To-night I have to read Ben Jonson's The Masque of Blackness and twelve pages of something else left unidentified by the syllabus. I really ought to've gotten on this days ago, but my energies were elsewhere.

I didn't end up ordering Lost Highway online, and I'm glad I didn't because I picked it up at Fry's for twelve dollars. Never underestimate Fry's.

I sort of want to do a big, illustrated analysis of it, but, despite its notorious inscrutability, I think Lost Highway's actually been pretty thoroughly figured out. I'll almost certainly make icons, though.

Of course, I haven't even watched it yet, and I'm not sure I'll have time to-night. Last night, I watched part of Red Sonja, which I'd never seen. Mostly it's just incredibly cheesy, but it's kind of cute, too. And what the hell is up with Ennio Morricone doing the soundtrack? I mean, we may be seeing a gaggle of "priestesses" in negligee, holding their swords like picket signs when they're supposed to look like they're fighting to the death, but meanwhile there's top grade music happening.

I'm so glad I'm able to download movies for free now. It's even nicer when it comes to anime--I saw Haruhi Suzumiya at Fry's, and four episodes cost twenty two dollars. At the cheapest place in town. So I guess you can underestimate Fry's.

While eating dinner, I watched "The Cardboard Box" episode of the Jeremy Brett Sherlock Holmes series because I read that a young Ciaran Hinds was in it. A line at the end struck me because it reminded me of a recent post by Elizabeth Bear about existentialism. From the original story;

"What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. "What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever."

A Sherlock Holmes' work is never done.

So I'd better get to reading. Here're a few pictures from Second Life;


"Life under the sea is better than anything they got up there!"


She who covets pearls must beware of turtles.


I found this place when I did a search for "Ginza." It was quite creepy actually. The region was deathly quiet, I thought it was deserted, but then I realised there were people inside two of the buildings. I think they were . . . at work. Is this the future?

I did end up getting a lot done last night. I drew two maps while listening to Paul Schrader's commentary for Taxi Driver, and now I've drawn all the maps I'm going to need. They're all maps of entire nations or continents. I thought about doing maps of towns and cities, but I figured I oughta leave myself a little room to be expressionistic.

Then I had a glass of Jameson and spent time digging music posted by Moira. So I downloaded Ella Fitzgerald's Complete Songbooks. Am currently listening to the first Cole Porter section.

I don't have too much else to say, which I think is a sign of how much my head's finally settling into my work. Everyone's sharing YouTube music lately, so this might be a good time to reciprocate. But my imagination's flatlining to-day . . . Um . . . Here's another Haruhi Suzumiya clip;



Oh, I think I finally understand iambs. Paul Schrader mentioned "Travis Bickle" is iambic and, after having several classes where the concept was taught to me, I only just now get it. I so fail at poetry.

Despite instructing myself to do no work yesterday, I still tried to get some things done. But it was just as useless as I thought it would be. I mostly just sat, waiting for my brain to boot up and it never did.

I spent a lot of time in Second Life. I actually talked to people, and at 3:30am, after months of trying, I finally found people to play chess with me, and spent two hours on a game which I of course lost. But I enjoyed every minute. I used to play chess all the time when I was a kid and I've really missed it lately.

I also had some new clothes to sort through. There was a dress with a bodice I liked with shoulder ribbons I also liked, but the skirt was sort of awful, so I was trying it with skirts from other outfits;



I don't think I've really hit upon anything yet. The one on the left is a little too busy and the one on the right is better but maybe a little too solid. The red tights with the red shoes I happened to see while in the middle of switching to another combo and stopped. My instincts say, "No, no, it's wrong!" and yet, I can't help feeling it works in a weird way.

I also watched Red Beard again last night. It's certainly not one of Kurosawa's best films, but I do love it.

Anyway. I think I'll go to Tim's now, as has been my habit on weekends lately. Hopefully I'll get some work done later to-night.

Maids of some kind were here, putting a cap on my sleeping time, coming in at . . . six hours? I think that's right. I can't remember if I got to sleep at 7am or 8am. I do remember a lot of time spent starring at the ceiling. Oh, well. Lucidity's overrated.

