busy day yesterday...

...but it's an old day now, beginning with a late start on breakfast, pancakes for me & my Bumble Bee Girl. Once we finished breakfast, I took a bath, preparatory to seeing Joe & then the people at Perky Pam's Place (which is now Cheri's, after Pam moved Upstairs). Once we'd finished our coffee, she walked me down to the corner, across the street, gave me a big smoochie, then continued to Social Security, to turn in her check stubs.

We ate meatball sandwiches at Iron Claw House, then stopped by the bank, withdrew $20 for ourselves, $5 for Trish's account, & another $5 for the trips account. (Trips? Remember when acid was $5 a hit?)

We came home, cranked the a/c, & I watched a little TV while Trish did her assorted chores. Hannah Montana? Why do they always have to stereotype Montana as redneck? Fortunately, I live in North Dakota. Invisible City, to be precise.

We shared a plate of nachos supreme at El Taco Loco, came home, & listened to records. Shows my age. I'm lucky to have such a young wife.

Then we had a moment of intimacy, without Viagra -- yet I'm still certain that most of the time I need the stuff.

Some way Kool stuff coming off GThom. I spent some time this morning searching for a reply about the baptismal ritual in Thomas, specifically that it could be Mandaen, rather than Christian. I also believe the "lion which the man eats" may refer to communion -- if not, when did they invent the sacrament?

Haven't heard back from the idiots at Baen's Universe. Trek-tech, my ass! I won't send them a rewrite, but...

G. Harry Stine postulated a "tachyon rocket/laser" in Analog's Brass Tacks. This could potentially change the entire anatomy of G. I'm still wondering how to rationalize the psychon.

another manic Monday (for Trish (& Kim))

Trish's abrupt moodswing regarding the friend that formerly had her Leery (for I like all things Leary) has me puzzled, even troubled, caught between desire & fear (& parenthetically, loathing): Trish has changed from hating the woman to love/lust. When Kim came here Saturday, the flashing chance at bliss was greeted, not with anger, but with desire.

The night before, Trish had turned into an Orgasmatron, a stimulator of the non-existent "pleasure center". With the aid of Viagra & a porno-vid, my Philip K. Fantasy excited Trish tremendously, all the while fantasizing about her former rival & enemy.

Then the day arrived: when the woman wanted the Other; when the 2 would become as One for the shambling Rootboy; when the 2 would become 3; & out of the 3 comes the One as the 4th.

Yet she remained absent, inspiring 2 phone calls & the statement that, "Her job is ruining our relationship"; even wanting to call Perky Pam & inquire after Kim's personal affairs.

From hatred to this? Is Trish going thru a moodswing? Is it right to act out sexual fantasies when you know (both you) & your partner are bipolar, & it could be a symptom, not truly what Trish, Kim, or I really want? Is there a problem with her medicine, or is the girl simply kinky?

All this & more in the next installment of Slime-thing Comix: I'm thinking of writing a sequel, from disembarking the Bobo Boat to our marrige.

Other than waiting for Kim to show up while we watched cable, we mostly both woke up as Cranky Bears, had to each take a nap.

We also feared the computer is heading for a breakdown: it's making a kind of high pitched humming sound. We called Joe about it; could be either the hard disc or the fan -- whatever the case, if we do need to make a repair, we don't really have the buckadingdongs to do it, 'cause of the plumber bill.

I told Kim, yesterday or today. We'll see if she can respect that schedule & not come over when people are busy. Saturday, I let her in during lunch, a brief break during the rewrite of "Galaxies" when I could see her. She said she had until 4:00, but it's pretty rude to interrupt someone who's doing something, for 3-1/2 hours, all because you want to feel up his dick.

Let's hope she can respect boundaries. That includes not-visiting while Trish is at work.

Kim... soon to Kum bi... (again?)

The only really big daytime deal Saturday was the return of Kimothy, no longer making Trish Leery: she had been thinking of inviting the woman over, wanted me to phone her; then as if by magic, she appeared. Though it interrupted my lunch, I let her in briefly, talked with her in sign & a couple notes -- the yearly trip to Oreo-gon is August 25th, but she seemed resolved not to come back today. I finally convinced her that I had work to do on the computer ("the typewriter is part of his illness": haunting, insulting words from a lifetime ago). As she left, I hugged her, felt her, kissed her.

When Trish & I made out last nite, we fantasized about threesomes; Trish actually commended me for the kiss -- but I feel perhaps both of us may be entering a manic phase, including the hypersexuality.

Kimothy? Queerly? (calling you!)

Hot days have found us. Hot days have tracked us down. They're trying to destroy our comfortable joy...

Yeah, it's 68 out there already; I just turned the a/c down to 72, so that it'll hopefully kick on around 10:00. I also just cranked the one in the bedroom, so that Trish could relax after taking her Synthroid. I did get out of bed around 6:45, though I'd awakened earlier. Trish woke up when I did, but as usual is napping in for another hour.

Just one day left of work for her! Yippie Skippy!

She felt disappointed yesterday when she found this out. She'd been looking forward to a day off, but since she was sick the last week, they decided to call her in.

Mostly just added the necromancy scene to Noc-Lar yesterday. Real atomic -- but rapidly drifting away from "formula". Have been seeking to ingratiate myself to Critters, so they'll DR the thing. I'm using a lot of the tech from Phoenix Enthralled, but that's even "worse" for the medieval fantasy people, as it's futuristic -- & (almost) any technology is anathema in genre fantasy, not to mention the joy of sex.

I worked on this piece, rather than "Galaxies", as I'm trying to multi-task, by structuring my writing/artwork/music & not becoming bound up in just one project. I'll be working on that one today, after reading the new issue of sciencenews.org.

I'm pretty pissed at the editorial staff at Jim Baen's Universe. When I asked if they accepted rewrites, "no, we'll ask for them" -- fine with me; "this story has an all too familiar Trek sounding technology" -- this guy is completely full of shit! The whole thing was deliberately written against Trek, starting with CHRIS down to the "gravity" -- the moron didn't even catch the Nietzsche allusion.

This is totally an insult! The only piece of Trek-tech is the "warp-bubble" -- but this is an idea that preceded Trek! So OK, if it's Trekkie, I can zap it with the word-replace key. This is no grounds to reject a whole manuscript! Psychons? Eccles & Popper coined the term, not me. What else? CHRIS? "Fractal consciousness?" Can't this guy read?

If they're going to react this way to hard science fiction, to stories that require that you be somewhat literate in science, high pay aside, I'm not going to send them anything more. If I pick up 3 rejection slips, after noting the superlative work I did in college/grad school, then I'm boycotting this piece of trash, at least until they come around begging for stories. By which time, hopefully, Mindstorm will have sold, amassed a lot of money, & I can laugh at their shitty little magazine.

