much, but it's kind of an odd beast -- it's genuinely interested in the awful constraints on Joseon's women's worlds and widow's worlds in particular and wants to explore that seriously, and it also wants have our heroine be extremely cool and fight off five guys in an alley every episode and toss off a one-liner about it, and it also wants our [middle-aged! widow!] heroine to be a charming sitcom naif who gets comically overcome by the sight of a man's midriff and is shocked! shocked! to learn about some of the various injustices going on in Joseon despite the fact that she's been wandering the streets dispensing vigilante justice for ten years. (They attempt to square some of this circle by virtue of the fact that our heroine's arranged husband was killed! by bandits! on his very wedding day! and so she has spent ten years dutifully mourning a man she never actually met, let alone slept with.)

And because Lee Hanee is a talented actress, she can almost more or less pull all of that off and make RESPECTABLE WIDOW SECRET VIGILANTE JO YEO-HWA a coherent character -- helped in large part by the various interesting women around her, including:

- Yeo-hwa's hard-nosed and cynical maid, whom Yeo-hwa rescued off the streets as a teenager, and who has spent her years since then in the single-minded pursuit of enough money for An Independent Place, which she is going to move into JUST as soon as her chaotic mistress to whom she is unfortunately absolutely loyal is Out Of This Fucking House and No Longer Doing This Stupid Vigilante Shit
- Yeo-hwa's mother-in-law, who holds Yeo-hwa harshly to the extremely narrow line of conduct allowed for widows [go nowhere; speak to no one; serve your husband's family; accept that it's an embarrassment for you to be alive when your husband is dead] and sees her largely as a walking reputational vector for the family -- but hey, at least she would never pressure Yeo-hwa to commit honorable suicide, like some other mother-in-laws-of-widows of their acquaintance, so that's something! In any other drama this character would be a cruel stereotype but in this drama she's played by Kim Mi-kyung with sympathy and complexity; she's the immediate bane of Yeo-hwa's life, and nonetheless she and Yeo-hwa have spent a decade bound together as family with a kind of affection, and Yeo-hwa understands perfectly well that her mother-in-law is also trapped by the only rules she knows
- Yeo-hwa's business partner and accomplice, a merchant whom Yeo-hwa also rescued on the streets and who has also spent the time since then like You Could Just Leave This Fucking House, I will prepare a fake identity for you, it won't be hard
- the main female villain, ( who is somewhat of a spoiler though this all starts to come out pretty early on )

Obviously Jo Yeo-hwa also has a love interest. He's an honorable baby cop who wants to fight corruption and also has a backstory tied up in the ten-years-ago political plot. He's completely fine. His older brother, an upright schemer who's been helping the virtuous king lay long-term plots to take back control from his evil ministers,* has an very cute B-plot bookstore romance with the cynical maid that I frankly found much more compelling in the glimpses of it that we got. More compelling yet ( is spoilers again! )

*there's nothing kdramas love more than a virtuous king who's trying to take back control from his evil ministers

skygiants

I have often read single-person biographies where the biographer is very obviously in love with their subject; I have also occasionally read have also read Couple Biographies where the biographer is really invested in the romance between their subjects plural. Ilyon Woo's Master Slave Husband Wife is a really great, thoughtful, thorough exploration of a particular moment in the history of American slavery around the passage of the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850 and the defiant abolitionist movement. It is also very definitively a love story that Woo believes in with her whole heart and is ready to champion all the way to the end, which I honestly think is quite charming even when I myself looking at the evidence was sometimes like "well, I too would like to believe that all through their many years together William and Ellen Craft were indeed fully and romantically on the same page and had each other's backs about everything, but I think it's possible there are other interpretations of some of these events and that in many cases we simply can't know for sure --"

The Big Headline about Ellen and William Craft, the story that made them famous and that the first part of this book recounts in detail, is their daring escape North from slavery in 1848: Ellen disguised herself as an extremely sickly white gentleman who needed her loyal slave with her at all times, and in this guise they managed to navigate 19th-century public transit all the way from Georgia to Philadelphia. They themselves wrote a book about this, which I do plan to read, because it sounds extremely cool and romantic and indeed everyone they met as they made their way from Philadelphia to Massachusetts was like "that's extremely cool and romantic!" and promptly pulled them onto the abolitionist lecture circuit to general wild applause. Ellen, in particular, had major abolitionist propaganda value for forcing empathy out of white people. She was often billed as the White Slave (a label that she did not enjoy.)