I'd pretty much already decided yesterday that to-day needed to be something of a day off. Which is good, because I don't think I could get anything done in this state.

To-day's Blog Against Torture Day. I doubt I'm awake enough to be cogent on such a sensitive topic. So I'll just say; don't torture people.

Okay. Time to make the eyes . . .

Ever since I cut my hair, it's been writhing about my head at the speed of plant growth. I'm like a time lapse gorgon (incidentally, one of the main characters in my new comic is a gorgon). Now big pieces of hair are curled forward on my cheeks like ram horns. I kind of like it.

I was kind of amazed that the last time I posted doodles, all the people and creatures in them were facing left. Completely without my conscious intention--I have no idea what it means. Maybe I'm just such a deeply ingrained liberal.

Anyway, here're a few recent doodles where I've made a conscious effort to have people, if not facing right, at least looking right. See? I can do it! Throwing in a few recent Second Life pics because. I will.


"The right soufflé."


Some dame.


Yet another of my bird people. This one wearing complicated pants.


Another dame.

Speaking of dames, I've decided Toubanua's a Hitchcock blonde;

In some ancient Norse area.

Also, in China;


She's not always blonde, though. As in this adventure when I typed "Morrissey" in a search and something actually came up;

It's just a really cheap little club. But here's more excuse than I usually have to post;



And the Sandie Shaw version while I'm at it, because it always makes me smile;



There was also a Tom Waits poster.

Oh, very well;

Here's Morrissey's Vauxhall and I album in the form of YouTube clips (minus "Used to Be a Sweet Boy" and "The Lazy Sunbathers", which seem to have no clips whatsoever). You didn't ask, but you didn't refuse. This is how people ask me to communicate.

And you thought I'd let a couple days pass without posting another Morrissey video!

Plenty of distractions so far to-day. Productive again last night, though I had class and some reading to do. We're reading John Donne now.

I'm determined to write a real, medieval history. I mean, fantasy world histories tend to be about evil empires versus good nations, or good nations with a few bad apples. And that can be great. My basic model here is the Silmarillion, which I love, but it's generally hundreds of pages about the few exceptions to the rule that the elves are perfect and have irrepressibly beautiful thoughts. And that's great, but I want executions of heretics and bizarre codes of behaviour based on a sexually repressive deity. I want the truth lost or twisted after fifty years, plagues, and civil wars based on misconceptions of history or religion that was itself based on false pretexts anyway.

It seems like every time I think I'm starting to get too dark, The Norton Anthology of English Literature backs me up. From the introduction to John Donne; "Donne was distantly related to the great Catholic humanist and martyr Sir Thomas More. Closer to home, a Jesuit uncle was executed by the brutal method of hanging, castrating, disembowelling, and quartering, and his own brother, Henry, arrested for harbouring a priest, died in prison of the plague." Yep, I'm on the right track.

Again, I love Tolkien. The Silmarillion's great, and I don't think a history needs to be realistically brutal to have meaning to a reader. Though I'm definitely a proponent of Tolkien's idea that his Orcs were previously Elves, who were tortured and mutilated over hundreds of years. I imagine perfect, innocent creatures having their psychologies turned around after--I mean, just imagine it--spending so much time in a place of shadows and fire. The heat, the ever present choking stench, the physical punishment incurred whenever one's habits turned toward more wholesome thoughts, the derision of, I presume, the Balrogs. Stretch that shit out over an unimaginable length of time. Tolkien handles it with one, maybe two paragraphs, but just think about the long, grinding, repetitive existence of pain that would be required to make a good, noble, graceful Elf into a mean, puerile, sadistic Orc.

Happy, I am, to have brightened everyone's day, so now I'll go to more of the Lord's work.

So, to-day, eleven years after it was in theatres, Lost Highway was finally released in the United States on DVD. Not that you'd know it by walking into any of the DVD stores at the mall. I finally found it buried in the Thriller section of Suncoast. It was twenty dollars--not even on sale like most new releases. I see it's fourteen dollars on Amazon, so I think I'll order it there. It's not like I was going to have time to watch it to-night, anyway.