The real news, expressed in Trish's blog, is that she's now willing to accept Kim.

& not.

Sometimes it's thrill-seeking for both of us; largely, it's, "It turns me on to see you turned on" -- but there are boundaries...

The problem is that it could lead to acute exacerbations of VADIS. Ever since I matriculated at the University of Night, I'd pursued -- obsessed with -- the Vast Active Destructive Intelligence System. (It's good Dick.)

I'm afraid that tampering with this complex set of manic/hypersexual symptoms could damage us both, & some of what Trish says about the boy-chick indicates that she isn't ready yet -- though access to a long-coveted Bo Dannon might be fun on Viagra.

Today's goal, once I finish my requisite reading, is to continue the re-make/re-model of "Galaxies", taking into account that there are uneducated imbeciles out there, editing science fiction magazines.

Trek-tech? I don't think so!

"Star Trek" tech?

Ye Gads, this is getting to be about as bad as Aboriginal Spaceways' "review" of "Fragile Eggshell Mind". I mean, really stupid: Jim Baen's Universe bounced "Galaxies Contr0lling Fate" the other day, with a form. I clicked reply, asking if they accept rewrites. The conclusion?

--This one was too familiar sounding, with the Star Trek technology.

I fired a response back at this editor/idjet to the effect of, "Sir John C. Eccles & Sir Carl Popper invented the "psychon" in How the Self Controls Its Brain, so I doubt this element is 'Star Trek'. Neither is the rest of it".

Since I'm revising it anyway, with a prospective trip thru Critters & resubmission to Analog -- who thought a little more highy of the "technology" -- I'll take this under consideration, maybe as part of a discussion between the characters. We have one guy onboard who's interested in philosophy, whom I want to tap for the explanation of Nietzsche at the end.

I did start the re-make/re-model yesterday, got all the way thru the next draft, mainly cutting. Now that I know that respected scientists & philosophers are easily & erroneously dubbed "Star Trek" by ignorant editors who know nothing of science, I can avoid this imaginary "problem". & if the dark energy sails/conduits are "Trek"? -- well, they got axed.

Not working on it today. Multi-tasking continues; today I intend to make it thru another novel chunk of Brad's fantasy thing. It's helping. I'm seeing, again, how much I stray from formula. Last thing I got into was necromancy.

Yeah, & yesterday Car-girl bought me a lemon Diet Mountain Dew, before we picked up the Bumble Bee Girl at Pizza Hut.

We gave Viagra another shot. 2 hour erection; no orgasm. God & I need my Risperdal reduced.

FUCK SCIENTOLOGY!

Save Bauer, it's Good Karma

...is what's on some of the t-shirt's Jerome's students are wearing. Apparently, his stay at Washington University has been canceled, for a variety of reasons, some of which may actually be legitimate on the part of the Religious Studies department there, others which may simply be paranoia.

I discovered this yesterday, when John sent me some email that my spam filter ate. Fortunately, I decided to look at the Held messages, & came up with Jerry's blog; the increasing agitation, anxiety, fear, loathing, savage dread, enough to turn anyone to the Dark Side of the Source.

Disturbed, I therefore spent a lot of time in the AM goofing off on the internet, then turned around & did some solid revision of Noc-Lar, in this case, suspicion about L's twin.

I quit writing about the time Trish called home, got on my keyboard for once. I started to play Crystal Ship in various voices, various rhythms. When she did take her bath, I put some yellow-white flames -- which I look forward to reddening -- onto my Bird of Fire.

Leftover sketti for supper, a lot of TVidiocy afterwards, while Trish took on some cleaning chores, terminating in My Big Fat Greek Wedding", mandarin oranges, & bedtime for Bongo -- will I ever generate the sequel, "Twin of Morlock," to "Andy Morlock's Dead"?

Perhaps.

Before I can begin such, I need to go thru my drawers, something that Little Loathsome Lonnie also enjoyed, & brought my deepest, secret fears into the open: innocence raped by napalm fire: be wary of Alfalfa High.

Yes, that's right, if you haven't already guessed it: I need to find some of Timothy Leary's envelopes. Tim used to send me letters contained in entire sheets of hi-powered blotter acid. I wrote the original on nutmeg, but want my reincarnation of Andy Morlock to be more of a shattered, crystal vision.

Right. You got that: the slough of despond has receded, I'm planning to stay in SF & F, but not as intently. The rejection of "Galaxies Controlling Fate from Thousands of Light-Years Ahead" by Jim Baen's Universe has freed me to revise it for Analog, but this time with another trip thru Critters. Axing the dark energy sails, the dark energy conduits. Beginning needs more of a hook; ending needs to be tweaked.

What really excites me is the discovery of an early draft of Mindstorm. I'll be inputing it on Trish's next day off. Should trigger another couple resurrections from the dead.

let's mourn the hamster

Ah, poor dead dumb hamster -- I found Ula-tek, stiff in rigor mortis, dead in his cage a couple days ago; forgot to record it in my blog. Trish took him out of his cage with a pair of gloves, to avoid any germs that might have infected the hamster. I took him out to dumpster heaven.

Other than that, things are slowly going back to normal, now that Trish is back at work. This frees me up to be creative, albeit I'm concentrating less on typewriter torment as my main outlet of words & images.

I started my science fact article for Analog yesterday, built it up to 850 words, so it's about 1/5 done. If Stan Schmidt liked my ideas for GALAXIES, "Bio-aesthetics" will surely blow him away -- if he'll reserve judgment on the sloppy research. It's hard to find books on philosophy & science at the Invisible Library, & it's impossible for me to read them.

John sent me some email regarding Jerome, but it got eaten by my spam filter. I still haven't figured out exactly how to retrieve held messages, I'll give that another shot now, before Trish gets out of bed.

long weekend

Too long. Trish got sick on Thursday, stayed home from work -- for the next 2 days, then had her normal days off, & the one personal day she'd taken.

Then there was the rejection. Analog bounced "Galaxies..." again. I should've Critter'd it. The story's at Jim Baen's Universe now, once it bounces there, I'm tearing the dark energy conduits/sails out ot the story, replace them with warp-bubbles, then re-Critter the story.

At first, discouragement reigned over me. Then I had a stroke of insight: I found the original of Mindstorm -- in somewhat mutated form -- in my file case. Trish put in a lot of time collating the story, as her illness mellowed out.

I went to the fair with Car-girl Friday, along with Gail & some guy I didn't know, ate my obligatory cheeseburger & fries, then went home: too hot & feeling too down about wasting more than 1/2 a lifetime as a failure.