Being an escaped slave on the abolitionist lecture circuit was obviously pretty dangerous in 1848 but not as dangerous as it was about to become. In 1848, the Fugitive Slave Laws up north were pretty toothless and unenforceable. In 1850, in an attempt to staple the rapidly-fracturing country back together, significantly stronger laws were passed that essentially forced abolitionist states to cooperate with returning escaped slaves to their masters. Ellen and William Craft, who had so publicly escaped in a way that was very cool and also very embarrassing for the slave states through which they passed, inevitably became one of the first major test cases as to whether Massachusetts would indeed fulfill its Obligations to the South.

Woo writes a compelling narrative, but more importantly she does a really wonderful job balancing that narrative with the complexity of the broader context; from the opening chapter, where she ties the Craft's escape in 1848 with the 1848 revolutionary movement in Europe, I already knew I was in good hands. She does occasionally I think overuse the Ominous Foreshadowing Chapter Ending, but as nonfiction author sins go that's a minor one. She says that at one point in the text that as part of telling their full story she wants to complicate the idea of a happy ending, but it's very clear that in her heart she wants the Crafts to have been very in love and very married all throughout their long and interesting lives, and who can blame her for that?

muccamukk

I really enjoy Heather Cox Richardson and Joanne Freeman's Saturday morning "What the Heck Just Happened?" chats. It really does just feel like my aunties talking smack about history.

In today's episode (Video, 41 Minutes), they were discussing ways to think about corruption and how to deal with it—using Hamilton, Lincoln, the Nixon/Kennedy debates and Representative Maxwell Frost as examples. HCR mentioned that a lot of USian students don't learn the technicalities of how the government works, such as "this is the legal definition of [thing], and therefore the law says you can do [such and such] about it" (my paraphrase). And also how when exposed to this information, people of all ages are often amazed and eager to learn more. (Thus both women's teaching and social media strategies).

(I'm not especially ragging on the U.S. education system here; most Canadians don't learn civics either.)

Which reminded me of a class a few weeks ago, where (like most of my classes) most of the students are Gen Z, and either weren't born during the ramp up to the 2003 U.S. Invasion of Iraq, or were tiny smol and don't remember it (see me, and the Fall of the Berlin Wall, "you're welcome" to anyone who I just made feel very old). The professor was explaining how it had been sold to the public, the WMD lies, etc, and its echos (or not) in current events.

The class was agog! They were entranced! They were listening the most sensational soap opera unfold! "What? Really!?" they gasped. "Why didn't we know this!?" they demanded.

"It's not taught," the professor answered; "it's not your fault that you don't know."

I think when I was coming up, history ended with the Cold War. To be fair, that was somewhat due to when the textbooks were written (and a couple still had the U.S.S.R. on the maps). In part, it's difficult to write about something you're in the middle of. But how much of what we're doing now needs the context of 9/11, and the second Iraq War, and the Patriot Act, and and and... ? And how we all understood that day that the world would never be the same. (Which also needs the context of events before, of course.) We all need to know this history, but not everyone who is in elected office today is old enough to remember it.

I'm just sad there wasn't time to tell them about Freedom Fries :(

sovay

Long story tired, within a week of recovering from last month's double ear infection I was exposed to some other viral crud and now I have a double ear infection all over again. Next I return to the ophthalmologist. I am rethinking the entire concept of having a head. In the meantime I lay on the couch and watched Hiroshi Inagaki's Musashi Miyamoto (宮本武蔵, 1954) while Hestia basked in the cat tree. WHRB introduced me to Pansy's "Woman of Ur Dreams" (2021) and Nia Nadurata's "i think i like your girlfriend" (2023). I like this color study which feels a levitation away from being a surrealist painting. If it played vaguely near me, I would watch a film about Mark Fisher.

Current Music: Mazzy Star, "Fade Into Me"

$radiantfracture: Beadwork bunny head (Default)$

radiantfracture

If you see a character named "Clive", what do you think about them?

