Friday: work proceeds apace...
...at times, Slime-thing has guided the Hog thru days of pain; now, R.C. has usurped that -- I am working quickly to put the Hog into the hands of some talented comic book artist. Next would be an adaptation of Slime-thing himself.
Once I have OCR on my computer -- when the snail-mail arrives -- the old, pre-Multi-Death version will be resurrected, including...
...comic book stories from W.C. Leadbeater. Enough to create a Marvel of heroes. (I wish I could swing like dolphins can swing.)
Yet I didn't work on this project yesterday. Instead I rewrote some more of Noc-Lar. This is either going to be a smash sensation or one of my typical unsalable anti-formulaic pieces. But I worked hard, in spite of an interruption -- Fred while I listened to the phones. When I reached a transitional point, I turned off the computer, took off the headphones, & waited for the Bumble Bee Girl in the Captain's chair. (& piss on Jim Baen's Universe -- the "Trek-tech" slam. Sounds like they know about as much science as Andromeda Spaceways. Though not quite so rude. Analog is a better magazine, anyway.)
While Trish soaked in the tub, I spent 3/4 of an hour playing Blue Sunday in various incarnations on the keyboard; quit when I reached sitar. I always quit on sitar.
We had chicken for supper. As usual, Trish had to mangle the meat looking for "pink". Her anxiety in this regard is terrible. Even if the meat is visibly scorched, she'll insist that it either has to go back into the oven or in the microwave.
After supper, Trish did her clean-routine, while I went down in the basement. When she joined me, we watched a porno-vid while waiting for the Viagra to kick in.
Explosion!
(& where the hell is Kimothy when we needed her on Saturday? Just out there in Oreo-gon having fun.)
Once I have OCR on my computer -- when the snail-mail arrives -- the old, pre-Multi-Death version will be resurrected, including...
...comic book stories from W.C. Leadbeater. Enough to create a Marvel of heroes. (I wish I could swing like dolphins can swing.)
Yet I didn't work on this project yesterday. Instead I rewrote some more of Noc-Lar. This is either going to be a smash sensation or one of my typical unsalable anti-formulaic pieces. But I worked hard, in spite of an interruption -- Fred while I listened to the phones. When I reached a transitional point, I turned off the computer, took off the headphones, & waited for the Bumble Bee Girl in the Captain's chair. (& piss on Jim Baen's Universe -- the "Trek-tech" slam. Sounds like they know about as much science as Andromeda Spaceways. Though not quite so rude. Analog is a better magazine, anyway.)
While Trish soaked in the tub, I spent 3/4 of an hour playing Blue Sunday in various incarnations on the keyboard; quit when I reached sitar. I always quit on sitar.
We had chicken for supper. As usual, Trish had to mangle the meat looking for "pink". Her anxiety in this regard is terrible. Even if the meat is visibly scorched, she'll insist that it either has to go back into the oven or in the microwave.
After supper, Trish did her clean-routine, while I went down in the basement. When she joined me, we watched a porno-vid while waiting for the Viagra to kick in.
Explosion!
(& where the hell is Kimothy when we needed her on Saturday? Just out there in Oreo-gon having fun.)
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