Yesterday (Monday) Trish had an appointment with Dr. Debbie -- "Just like stop. Stop right there." -- in which she determined the entity on Trish's belly is simply an ingrown hair.

We paid the water bill, went to Charlene's office -- she made a diagnosis of a personality disorder, not sure which one yet. Since the time was late, & the skies threatening, we skipped Crazy Tacos & ordered out a $6.72 pizza.

We watched a couple new porno-vids, the first time Sunday, when Karen did budget; the next day, even with some more free samples of Viagra, the ejaculation was still way too delayed -- 2 hours. Trish enjoyed it, though.

So I'm not giving up on fantasy & science fiction, I'll simply also be simultaneously working on non-slipstream mainstream, putting Mindstorm closer into shape as what it'd been before Scott Multi-Death destroyed it.

Breakfast is in 5 minutes. Trish will also put up her blog today.

The child is grown, the dream is gone...

I have become comfortably numb...

I'm dropping out of the science fiction field. I won't be going to MisCon next year, or any other Cons, until I've finally sold something to a goddamn fucking science fiction publisher which isn't an "anti-credit" (like my work at Midnight Zoo & Aberations). I've had it with science fiction! I've wasted over 30 years of my life, trapped in a teenage wasteland, spending thousands of dollars on an education, typewriters, ribbons, computers, printers, ink, paper, & countless hours laboring over my stories.

Yesterday's rejection by Analog destroyed my hopes, my dreams, shattered my thoughts, my feelings, left me angry & bitter. He fucking sent back the thing with a comment. I goddamn fucking rewrote the thing with his suggestions in mind.

It bounced. Not with a form letter, true, it was a personal slip, but who the hell cares? All I've gotten out of them for the lasst 20 years is a lot of "almost but not quite"s -- & fuck that shit, when am I going to get one that says, "Yes, this is exactly what we're looking for"?

I tarry no longer with SF. It is the labors of Sisyphus. I will finish Noc-Lar, but only because, with my schizophrenia, it's hard to be organized, so I start things, but never finish them. But that will be the end of it, at least for awhile. I'll do the minimum amount necessary to stay in Critters; I'll finish Brad's novel, but in 5K rather than 10K chunks.

I won't ever complete any of my other novels, though, until I've completed Mindstorm. This novel is the one project that ever held any hope of commercial success. While still a student at the U of M, overwhelmed by depression, no friends except Dave Szabo & my brother Dave (who has since turned psychotic & ran off to the middle of nowhere to escape the "government wiretaps"), a malevolent Dean, Ron Burnell, had me expelled thoroughly on allegations by Mary Lisa Pryne that I'd acted "maliciously" in threatening suicide, whereas her own behavior triggered it: taking me out on a date, shivering my timbers & blowing my woody, in order to take advantage of me to let her read the answers to our take home final -- slut! -- so in the midst of all this fear & loathing, Earl Ganz proclaimed me "the Greatest" (at heart I am Muslim; at heart, I am an American artist, & I have no guilt!), for my then untitled romance a clef, I never promised you a cuckoo's nest; one flew over the rose garden, calling it "extremely commercial, possibly a best seller".

Scott Meredith ultimately ruined the project, left if unsalable to both the mainstream & the SF/F venues. I simply sent him a note, boasting of my prowess, the things that had been said about me, the proclamations of my genius, the prophesy of greatness:

--I think science fiction is in the same state as Elizabethan drama at the turn of the 17th Century -- all it needs is its one great figure, its Shakespeare, to pull it all together -- & you know, I think this could be it. If you can keep this up -- Will Veeder.

--Extremely commercial, possibly a best seller -- Earl Ganz.

After the first, before the 2nd:

--You're writing against formula -- John G. Cawelti (which explains why the utter failure with my attempts at writing science ficton. OK, he did say that Noc-Lar is commercial, but we'll see how the Critters chop it to pieces, without leaving real options in its wake.)

I submitted the then-current version of Mindstorm; he bounced it with a note saying, "This lacks the science fiction elements we were looking for, & the writing distanced me from the narrative."

I reacted by trying to turn the novel into a genre story. I added "Harry Canyon" style flying cars, 3D television, & visi-phones: cliche, cliche, cliche. It wouldn't sell to the SF publishers; being removed from the version Ganz saw, it no longer holds appeal to the mainstream -- my next step is to rewrite it, bringing it more into focus as a mental patient hallucinating, rather than a bunch of quasi-futuristic bull-crap about VADIS. As I recall, I once found a pre-Multi-Death version in my file case. I intend to scan it into my machine, & copy-&-paste in bits & pieces of The Mind-Warp Era, a hot book; no home should be without one. The Mind-Warp which is my Mind-Warp.

Yet I even despair of selling VADIS: after years writing & rewriting the Multi-Death model, it no longer resembles the original. Scanning & recombining both (if I can find the earlier, that is) may yet produce something salable, something that might attract an agent.

In any case, I despair of ever selling anything, or, as Biggie said when I tried to con the Skinny Dog into drawing the pics for a cosmicomic, "Euww! Slime-thing!" (But the real truth is that the woman has no artistic talent -- the same way she danced in Japan & could've "stayed there as a national treasure.")

I guess, if the story sells at Baen's Universe (which it won't) or Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show, then I might continue to write science fiction. Or fantasy. But at this point, I'm seriously thinking of just giving up.

sicxness will surely take the mind/body dyad...

...hopefully, not straight to the Invisible Hospital -- but Trish is still very sick, even though she spent all day at home Thursday, even to the point of losing her TA. Car-girl kept mine, but all we did was pick up a Diet Mountain Dew with orange at the Bear Creek Drive-in & cruise out past the Cat's Foot Hills all the way to the Iron Claw Mountains.

Car-girl was supposed to have taken me & Gail to the county fair, but there was a severe thunderstorm watch at 5:00, so we canceled.

Trish spent most of yesterday in bed, so I had a chance to work on Noc-Lar. I'm up to Ch.8 now, but many of the chapters are not up to their desired 3-4K length. I have been getting a lot of good ideas, most of which I attribute to Abilify, although admittedly, it's hard to tell what's doing what when dealing with a drug salad.

Trish has improved a little since yesterday. Her voice is still weak, she's coughing up phlegm, & she has a fever. I just picked up some more sugar-free cough drops & her Mag-delay from the Drugster. She soaks now in the tub, which is preferable to 3/4-hour-long showers, which have jacked our water bill up to $64.80. Too much! Something's got to give!

Just checked the snail-mail. "Galaxies" came back from Analog, by virtue of, apparently, not being Analog-y enough for them... still... & a note asking for an actual copy of any comments he made on the mss.

So, bummer. Trish suggested Baen's, which is a good idea: they pay well & answer fast; all submissions are electronic, which saves on postage.