§rf§

sovay

Under very few circumstances while watching Ishirō Honda's Atragon (海底軍艦, 1963) does one have to hand it to Agent No. 23 of the Empire of Mu, the shoregoing operative of a barbarically advanced civilization gathering itself from the bed of the Pacific to reclaim its former colonies which in the millennia since its Atlantean sinking had the temerity to strike out on their own as the nations of Earth, but he is played by Akihiko Hirata in a gold-glint of dark glasses and an out-of-season scarf tucked against the chill of the surface world and when he is held at gunpoint with his back to the tide-line, he only smiles in the slightest of farewells before leaping into the day-for-night-blue surf without even taking off his shoes. "He escaped into the sea?" His introductory getaway was more technically audacious when he drove a stolen taxi straight off a quay, but if he were human he would look like a suicide and once he's in the water instead he rejoins his phosphorescently submerged comrades without so much as catching a bullet. In a high-concept blend of lost-world pulp and post-war politics, he's a wonderfully uncanny touch without special effects, which is not to deprecate the film's ingenious panoply of images from hydronauts in a looseleaf of silver scales to a dragon coiling like a moray from the side of an oceanic trench to the crimson-clouded detonation of a geothermal sun. The people of Mu run hotter than seals: the sea smokes like a geyser around them, a wrench turns red-hot in the agent's contemptuous grasp; one of his colleagues appears capable of generating an eellike stunning charge. "We have special energy. It's useless." Elsewhere their civilization resembles a sort of Egypto-Minoan fusion by way of Verne and Haggard, its laser cannons sheathed in the coils of bronze ceti and the blinkenlights of its enormous computer banks carved around in cyclopean bas-relief. The empress of Mu looks like a nascent anime design with her hood of clementine-colored hair and new wave eyes, a casual ransom of pearls collared over her brilliant draperies and finely ringed mail. Humanity's last, best hope if it can be repurposed from a dream of militaristic nationalism to the defense of global ideals, the Atragon-class submarine of the title suggests a garfish down to its countershading, a sleek leviathan of spy-fi industry artfully equipped with a few indistinguishably magical tricks of its own. When Mu calls in its marker on the land, the inevitable destruction of Tokyo is a one-two doozy of practical and animated effects—business districts jolted to flinders by a precisely triggered earthquake, container ships set ablaze by an enemy sub's lancing ray—but the eye candy doesn't crowd out the food for thought when the sunken empire makes such a successfully fantastical double for the imperial past that Japan must explicitly repudiate in order to inhabit its international future. I wouldn't kick any of it out of bed for eating seaweed crackers, especially not the first glimpse of the sea-dragon Manda, a thick shield-wall of scales, seemingly endless, breathing. I just remain enchanted with the liminal simplicity of Agent No. 23 in his anonymous dark suit, a Magritte figure whose very ordinariness makes him surreal. His voice will narrate a history of his empire from a spool of 8 mm and deliver its modern ultimatum on reel-to-reel. "Admiral, this earthquake isn't a coincidence. Remember me?" He'd be namelessly memorable even if I hadn't loved his actor since Dr. Serizawa. This sea brought to you by my special backers at Patreon.

Current Music: Arca, "Urchin"

skygiants

As I mentioned on my last Pern post, Dragonsdawn was always the most memorable Pern book for me -- for my sins, and sins indeed they are. That said, having reread it, I can understand exactly why I found this so compelling. This was the book that sold me on the fantasy of planetary exploration and colonization as a delightful and desirable experience! You could go to a beautiful new world and discover baby dragons and have random islands named after you! You could build a new Utopian society! Is Anne McCaffrey's vision of a Utopian society uncomfortably libertarian? Sure, but I was ten, I didn't know what libertarians were, I just understood that Sorka was having a very cool time as a happily free-range child exploring the Pernese landscape. I don't think it was until I read Mary Roach's Packing for Mars as an adult that I fully came to terms with the fact that going to space actually sounded like a deeply unpleasant time, logistically speaking, and let the faint wisps of the Dragonsdawn dream of First Feet Down on a beautiful new planet that's functionally just like Earth with bonus charming telepathic fauna dissipate into the ether.