I was productive last night and I mean to be so again to-night. I did wander Second Life for a couple hours. Toubanua's now sporting a kind of goth flapper look;



Seen here auditioning for the role of green fairy.

Right. To work with me. May the Force be with you.

There are several translations of the lyrics online. This one was my favourite;

Even if we could map out all of Earth's mysteries,
I still wouldn't be able to go anywhere.

I spent my life with anticipations and hopes,
But no one is there to grant them.

Until the end of time, Boooon!!

With a warp, this looping feeling
Swirls everything together and destroys them.

On a particular sunny day,
A happiness greater than magic
Will pour down endlessly? Isn't that impossible?
When we meet again tomorrow, I'll be laughing
As I collect all the world's information.
It's easy, there's nothing to it.
If chase after them, I will catch them,
But I observe the big dreams from afar.

Anything is possible in the future where nothing is certain,
But if I process the information, I can predict it.

Hanging above the thick clouds and shining brightly,
The stars are different from hopes.

Because I can ride time, Byuuuuun!!

Even at the cheap and cool age,
Loneliness and shyness always get in the way, right?

If we hold our hands together,
We'll be in another dimension at our destination.
Impossible things are reflected in those sparkling eyes.
If your tears dry just by looking up,
"Those must be fake . . ."
Shout from the bottom of your heart but it's futile.
Break off running but I'll still be behind.
Let my heart beat faster, okay?

Boooon!!

With a warp, this looping feeling
Swirls everything together and destroys them.

On a particular sunny day,
A happiness greater than magic
Will pour down endlessly? Isn't that impossible?
When we meet again tomorrow, I'll be laughing
As I collect all the world's information.
It's easy, there's nothing to it.
If I chase after them, I will catch them,
I want to have big dreams too.

I feel kind of good. To-day's so far been the day I meant Saturday to be; I'm getting a lot done, in other words.

Sunday I went with my mother and sister to see Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day. As movies that I'm forced to see with my family go, this is the best I've seen in years. On its own merits, it's not bad. Plenty of faults, but plenty of virtues, too.

Once again, I have to insist that Amy Adams is a good and charming actress, able to bring subtle hues of weight to otherwise shallow characters. But even better was Frances McDormand, who here brings nuance to a character in a screwball comedy that reminds you of how important character depth can actually be in such films, and how much that depth needs to come entirely from the mannerisms of the actor or actress.

Also excellent on that front is Ciaran Hinds, whom I've noticed in a number of movies (most recently There Will Be Blood) and have always been impressed by him. Here, I have to agree with Richard Roeper, who notes, "he actually gets to play somewhat of a romantic lead in the story with Frances McDormand, which I thought was so sweet and gave this film just a little bit of gravity."

An enormous part of the movie's appeal for me was also, of course, the 1930s clothes and hair, which were gorgeous.

I thought my sister and I might watch a movie at my parents' house, though it's never a guarantee that I can convince her to watch any of the movies I bring over. This time, an odd, inexplicable instinct prompted me to put Picnic at Hanging Rock in my bag. When I turned on the television after coming back from Miss Pettigrew, I saw that IFC was showing Picnic at Hanging Rock. Apparently IFC thinks it's an Easter movie, too. Who am I to argue?



My sister actually ended up watching it with me. It was oddly fitting, and its drowsy atmosphere kind of jived with my sleep deprivation.

In a much better mood now. But still massively tired--which sort of works out, since I have to be up early to-morrow. Here are two Morrissey songs from his Your Arsenal album;

I'm just about too tired for a post to-day, or a proper one, anyway. I guess I'll let my lobotomised drool have the floor. I only had five and a half hours of sleep, and a very rude awakening which I don't feel like hashing out.

I suddenly got very angry with myself last night. I wanted to get a lot of work done to-day but I don't know how much of value I can do with my brain like sludge. Fuck. There are a couple things, I suppose. Fuck. I'm going to get something done to-day or I'm going to kill someone trying.

I want this played at my funeral;

Last night was the best episode of Bill Maher I've seen in a long time. Almost the whole thing was worthwhile, from Maher's interview with CNN's Michael Ware to Barney Frank's take on Obama's pastor.