Then, when the inevitable rejection slip arrives from them, I'll have to submit it to Azimuth & Better Gnomes & Gargoyles.

Shit! This had to happen. I don't understand, why, when I did so well in school, there are bozos out there with 1/2 my IQ not only getting published, but making their living at it.

To hell with it all. Maybe I should just go back to painting & playing with my organ.

Lie, lie, lie, literally die!

Jill... but not of the Jung-le

No talk of archetypes here; she's a brain researcher. Hailing from Harvard, with her stroke of insight (left-hemisphere, regained speech) she's become the spokesperson for the Brain Bank there, which tries to reduce mindstorms to brain-states. Traveling the lecture circuit with her acoustic guitar, the singing psychologist lectures on numerous functional localization fallacies, ie, that there's an "axillary speech center in the left hemisphere".

Perhaps.

But in the wake of the page of insults which Andromeda Spaceways sent me, I realize that perhaps my explanations were too high over the head of whatever imbeciles Robbie Matthews choose to read for his magazine -- & terribly improperly allows to ridicule authors with statements that simply reveal his own stupidity.

E.g., Stan Schmidt had a constructive comment, so I doubt it's "truly atrociously bad science". He is the Bozo King, head completely up his ass.

So I've been wanting to re-make/re-model Fragile Eggshell Mind as a piece of hard brain biology, and for awhile have been wanting to ask her to either be a tech-adviser or full-blown collaborator on the project -- but creative writing is much different than writing academic tomes.

I had a dream about her last night: warm & cuddly, at one time making a pass at her; at the same time brilliant & insightful... but as I packed my bags, she hadn't decided whether to accept or decline my offer.

Two Ways will yet sing her song & dance the shaman's dance for Parvati. & Robbie Matthews will be exposed for the dunce he is -- & his magazine, too.

Trish somehow managed to accidentally erase the file -- bad bumblebee girl -- when she was writing down her list of movies, but I have a spare. Thank the Alien God -- & yeah, right, less religion in Arn.

just another depressed Tuesday...

...so the real good is today -- I don't have to read any more of Brad's Singing Trees novel, mostly because he's sick of being reminded that he should remove the long expository passages. I did, however, want to at least see how it ended, though, & I suppose now he won't read Noc-Lar, even though he did comment on sex in fantasy -- Den of Earth, Harry Canyon, & So Beautiful, So Dangerous to the contrary, albeit a film like Heavy Metal only comes out once in a lifetime.

So Brad bailed on the DR. That means more time to spend on Noc-Lar, more time to spend on my painting, more time to spend on my Birds of Fire.

However, Tuesday held mostly normalcy for me: Trish walked off to Pizza Hut same time as usual; I surfed the darkened seas; I gave Brad an honest opinion that he didn't want to hear -- but it probably will make his novel unsalable. Once I finished the latest installment of Brad's stuff, around 1:00, I only had an hour before Trish came home with a driver, so I had little time to devote to my newest novel.

She claimed to be "depressed"; something about being slow, took her shower while I played Girl, You Couldn't Bite My Wire, then reheated the tuna noodle in the microwave.

After Trish's daily cleaning chores, we watched Bachelor Party, to build up the excitement until the Viagra kicked in.

Although the sex was real atomic, I'm out of free samples. Doc Larocque wanted me to check whether one of the other vaso-dilators would work better.

Could be... but now I have to wait -- first thing you learn is, you always have to wait -- to see the doc, unless the famous Mr. ED goes away by itself.

what a long, strange 2 days it was...

OK, so Sunday wasn't that strange, just a lazy day where we did virtually nothing, then...

Monday, everything happened: starting with the morning, Trish had an appointment with Dr. Debbie, about some warts she wants removed. My feeling is that they're probably benign, but this is the way of Trish, constantly seeking medical attention.

We went over to the Invisible Hospital for lunch. I had a Salisbury steak & potatoes, while Trish had some species of sandwich. A cute black girl, along with a guy -- a rarity in cowboy country -- set the noon-time reeling: here is one of the things that really turns me on, interracial, something I'll never be able to have again, since marriage. Much of the time, I was frightened. My lack of peripheral vision forces me to "stare" at people & it makes them uncomfortable. But they must've been comfortable: They followed us home, after we couldn't reach the Invisible Taxi for 1/2 an hour. They overtook us from the rear, said "hi," then vanished into distance.

From there, we walked to the Layout, where Ashley was actually working, not Cheri. But we only spent 10 minutes there: Trish had her appointment with Charlene Upstairs, & the broken bond of distrust was healed.

After that, when we got home, Trish wanted to take a nap, because of the extremely fragile emotional state which the psychotherapy had evoked.

Since Trish was upset, to heal the pain, I ventured the idea of ordering out a pizza. The driver arrived 3/4 of an hour after we ordered, so Trish gave him "exact change".

We cleaned the hamster's cage after we'd digested our food some. I don't know what's wrong with him -- Ula-tek's very lethargic now -- but suspect he's dying.

After cleaning the cage, we went down in the basement, to save on the power bill -- fans alone will often keep the downstairs Kool, without having to turn on the a/c. It'll be even better once we get the basement organized, so we can sleep down there.

Speaking of sleeping, when I slept with Trish Saturday nite, the entire Viagra-concocted experience, fueled by Altavista images & Leary thoughts, became one of my most powerful sexual experiences, & fuck VADIS. Innocence raped by napalm fire, under the hegemony of VADIS, NORML Bean, the great fantasy artist (great only in his fantasies), proclaimed me the "Space Fairy" for writing romantic love letters to a girl who lived in a coed fraternity, she of the frequent gang-bangs, she of the vorkle-ball playing; me of her exasperation; religion inspired guilt exacerbating the psychosis which led to "suicide notes to girls", my amazing journal, deprecation of all I had been, up to that point -- I made a scene, they turned around &, with the fortuitous opportunity (for them) to discover I was dropping acid the next weekend, turned Bozo Rebebo on me, him with the vodka they conned me into drinking on top of 4 hits of LSD, sheerly as an attempt to get revenge on me for writing her romantic love letters.

It's only very slowly that I'm getting over all this. Once I've completed the mainstream version of The Mind-Warp Era, the whole world will know of her perversion & perversity. Neither O'dick nor Manhole can save her now.

terminal addicts of the orgasm drug...

...specifically, love is the drug I'm thinking of: 2 Viagra last nite + a beautiful Bumble Bee Girl = another flashing chance at bliss.

The story -- the day -- begins with french toast & coffee, following which, Bumblebee is off to work. As soon as she left, I went online, only to discover a sultry whore: webcam/porno chick on Ho or No; don't see why I bothered with her. Mostly, I suppose, just to see how far I could lead her on before receiving the inevitable request to "see my pics". Actually, I was the one who turned her in, so she'd better think before messing with me, atomic tits or otherwise.