I mean, it is sort of an open question though: early Pernese culture, potential paradise or libertarian cult? I do think McCaffrey knows that the colonist's blissful vision of If Everyone Has Enough Land For Themselves We Can All Just Be Chill And Not Actually Bother Society-Building is doomed to some degree of failure on account of bad actors, even before it's interrupted by Thread. She could have just made it a book about dealing with Thread and developing dragons about it, and it would probably be a better book if she did, but she's so grimly determined to put some bad actors in just to demonstrate she knows they exist. This at least is my theory of how we got Evil Sexy Avril Bitra, perpetrator of history's most inexplicable heist. "If I go on this fifty-year mission, I can steal some diamonds, steal an escape pod, launch myself back out into space, and get picked up back in a society that's moved on a hundred years from the one I left! Probably they'll still want diamonds and I'll re-adapt just fine!"

So, I can understand, I guess, why Avril Bitra. I don't understand and don't think I will ever understand why Avril Bitra's narrative foil is a would-be tradwife who nonconsensually aphrodisiaced her way into marriage with a man who has never shown any romantic interest in anything except cave systems and then spent the next eight years making a shocked Pikachu face about the fact that he continued to not be all that into her. Why is Sallah Telgar's plot in this book? What is it doing here? Why is Avril Bitra evilly torturing Sallah on the spaceship given so much page space and weird psychosexual intensity when literally nothing about this plot actually impacts the colony's situation IN ANY ACTUAL WAY? I thought a reread would leave me less confused about all this than I was when I was ten and in fact I think it did the opposite. Anne, please ... you must have had some thoughts about this, thematically, structurally ... I'm coming to you, hat in hand, asking for answers.

I do think it's very funny that in the years between 1968 and 1989 Anne McCaffrey decided that it was a bit embarrassing that she'd built biological differences into her dragons such that the queens don't breathe fire, and decided to blame it on the fact that the dragons were genetically designed by an Extremely Traditional Chinese Grandma instead. Is it also racist? Yes, extremely. But if we start talking about all the unfortunate well-meaning racism in Dragonsdawn we'll be here all day and I don't have that much day left. Racism aside I did find myself unexpectedly somewhat moved by the subplot I did not remember at all in which Kenjo Fusaiyuki, a guy who has made a Profound Mistake in moving to an isolated colony planet that's dedicated itself to being low-tech and abandoning spaceflight, desperately hoards fuel for as long as possible to put off the time when he will have to at last give up for good and all the thing he loves most and is best at in all the world.

And you know who could've saved Kenjo Fusaiyuki's life, if she had stopped to help the two guys Avril Bitra clonked on the head instead of uselessly pursuing her into space? YES, IT'S ANOTHER SALLAH TELGAR CRIME. Sallah Telgar, you have so much to answer for.

isis

What I've recently finished reading:

After I finished The Everlasting by Alix E. Harrow, I idly looked for fanfiction. There are all of two fics: one is Una/Owen smut, and the other is not actually for The Everlasting but is a sort of fusion, Palamedes and Camilla from The Locked Tomb Series in a plot drawn from The Everlasting...

...and I really liked it! Camilla Everlasting by

DullestProdigalSon, about 23K, lots of very short chapters. You do have to have read Gideon the Ninth and Harrow the Ninth, as it's very firmly based in those books, but I thought the translation of the Everlasting plot to the Locked Tomb world was very cleverly done. (You don't need to have read The Everlasting. There's some reference to "The Mysterious Study of Doctor Sex" but you probably don't need to have read that.) In this story, Palamedes is the scholar/necromancer from the future who is sent back in time to help the famous Camilla Hect become a Lyctor. What's really cool is that in this fic, Palamedes was not the necromancer of the original narrative, but essentially overwrote that narrative to be the story we read in the novels, which I thought was very in keeping with the way that Harrow the Ninth rewrites the story of Gideon the Ninth, and also echoes Cytherea's actions in the first book. The character voices and general tone and style felt super-true to the Locked Tomb, too - overall an enjoyable read!

And...that's about all. I'm currently eyeball-reading The Raven Scholar by Antonia Hodgson, and listening to Heaven's River by Dennis E. Taylor (book 4 of the Bobiverse).

What I'm currently watching:

We noped out of Fallout S2 after two episodes, and are now about midway through 1923, one of Taylor Sheridan's numerous Yellowstone prequels. I had not been really inclined to watch it, but B roped me in with Harrison Ford and Helen Mirren, who I must admit are excellent here; however, the narrative strand dealing with the Indian boarding school is the most compelling (and horrifying) to me. (Living in Indian country now - Southern Ute land, near a college that is free for tribal members, who make up about half the student population, which incidentally was originally on the site of an Indian boarding school - I'm much more aware of this terrible part of our country's past.)