But, as much as I like Maher, the episode's strengths were definitely in the guests, particularly Barney Frank and P.J. O'Rourke. And of those two, particularly particularly Barney Frank. I'd love to just see him and O'Rourke arguing without the middle man, honestly. Watching Frank smack down O'Rourke is all the more satisfying because O'Rourke seems intelligent. This clip features one of my favourite bits;

I had an interesting dream last night. It played mostly like a movie I was watching--at night, a guy drives in a white flatbed truck to a house in a regular suburban neighbourhood. Julia Ormond answers the door, I think she's her character from INLAND EMPIRE*. The guy's wife thinks he's cheating on her, and he tells Ormond all about it, unburdening himself. Ormond listens patiently and offers comforting words.

Then, Ormond starts talking about her own problems; apparently her husband had been some kind of interdimensional traveller, and, before he'd died, he'd left all sorts of possessed objects and goblins in their garage. The guy listens intently to Ormond, but doesn't seem to have much to say. Finally, it's time for him to go. Ormond sees him off at the door, and when he walks around to the passenger side of his truck, his wife springs from some hiding place and stabs him to death with a butcher knife.

Ormond comes back out of the house, like she's just remembered something else she needed to tell the guy. She's half singing, half humming some kind of ballad-like song about wives, and stops when she's shocked by the sight of the guy's wife standing over his bloody body. Ormond turns into a massive, green, oozing creature and kills the woman, and proceeds to go on a murderous rampage.

A new scene begins, and I'm standing at the end of a metal pier on a foggy morning wearing a trench coat and brown fedora. I'm thinking about what other monsters lurk in Julia Ormond's garage and I'm looking at a square area of water that's been partitioned off with walls floating on buoys. Inside, I know there's an invisible film crew working on a Steven Spielberg monster movie.

After a while, Joe Pantoliano, dressed in a blue windbreaker and a lavender knit cap, approaches my pier on a small motor boat. "You can't be here," he says. "Mr. Spielberg made it very clear he doesn't want anyone near his monster movie."

"Okay, I'm going," I say, but just then, a wind takes my hat and drops it in the water.

"Don't worry!" says Pantoliano. "My dog'll get it for you."

"Er, that's okay," I say, picturing the teeth marks that'd make the hat ruined anyway. But the extremely happy looking golden retriever's already leaping into the water and before long he's paddling up to me with the hat in his jaws.

"Thanks," I say, and then I woke up.

I spent loads of time in Second Life again last night. Here're some pictures of some of what I've acquired recently. Aside from the Fashion Fair, this blog's been really useful for finding quality items lately.


"You won't hurt me, will you, Ms. Rabbit?"


This is probably the most normal Toubanua will ever look. The hair and shirt are actually both freebies; the hair comes from a Japanese designer called Sugarcube who actually has a tonne of amazing freebies, especially if you're a newbie, including decent skin, walking animation, and shoes. The shirt came in a pack with several versions in different colours from a designer called Sey.


Here's Toubanua in Krakow, wearing the black version of the free Sey shirt. The hair I bought from a Japanese designer called Seu--it's extremely well made. Flexi (which means it moves like hair), and it doesn't poke through her stomach with certain movements like lots of long flexi hair does.

Krakow'd been pretty empty on my previous visits, but it was really crowded last night for some reason.


A better shot of the same outfit in a more secluded location--or so I thought, until a guy in sporty orange shirt flew up to me. Female avs never seem to want for attention in Second Life, which is sort of amazing when you consider there seems to be around thirty females for every male. Though most of the female avatars look sort of like the same malnourished woman with a massive caboose and a tutu.

The corduroy pants, by the way, were purchased from a designer called Celestial and the boots are from--ack, can't remember the name. I think it's Metreiya.


Scary skinless cow!

The dress is from ICING in a really amazing shopping area called Mischief. I don't remember where I got the shoes, and the hair is one I picked up ages ago and also don't remember from where. The stockings are part of the Bossa Nova rosalie underwear set Toubanua's wearing in the first picture (also the stockings of the aforementioned keen seam).