I ate a ham & cheese for lunch, because we have all this ham the food bank gave us & I don't want it to go bad; the cheese? Last time I was with Car-girl at the Invisible Wal-Mart, I bought a bunch of pre-sliced cheese: real cheddar, not American.

After lunch, I read Pt.8 of Brad's novel. Same objections. When Bumble Bee Girl called home from work early -- very early, before 2:00 -- I quickly finished a chapter, when she arrived at my domicile.

We finished the leftover meat loaf, took our Pizza No-Bake to the church, & afterwards bought a half gallon of milk. In 80 degree weather which was the heat coming down from near 100.

Trish spent some time working on the laundry & kitchen, while I called Hope.

There will always be Hope.

Then I took 2 Viagra, looked up some porn on the Internet, & I fucked her little ass off.

Which took until 11:30, so I got up late, started to water the lawn -- Fred cut it yesterday, in the dry heat. He could've waited for the Kool of the evening...

So today is the first of our 2 off. Tomorrow, Trish sees Dr. Debbie, then we ride the Invisible Taxi to the Iron Claw Credit Union, to cash our checks.

Today will probably be a normal day. I'm not expecting any "unexpected" guests, so we'll probably just sit around & watch movies.

Day of the Living Plumber

So yesterday sometime while I was still cooking breakfast for Trish & I, the plumber finally called, asked what the problem was: a leaky water faucet; & some idjut (Biggie?) had tried to "fix" a busted drain pipe with duck tape, wrapped around, bending now where it encircled, caressed the Shaft. (The Bender Shaft: the Shaft which bends, but does not break.)

He started working while we finished our hearty repast, then, while we drank our morning 1/2-caf, continued, often stopping to crack a joke -- although Trish felt offended when he asked what I do (write the space literature). She told him I'm legally blind; I said the only way I continue working is by setting the font to gi-huge; can't read books anymore -- hence the critiquing of Brad's novel, though he's now arguing that the endless exposition really is necessary. Which it isn't.

So after he left, I surfed the darkened seas (wishing I could find a great big submarine), then started work on the novel thing, followed by my own, though I went to Fat Albert's Sons for canned fruit & SOS pads, shortly before Trish called home at 2:00: 2 drivers who had nothing left to do.

We went to the eye doctor at 3:40, after I dragged Trish out of the bathtub. Maybe some allergy. Got free sample of Patinol, will try for 2 weeks, then stop. At least this was his suggestion.

On the way home, we stopped in the Invisible Vid-store, picked up Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle; then to the dollar store, for about $10 worth of food, including junk food: peanuts & pop tarts.

Trish performed her daily kitchen clean-up, then we switched off the a/c & went down in the basement, Kool fans for us. I fell asleep during CA: FT but hope that doesn't offend Trish. Tonite/tomorrow she wants to watch Groundhog Day, & that's a funny-once.

This morning, when she went to take her Synthroid, she found a (dread! shudder!) moth; I hope that doesn't start again. But she couldn't sleep the extra hour, so I cooked brecchie quickly.

I've decided to hold off on calling Kim to cum bi, as the woman seems to want to interfere with my relationship with Trish, though I did want to apologize for walking off without talking to her on the 4th. I'll be doing 2 Viagra tonite, so I'll broach the subject tonite.

I don't love Kim.

She's a great friend, & I lust after her, but it's not love.

I love my Bumble Bee Girl.

D.

Hey, Trish discovered something special in her meeting yesterday: a lucky little lady just 120 miles from the City of Light; a lost angel, 1,000 miles from the ghetto: a waitress from work who looks like D. on Battlestar Galactica. I'm encouraging her to make friends with the girl, mostly 'cause of my former close proximity to Muhammad Ali.

I only found out about this, though, when we were close to retiring. The day began early (for Trish): she had to be at the meeting by 9:00, so after she got up an hour early, I made french toast for her, then we drank our before-work coffee (1/2-caf, to reduce her anxety).

Since she left early, I managed to complete one novel-chunk from Brad before Car-girl's appointed time, as well as a new direction (the wizard is dead) for Noc-Lar.

After Car-girl came, we went out to Wally World for our weekly supply of groceries, then to pick up Bumble Bee Girl. I had a Diet Mr. Fruity & she had water.

I started to discuss the symbolic background of my novel -- alchemy & gnosticism (I wish I could swing like dolphins can swing: I'm a Jung American) -- when she changed the subject, just when I was about to say I could get a glowing letter of recommendation from Bob Richards, were I to decide to teach history of science at the Invisible College.

Alas, this could never be: this occurred before I became legally blind. Would that President Gas would've allowed stem cell research. There's no way embryos are "little babies". Also, I wish Reagan wouldn't've made medical marijuana illegal. Had I smoked daily for the last 20 years, I would've written a best seller by now -- don't believe me? Ask Bigdom Jacques. He dropped my report card in abject terror when he saw 3 A's & a B in a graduate class.

While Trish took her bath, I played with my keyboard. I'm trying to learn Light My Fire now. I've about got the first page memorized; am working on the 2nd.

Car-girl (I presume) called while Trish was still in the bathtub, & I happened to be taking a leak; couldn't answer the phone on time. She drove up a few minutes later, while Trish was finishing putting on her clothes. I gave her some buckadingdongs for veggies at Wally World, then put Blondie on the DVD.

I made a meat loaf last nite. Trish ate all her meat, but not her rice or green beans, so we stashed them in the refrigerate-all for bedtime snack.

Following our meal, I asked Trish to come down from her manic cleaning: she'd worked hard that day, needed to relax first, so we sat in front of the stereo & looked at pics in her magazine. I discovered a website I wanted to look up. Totally useless pay sites. Remained on for awhile & checked out Ho or No, Chinese this time. (Joey, like Jocelynn, inspires interracial love/lust in me. Hence the interest in D.)

It made me think of Kim. Since I didn't really talk with her the last time I saw her (does she actually have a job/work?), I'm afraid I may have scared her off indefinitely. I plan to call Saturday afternoon. Even if that means daily visits for awhile. I'm sure things will go well if she doesn't bite.

Koolie Bear II is totally awesome. The 300 buckadingdongs we invested in a/c is one of the best purchases we've ever made.

I'll wake her up at 7:30, as she asked. This means, bi-bi blog. Bi-bi Internet. See you tomorrow.

Koolie Bear II

On the 11th (yesterday) we bought a 2nd a/c, for the living room; the device, an Admiral, just like Koolie Bear I, who is only being used at night now -- although I did have the #2 fan going all nite, also.