What I'm still playing:

I think I'm getting close to the climax of the second act (of three) of Ghost of Tsushima.

sovay

Today I have slept less than three hours for the second day in a row and the afternoon just clouded over. Have a couple of links.

1. I can't tell if the BLO's Daughter of the Regiment will be queer enough for its invocation of Deborah Sampson, but then I was distracted by discovering Alex Myers. I blame it on plague that I missed the queer Arthuriana of The Story of Silence (2020).

2. I had an excuse to link Bradley Kincaid's "The Two Sisters" (1928), the oldest version of the ballad I have heard recorded as opposed to seen written down. I used to sing its bleaker descendant by Roger Wilson. Tom Waits does a pretty straight one.

3. Hen Ogledd's "The Loch Ness Monster's Song" (2020) is a setting of Edwin Morgan. It may be the most zaum thing I have encountered since Victory Over the Sun (1913).

For the first time in this apartment, there was an Interloper Cat. Collared and silver-tagged, on the doorless back porch, a substantial ginger and white presence had seated itself in one of the windows with its evident object of a robin in the other. It stared directly through the back door. Hestia was wild. The bird was motionless. I did not let her out and the next time I looked, both bird and interloper had gone.

Current Music: The Grownup Noise, "See You in the Hall"

sovay

My father's birthday will be formally observed the next time my niece is in town, but for the day itself my mother and I baked him the chicken and leek pie which we had adapted from its recipe the two days prior that the filling can be stored in the refrigerator to deepen in flavor like a stew and a strawberry shortcake which I am currently proud of decorating with a painted marzipan man o' war after the mosaic in Leonardo Morales y Pedroso's 1930 Casa de Mark A. Pollack y Carmen Casuso. Even after I chilled the marzipan, the heat and humidity tangled the tentacles authentically.

I did not expect to receive an unbirthday present of Hen Ogledd's Discombobulated (2026), which I have been listening to since I got home and discovered the equally unexpected postcard awaiting me from

mrissa. The inner CD sleeve includes among its notes, "The painting on the front cover is called 'It's not darkness that falls, it's light', and now lies scattered in pieces across the globe. It was chopped into 34 segments and distributed as gifts to friends and family." I flashed inevitably on Wittgenstein's Remarks on Frazer's Golden Bough (1931/1948).

Think how after Schubert's death his brother cut certain of Schubert's scores into small pieces and gave to his favorite pupils these pieces of a few bars each. As a sign of piety this action is just as comprehensible to us as the other one of keeping the scores undisturbed and accessible to no-one. And if Schubert's brother had burned the scores we could still understand this as a sign of piety.

Current Music: Hen Ogledd, "End of the rhythm"

sovay

Because I had a doctor's appointment downtown, from Storrow Drive I saw the cherry trees on the Esplanade blooming like soft fireworks in white and sugar-pink. The weather has catapulted itself into summer: asphalt-simmered air, huge tufts of cloud stacked over a haze-blue sky, lines around the literal block for Ben & Jerry's Free Cone Day. Sails all over the Charles. Afterward

spatch and I ate Greek takeout on a picnic bench by Spy Pond, watching a solitary Canada goose glide across the water as our summer in accelerated miniature looked like building toward thunderstorm. It is my father's seventy-fourth birthday.

Current Music: Momma, "Cross My Heart"

moon_custafer

Lying awake at 4:30am, I suddenly realized how Goon Show-influenced this episode was. Embarrassing that it took me so long, given that one of the performers is straight-up doing the Bluebottle voice.

moon_custafer

impressionistic painting of a billboard in a field

moon_custafer

The lunchroom at my current job:
painting of an office lunchroom

painting of office lunchroom and a view of electrical pylons out the window

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Reading

Kubla Khan as epic

When we take on new bodies, I will scour the earth to find you again

Congratulations! (Aurora Awards)

Music Monday

Weekend Report

There's more room on the basement couch

(no subject)

(no subject)

Context Dependant

A stranger light comes on slowly

Character names

A kidnapper wouldn't jump into a cold sea

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wednesday reads and things

I might fail math if you don't move your shoulder

One boundary makes another

I swear only this city knows

Royal Canadian Air Farce, “The Mad Trapper of Rat River”

Painting Update 2– closer to the Abstract

Painting Update

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June 2025

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