This picture was taken at Capital Hill, a place meant for discussing American politics. Only one other person was there, a guy with an "Obama supporter" group tag who studiously ignored me. I wanted to get pictures of this outfit in some vaguely Spanish setting, but the Spain I teleported to was crowded with people speaking--wouldn't you know it--Spanish. A guy in a Bob Marley t-shirt immediately appreached me; "Hola."

"Hola," says me. "No hablo espanol."

One of the few things I remember from Spanish class--that, and "Que mala suerte!"--"What bad luck!"

The dress and flower in the hair comes from ICING. The hair, if I remember correctly, is by Ingenue. It's called "Kitten with a Whip" after, I suppose, the Ann-Margret movie.


A little more obviously on Capital Hill. The dress and hair come from the same person as Kitten with a Whip. The shoes I bought at a place in Caledon, the name of the designer escapes me, but the place has lots of nice thinks. The glasses are by ICING, and came in a big pack with both transparent lense and sunglass versions of several frame colours.


"Are there any objections to the bill as presented? . . . I didn't think so!"

The outfit's by Avid (even the shoes). The hair, my favourite on Toubanua, is by Smoka, and is simply called "short hair" or something. I got it one of the big, cluttered, Asian bazaars.


"You've been naughty, too, Madam Speaker!"


Capital Hill is too much fun.


"A deer. A female deer!" Another outfit by Avid.


*Just four days until Lost Highway's released on DVD! The suspense is keen as a needle!

Mella's recent post about a ghost reminded me of something in the first part of this video. The latter portion of the video deals with issues with American animation I've discussed before (twice, now). Here we see that the bulk of the animation work was already being outsourced to Japan in 1989, when this video was made. But unlike most shows to-day, we see that this American director actually commuted to Japan on a regular basis and had a working relationship with the Japanese director. The world would be a better place if more American series directors didn't seem to regard Japanese animation studios as sweatshops for cyborgs. Animators are artists and oughta be treated that way.

Featured also is a rather frisky host who seems a bit like an eight year-old on a sugar high in the body of Wolf Blitzer. Yes, this one video addresses all these issues and possibly more. Enjoy!

A great deal of time was spent by me in Second Life last night, as well as about fifteen dollars. But I sure got a lot of nice things.

The clothing festival thing I talked about is the Relay for Life of Second Life - Fashion Fair hosted by a group called Rezzable. Apparently this was about raising money for the American Cancer Society. Most vendors had special items or entire outfits designed exclusively for the event, the proceeds from which were entirely donated to the ACS. And a percentage of all the profits were donated to the ACS. Looks like they've raised over 11,000 dollars so far. In one day.

I don't know much about the ACS, but I do like to think I know good clothes, and trust me, there are plenty there. And lots of exclusive free clothes, too (freebies), a lot of which were actually of very good quality. Mostly free things in Second Life end up being things you're embarrassed to wear.

I didn't take any pictures because I spent so much time just sorting through everything. Maybe to-morrow.

Anyway, I'll now say again I really like Caitlin R. Kiernan's writing. She needs money these days, for medical expenses, and, I presume, to combat this wicked world. And I'm starting to get the hint that she wants people to post this in their blogs.

Here's where you can buy some of her best books, and if you do, you'll be glad you did;

Daughter of Hounds

Silk

Threshold

Low Red Moon

Murder of Angels

Tales of Pain and Wonder

Anyway, I only just realised that Easter is almost here. My favourite Easter movie? Ikiru;

I just had a happy little experience. Some of you might remember the angry neighbour who got on my case for the speeding he imagined I was doing last year. I hadn't heard from him since then except for one note--red marker ink on white paper--left on my car; "Slow down!"

To-day, as I was coming down the street, I noticed he was in his driveway, so I sped up from 15mph to 20mph (the speed limit's 25).

When I got out of my car, I immediately heard the big fellow yelling at me;

"Why don't you slow down?"

I paused a moment, knowing who it was, but still slightly surprised. I finally replied, "Will you stop sending me love letters if I do?"