After we woke up, while Trish still consumed mass quantities of 1/2-caf, Karen drove up with a check for 125 buckadingdongs. (Being on disabiiity, we ride the Purple Wage.) But when we called out to the Invisible Wal-Mart, the model we wanted had disappeared; back order, who can guess when it would arrive -- before the 90/100 F in the forecast? I doubt it.

We purchased a $208 one instead. Car-girl drove us past the bank, dropped Bumble Bee Girl off at work, then we went shopping. Car-girl determined that the machine would wrench her back again, so we had the help of 2 Wally World people to take it out to the batmobile. On the way home, we called Fred, who helped move it into the house.

I spent the next several hours writing, awaiting the arrival of the plumber to fix the pipe under the kitchen sink: some idiot, too cheap to call a plumber, "fixed" it with duck tape (sic).

Trish made it back around 3:00, with the news that she has to attend a 2 hour meeting at Pizza Hut, immediately prior to cleaning the grease trap. She went to bed early while I watched The Wall with headphones on (real atomic this way). She got up about 10:00, wanting a glass of warm milk.

I guess eventually she fell asleep. I wouldn't know. I always conk out before she does.

The alarm clock woke her up at 6:00 -- a night of savage dread for me: I woke up between 4:00 & 5:00 again, went to the bathroom, fell back asleep & fully woke up around 5:30. In about 20 minutes, I'll cook for her. I want to have french toast this morning; it's quick to make, so that Trish & I can share coffee time: it's too much fun, then I step back thinking...

when the Seroquel is in her blood & the blood is in her head...

Yesterday, I had to perform an abortion. No, not "killing babies", but the remove by intervention a problem with our relationship: a drug, specifically Seroquel. (In spite of which, I still say: FUCK SCIENTOLOGY!) Although this med has done wonders for my sleep, calming, soothing, relaxing, when Trish started to take it, she turned into Cranky Bear. Big time. Over the weekend, she spent the whole morning arguig about an improperly-fried egg; yesterday, it was a box of cereal.

Karen had me call down to Electric City, in order to see what to do about it. Perhaps sensing my anxiety, my savage dread, Jackie responded with awesome super-speed, calling back within the hour. She then discussed the issue with Doc Larocque, who agreed that Seroquel does not work well for Trish

She came home with a surly expression & attitude, but accepted the Doctor's advice, something that David & the Skinny Dog would never do -- "Oh, honey, quit taking your addictive experimental antidepressants. They ruin lives! They ruin lives!"

So she settle down a lot for the rest of the day, then wanted to perform divers acts of naughtiness on my bodanon. I took a Viagra at 8:00, then Karen called at 9:00 to touch bases, just when the Viagra had begun to kick in.

It both satisfied & frustrated me. Even with this awesome treatment for impotence, my atomic dong still turns into the Bender Shaft.

I want a new drug!

hell, who can sleep in this heat, this night?

First day of the weekend, the thermometer hit 105. Wonder how this is compared to JXN, home of Lucinda in the Ogdoad with Diamonds. Lucy, can you write or call sometime? I think you're the only person reading this thing.

So, following a day of sheer miserable heat, a thunderstorm cooled the day down -- & at the same time, the water main burst, leaving us without water for the 2nd time in a week.

Friday, Trish also turned into Cranky Bear, & had to call Perky Pam at the Layout to resolve her issues.

Then my Internet died. I spent Saturday, rather than looking at Brad's novel, writing NL. Amazon Queens are soooo Kool. Sort of like Vadisystems, I guess.

Sunday we mostly just sat around being entertained by the Muse with the Body of Elektra. Today we went to the Perky Pam Layout, after Karen dropped off the computer for me -- I had to walk thru an immense mud puddle to reach the batmobile. We ate BLTs & chips, came home, drove to Stellar with Car-girl, then had Fred help plug in the new cord. Trish went to bed early tonite, to allow the Seroquel time to kick in, & fuck Scientology!

near record highs

Wish I had some more highs -- I'm outta pot, have been, actually, for years now. Were I Noncorean, I'd be pawning my stereo for the shit, but Trish & I are more responsible than that. Simply wish I could get it for medical reasons. Would also take away the need for Abilify; the mood-stabilizing properties/enhancement of creativity benefits of U-boat are tremendous. Farber will never rise from the dead until the source of inspiration has returned.

So yesterday the temperature was supposed to be in the mid-90s; mid 100s for today. Hot. Very hot. Upon completing a tale of duplicity & betrayal, I waited for Car-girl. Trish phoned home, to say she might be off early: Pizza Hut was having a very slow day. Car-girl called, I relayed the message, got to sit on the love seat a few extra minutes, that being the point closest to the bedroom a/c. Then Car-girl took us over to Pizza Hut to pick up Bumble Bee Girl. We stopped on the way home for bread & hot dog buns. Got some flaky kinds of whole grain stuff; no hot dog buns -- apparently, they had a run on them on the 4th.

So when Car-girl picked Trish up, following her shower (down in the basement), I accompanied her, to check out the a/c at Wally World. Trish got mad/paranoid once she saw everyone sitting in the donut shop, so we went next door to Kame-Apart, who were out of soft pretzels. Instead my Scooby snack consisted of a slice of really stale pizza.

We ate supper at El Taco Loco, where I had Crazy Nachos. Once home, I pretty much simply manned the phone -- Trish is avoiding Donna -- while Trish cleaned house. We also found a really big fan, & plugged it into the power strip, so now it's Super Kool down there, which is where I intend to spend a lot of time today -- not sure how much of Brad's story I'll read today. Also, am still debating whether or not I'll add a sex scene to my novel. I haven't really seen a lot of it in genre sword-&-sorcery, but I'm not really certain if it's "taboo".

Once I have this project sort of roughed out, I'll do an RFDR on it, & start work on Arn. When I was running the chapters one-by-one thru Critters awhile ago, it became apparent that the reason the SF fans didn't like it was that it contained "too many" hallucinations -- hence in the next draft, the sections will be framed with mental hospital sequences (& fuck I Ron Steele); & that it should deal less with religion, though I don't want to turn my characters into Laura Lemm clones: not everyone is a "straight Christian".

I'm also worried about Trish. She's been incredibly agitated & paranoid lately, & I don't know why. Hopefully, it won't be the Seroquel. I hate it when she's so wound up at night that she doesn't fall asleep until I nearly wake up. Since she was over-sedated, the pharmacist cut the pills in half, but then last nite she forgot if she took it.

Hopefully, Trish turning into Cranky Bear will turn out to be PMS. But I'm worried. She's mad at Donna, she's mad at Charlene Upstairs, she's mad at the whole world. I rescheduled my appointment with Joe until Monday, & hope that there'll be some benefit(s) to be gained there.

Also, today I woke up at 5:00. Which is a little bit better than 4:46. I'll give it until over the weekend, then see about stopping the Abilify. I think its stimulant effect is too great.

Well & I'm watering the lawn this morning. One hour on each section, then off once the backyard has been finished.

I hope we get our new a/c soon. It's only 6:35 AM & the temperature is already in the mid-70s.

4th

Unlike last year, when Trish had her foot surgery & was laid up in the Captain's chair, when we had everybodaddy, I mean everybodaddy over to entertain the girl, this was a lonely day.

The ennui started with Vangie's webcam -- some Filapina who does cam-2-cam, something I can't do, no cam -- we sold that one David gave us for a wedding gift; big waste of money.

Then Trish had extreme difficulties with her new med: Seroquel does help her with sleep & racing thoughts, & fuck Scientology, but it works too well: she had an incredibly difficult time getting out of bed, going to work, slurring her words. Finally, after a lot of coffee & a few cat-naps, she left for the Invisible Pizza Hut.

Brad's novel chunk(s) weren't in the email, so I decided to do more work on Noc-Lar. File #3 is way too short. I plan to spice it up with an Amazon, with flashbacks, with back story on Noc-Lar itself. Perhaps even a return of the snorting serpent. The story has certainly evolved since some Critter called it "the worst example [he'd] ever seen of shockingly bad writing" -- some of this apparently being due to a combination of mania & schizophrenia during that redraft from memory; the other part being due to formatting problems; like, screw this bozo -- & the last editor to see it in short story form said there's no problem with the style or plot, mostly, the length -- which is why it's being turned into a 90K novel (with quite a bit of redrafting of the short version).

Then Trish called, to tell me there's a free b-b-q in Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Park Club at noon. I headed over, gave directions to some guy on crutches, found a place to sit by the gazebo -- & had to ask directions to the food. Nummy treats! A hamburger, chips, potato salad, & watermelon. Jan was there; I met her carrying my plate of food, looking for a place to sit. She had to split 'cause she had no time to waste.

I left as soon as I'd finished my burger. I didn't feel like sticking around for Slap Bass & the Space Ace; for any Kentuckified music you hear here in Invisible City, ND -- what do they think we are, a bunch of rednecks?

Yeah, right. So I found a garbage can -- with some direction (spin me 'round), then lost myself in the park, came out on the south side of St. Sophie's & finally figured out my way to Albertson's -- pic-a-nic food for Trish: hot dogs -- Oscar Meyer, not some generic brand; potato salad at the deli; Pringles (not the sale brand; Trish can be fussy); baked beans -- Albertson's brand; plenty of yogurt; buns; & 2 boxes of pancake mix, buy one, get one free.

So on the way home, laden with bags -- & using that as an excuse for not talking -- I ran into Kim. First thing she said was, "long": followed by a word with an "x" in it; "dizzy" (she always tells me all this, then turns around & demands it, anyway); "work"; "job"; "holiday"; some more words I don't remember/couldn't understand. When she made ready to leave, I hugged her, bags in both hands -- a couple young girls came around the corner just then; I released her -- but that hug was not tender: Scoobies with their "hugs, not drugs" slogan hug more affectionately than that.

Which I'm glad of. I don't really want to encourage the woman, as I don't want her coming over every day when I'm trying to work. Still I feel guilty. I probably should've set the groceries down for a couple minutes.

Oh well. I have a wife. I don't need a mistress.

Once back home, though, I didn't feel like writing any more, so I sat down at the keyboard & worked on my current arhythmic version of Light My Fire. After awhile, I got tired of that (just when I was moving into organ) so I put another coat of paint on Bird of Fire. I have yet to spray it, & in some ways feel liquid varnish, applied with a palette knife, is better.

Then my Bumble Bee came home, having called around 2:45. We spent some time on the love seat, feeling the a/c -- definitely needing one for the 105F weather coming in -- before going to the basement & switching on the fan there. I fixed our supper -- pic-a-nic food -- around 5:00, then we went back to Albertson's for some batteries, Gatorade, ice cream, & Diet Mr. Fruity.

Terry -- together with Donna -- yelled at us on the way over. Not being able to see him, I thought maybe it was a stranger & ignored him. Trish, however, came close to nearly losing it. When we went into the store, we grabbed our goodies as fast as possible, then left. Terry was in the very next row, & Trish got paranoid -- Donna ripped her off at coffee the other week; she's mad at her; she doesn't want to speak to her for a month or 2.

After we returned to the house, I sat around downstairs watching TV -- nothing memorable -- while Trish did her upstairs chores.

When she joined me, I started to fall asleep in the chair, & knowing the difficulty there'd be waking her up the next day, I tried to split a Seroquel in half. It didn't work, so today, if Trish still has problems, I'll phone down to the City of Electric Nite in order to reduce the dose. Even with the Seroquel, it took an hour for her to fall asleep last nite -- the acid test now is the morning.

Will she wake up? Can she wake up? Only time will tell.

party-time wasting, one year later

I will never forget last 4th of July, even when I die & return to the Source -- beware the Dark Side of the Source!

Anyway, pop-cult allusions aside, yeah, last year we had a big party, as I was determined to give Trish some kind of 4th while she was laid up in a chair following her foot surgery. This year, Ed & Denise are gone, maybe I should invite Dan, Jeffer probably couldn't make it -- nonetheless, I am taking the food stamp card to Albertson's & will be picking up some pic-a-nic foods. Esp. hot dogs, buns, Pringle's, potato salad, & of couse Diet Mr. Fruity.

Yesterday, after I let Trish borrow one of my Seroquel, it worked a little too good: she didn't respond to the alarm clock. Once she was up, I fixed some pancakes with refrigerator water: pipeline was still busted from the nite before. I guess that I didn't put enough of our dwindling supply of refrigerator water in, or maybe it was because it was cold; whatever, they turned out gummy.

When Trish left for work, I tried to work on Noc-Lar, but only spent a couple hours on it, then split for the Soup Kitchen, & some yogurt & Gatorade at Albertson's. After that, I tried to nap -- I'd awakened at 4:00 AM again -- but Trish called (she was off work early, 'cause the dishwasher repairman arrived), Monty called (more car title problems), so I didn't nap enough during the day & wound up once more falling asleep in front of the TV.

Before that, though, we went upstairs while Trish was still washing clothes, in order to fix supper -- chicken -- & then when Trish was working on chores I called Hope, who, it turned out, was on the phone to her kids & called back. She, too, is on Seroquel & Risperdal, & fuck Scientology!

I slept soundly last nite, save for waking up at 3:00 to use the toilet, eventually slept until 5:30. A few minutes ago, I heard Trish talking in her sleep. I hope the Seroquel doesn't have a paradoxical effect & make her more agitated. With her racing thoughts, it seemed the ideal medicine for her -- not a (Karen Relationship) herb, not a (Scientology-fucking) tin can.