"Wh-why don't you slow down?" he said again.

"I'd miss this dialogue! I feel like there's something really special between us," I said.

"I could hear your engine speed up when you went by."

I poured pathos into my voice; "I saw you and wanted you to notice me."

"You need to slow down! I'll tell your grandmother and your parents," he said.

"It's okay. You don't have to say it. I can see it in your eyes."

"You need to slow down!"

"It's okay," I said, like I was telling him it was okay to allow himself to cry.

He said, "Whatever, man," and turned away.

Only six hours of sleep last night. I've done worse, but for some reason I'm really feeling the lack of sleep to-day. So far. And, no, it's not because I was on a bender. I actually only had one glass of whiskey yesterday and it was pretty early in the day for me; I took a bottle of Jameson over to my parents', where I had lunch (dinner for them) for Saint Patrick's Day. My sister was the only one willing to have some Jameson besides me, and she mixed about a finger with about a gallon of 7-Up. I don't understand it, really. Jameson tastes practically like milk to me, it's so damn smooth and subtle.

I brought over my copy of Darbie O'Gill and the Little People, which managed to hold a lot of attention. I thought about watching Miller's Crossing or The Secret of Roan Inish last night, too, but after writing some more history, I ended up spending a lot of time in Second Life. There's some kind of clothing festival going on. I'm not sure how long it's going to last, but for a few days, all my favourite designers, plus a score of equally talented others, are gathered together. I suddenly wanted a lot more time and money. I mainly just picked up landmarks last night and gaped (landmarks are notes you keep that'll teleport you places when you choose--in this case to the main stores of the designers whose booths I walked through).

While I slept, I downloaded The Smiths' Strangeways, Here We Come because my copy has gone missing. And I also downloaded Serial Experiments Lain, which I hadn't watched in several years. It must have been at least six years ago that I last watched this series--and I stopped after about eight episodes. What started as a mildly intriguing, rather pretty show grew increasingly dull until it was not so much a conscious decision to stop watching it but finally a complete death of will. However, a couple friends of mine have recommended I give the series another try, so I watched the first episode after waking up to-day. I have to admit I now find the first episode an even more empty experience than the first time I watched it. It's just so damn banal. The plain oatmeal I was eating had more flavour. A show I considered to be more style than substance doesn't even seem to do much for me in terms of style anymore.

But I don't know. Maybe it's just because I didn't get much sleep. I'll stick it out for a couple more episodes. I do like the theme song quite a bit, though it doesn't quite mesh with the show. It's substantially better than most anime series themes, but the general rule holds true here that one should never judge an anime series by its theme song. I've noted few exceptions to this rule; Excel Saga, Sayonara Zetsubou Sensei, Azumanga Daioh, Urusei Yatsura--okay, there're quite a few. But if you think you can judge Evangelion, The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya, or Code Geass by their theme songs, you're in for a surprise.

I was sorry to hear Arthur C Clarke has died. I must admit, I've never read any of his books, but Kubrick's 2001 is a movie I never, ever get tired of watching.

For some reason, Morrissey's voice in live performances from 1999 to about 2001 doesn't sound as good as it does before or after. I think this 2004 performance of "Irish Blood, English Heart" is my favourite;





Though, this is one case where the studio recording is better than any of the live performances.

The most fascinating thing about looking through all these videos, though, is seeing Irish versus English arguments in the comments;

rnrbishop: "Why feel shame? Every country has its past and plenty of other countries have done far worse to others and to themselves.

Be proud to be a citizen of a country that has had a massive social, political and technological impact on the world. If anything our greatest gift to the world is our language which helps all nations to communicate with eachother.

Despite the skeletons in our closet I feel England has largely been a positive influence even if our motives were sometimes misguided."

cal8976: "thats very touching

you gimp"

For the Jools Holland performance;

richieakasopp: "kamelion yr an example of pure britis ignorance dont think the irish went 2 england 2 work 4 da brits cause we liked u its a thing called recession nd we dont have a choice and superior???sorry mate we did have a little thing called the famine 2 contend with!!stupid english cunt"

bolemburner: "you my freind are a bit of a twat.... because both of his parents were irish and he was conceived in ireland and they moved here like a month before his birth so he in himself is effectivly irish so i think he probably knows that....
meh"

Even this Final Fantasy X fanvid someone made featuring the song (no idea how it relates) has;

Fluffypear: "*is bored and browsing* You still sound Irish..."