Brad still hasn't sent me the next chunk of his novel. I'll remind him when I finish this blog entry, & hopefully I'll be back to reading the book soon.

It was a long day yesterday...

...but it's an old day now (+ my new shoes are worn at the heels -- & where the hell was Bingle when we needed him last Saturday?)

Trish got up at her usual time yesterday; insomnia has returned, reigns over me: waking with a full bladder between 4:00 & 4:30. Trish didn't want a big breakfast, as we wanted to eat at an all-you-can-eat buffet, so we just had rice crippies & sat around listening to the CD changer until Karen called -- with the news that she had a flat tire; got her a few minutes behind schedule.

When we arrived at the City of Electric Nite, we proceeded straightaway to Uncle Sam's Club, where we picked up some creamer, calcium + D, & Systane eye drops.

& then we had to split because we had no time to waste!

At the Golden Corral I had divers & sundry American foods, starting with salad, ending with carrot cake.

We made it to Doc Larocque's office on time, like a Rocketman. She dropped the Depakote in the morning; also wants to take me off of Abilify. Trish now has a PRN for Seroquel, which were the only real changes in our meds.

After that, we did some more shopping: I bought some new shoes (worn at the heels); Trish bought some t-shirts/tank tops (to show off her tattoos). We also went to Target, to pick up my electric beard trimmer (10 buckadingdongs, including batteries) & a Walkman for Trish, so she can listen to the Moody Blues on the way to the Invisible Pizza Hut.

When we arrived in Invisible City, we went down in the basement, severe thunderstorm alert, lightning nearly zapped the TV. We came back upstairs, but Trish didn't want to run the a/c in the middle of a storm, so we mostly sat on the love seat, underneath the ceiling fans -- & not to play the stereo: if all my equipment shorted, I'd never be able to replace it.

Then, when the storm had ended, the waterline broke. They turned it off around 9:00 last nite, so I imagine when the day begins they'll resume work on it.

I let Trish borrow one of my Seroquel, until she gets her own. I hope her racing thoughts have quieted down. I'll know when she gets up.

Then, it's back to work on Noc-Lar, unless Brad sends another novel chunk my way. I'm starting to enjoy Skiffy again. & not the media models (which no doubt are among the reasons Arn won't sell: too Trekkie in it's humanoid aliens).

After I finish Noc-Lar, I finish/begin Bio-Psych Wars; after that, I finish Metatron, then perhaps my MA -- along with some short stories for Analog & the science fact (actually, it's more like speculation) article Wimsatt suggested posting there.

day of the living doctor

Today, we go to the City of Electric Light in order to see Doc Larocque. Thank God that we no longer see Dr. Day, as when I was his patient he had me terribly under-medicated. He blamed Rusty Copper & One-Chain Willy, 2 of the drugsters I hung around with -- ie, drugs in general -- which admittedly, I wasn't sailing the darkened seas in a great big submarine, it was stuff like narcohol which is sure to have bad effects. He constantly tried to enroll me in the Scooby Club, they told me to quit my "pills", so I dropped out & used my meds as my "higher power". Worked, too. Now, all that's left is to get a license to smoke dope. Only cure for glaucoma here...

So today, we'll be going off on a big adventure -- I think that's why I woke up before 4:20 again. We're going to eat at the Golden Corral, where I am sure to gain another 20 lb.s (all you can eat): whereas the Depakote made me fat, so I want off it, but fuck Scientology & I Ron Steele if they say "neuraleptics" are "fraudulent". Trish, on the other hand, needs a 2nd "fraudulent" med to help her with her anxiety. & once again, fuck Scientology. Nor do we need Scoobies, working "a program" on their prescription medication.

So yesterday, Trish worked all morning on typing her movies into my machine, but the files got corrupted, so we ate Crazy Tacos. Then we watched her Britney Spears Live in Las Vegas until Karen called. We went out to Taco Time for a pop & did budget. After that, we had leftovers + some instant Hamburger Helper for supper. We cleaned Ula-tek's cage, then went down in the basement. I watched Gunsmoke until Trish came down -- one of the few times I've ever watched a western. We found Pirates 2 on Encore, but I fell asleep in the chair.

Forecast is for isolated, but severe t-storms. May need to back up my hard drive. I'm hoping the corruption of files in Word97 was due to a glitch in the program, not a virus. For I have much in the way of .doc files that have yet to be translated into OpenOffice.

even thunderstorms do the electric

Cool &warm colors, the painting...

Started another one recently: "Bird of Fire". Mostly blue sky punctuated with clouds, while the yellow flaming thing flies across the canvas.

Still reading Brad's novel. I pointed out all the unnecessary long exposition; yeah, but it's a rough draft -- so I've taken to skimming these passages, & would like to urge Critters to only submit what's already close to finished.

Then there was the thunderstorm, night before last. We had the TV in the basement on, surfed thru the Weather Channel -- severe thunderstorm alert, 70 mph winds, nickel-sized hail, stay away from windows. So we stayed up until the alert was canceled.

Yesterday, OneWest was down in the morning, so I resumed work on Noc-Lar until I did get a dial-tone, then read my Critters piece, made quicker by all the skimming I'm doing.

Bumble Bee Girl walked home from the Invisible Pizza Hut, I added some black to my painting, then we had scalped potatoes & ham for supper. Afterwards, we went once more into what used to be Trish's home to watch the Buffster kick ass -- which she did better on my TV, DVD, actually -- the thing skipped tracks on hers, not mine.

So we came upstairs & turned on the ceiling fan.

However, Trish (finally) noticed that the handles on the kitchen drawers were loose. I tried to screw the screw; it didn't go in, at last, I suggested Fred -- Trish trusts him, though we still owe him for the shades.

Today in the afternoon we do budget. Tomorrow, we see Doc Larocque. I hope she'll agree to take me off Depakote, eventually, Risperdal -- Charlene Upstairs suggested me trying Lamictal, atypical antipsychotics have no effect on bipolar, meds don't have weight-gain side-effects, a bunch of ignorant stuff, including that I "need my hips checked out" 'cause of the way I walk -- it's really from where I broke my feet -- so Trish is trying to find a new therapist.

I wish her luck. She doesn't need to hear this crap.

Woke up at 5:30 this morning. Better than 2:00-4:00. Probably will have time to edit Noc-Lar some before breakfast. Writing "commercial" fantasy is difficult. You have all these formulas you have to follow.

But formula can sometimes lead to experimentation, the way it did for the Invisible Hog. Harlan Morrison gets on his awesome Chrome Avenger & sallies forth...