I've been wandering around a bit in Second Life lately. Here are a few glamour shots of my girlfriend, Toubanua Tairov, aka, me. I'm so funny!


Dig those seams!


Relaxing at the place where I bought that cigarette holder. I'd been looking for one for a long time.


Dark thoughts by minty cushion.


"No, Mr. Bond. I expect the mama tomato to say, 'ketchup'."


This was supposed to be some kind of art gallery. Pretty unimpressive, if you ask me.

Slept until four to-day, which I think is a bit late. I'm not sure what time I got to sleep. 6:30 or so, I think.

I've been settled into a pretty consistent schedule lately, and it kind of bugs me. I work on my project until 2 or 2:30, then I play Knights of the Old Republic, or, now, Knights of the Old Republic II while drinking (gin last night. The first drink I had in a couple days, though). At 4am, I eat dinner while watching something, last night it was the last hour or so of Out of the Past. And then I intend to go to sleep, but I usually spend about an hour looking at YouTube videos. Like;



I'm a big fan of Red Vines lately, myself, though I prefer the black ones. It's ridiculous how much better they are than Twizzlers. It's like the difference between absinthe and Tang.

This was apparently just uploaded yesterday;



In Knights of the Old Republic II last night, someone actually said "downloaded" when they meant "uploaded". And it was a computer that said it. Boy, it was lucky I didn't have an ion canon ready.

I love how the ion bolts are blue like in X-Wing and TIE Fighter. Yeesh, I miss TIE Fighter.

Anyway, I actually got quite a lot done yesterday. Four hundred eighty something words on the history thing, and I made headway on the character profiles for the actual comic. I've been thinking about them for so long, I figured it was time I wrote something down. Five characters, two boys, three girls. Trying to stay patient . . . But I've gone from rewriting the first chapter in my head to writing the first three chapters in my head.

Some of the doodles I've done in class so far.








A pretty decent drawing of Shinji from Evangelion, if I do say so myself. The Margery Kempe notes seemed oddly appropriate.

I didn't even know footage of Neal Cassady existed, but there he is in three clips on YouTube from part of an Allen Ginsberg documentary. Here's my favourite;



Suddenly Obama's pastor doesn't seem so special, huh?

I think I was sick on Friday. Barely any sleep, and I'm not very hungry, even though I haven't eaten since 11pm (it's now 5am). Currently trying to force down some spaghetti . . .

EDIT: I sure hope Atlanta's going to be okay. And the people in it.

It's weird how certain things tend to repeatedly crop up in my viewscreen. Like when Keith Olbermann quoted King Lear in one of his special comments a little while ago;



Of course, as Olbermann notes, just because someone finds a pattern in something, doesn't mean there's an intelligence on the other side of the table intentionally making the pattern. Still, I like entertaining these patterns sometimes, creating, I guess, recurring themes in how I perceive the world. It was on February 13th that I found, on YouTube, the clip from a production of King Lear featuring Laurence Olivier and John Hurt after doing a search for "King Lear". And it was just this past Wednesday that I read the first two Acts for class.

This incident with Geraldine Ferraro shows the sort of bludgeoning rhetoric that seems to've infected Hilary Clinton's campaign lately. A lot of it seems to come from a, sadly, somewhat common, misguided conception of feminism that sees it as a name for a team locked in eternal combat for supremacy against Men. I mentioned to someone a few days ago how I thought Hilary Clinton was beginning to slightly resemble The Joker, and the person I was talking to quickly replied that men often feel uncomfortable with women in power, as though I'd suggested what Clinton needed was a fainting room and smelling salts.

I'm turning over in my head whether or not I think the King Lear quote is apropos. "That way madness lies," is much more beautiful within the play, and is prompted by a more interesting set of emotions and lines of thought. After having been turned out of the homes of two of his daughters, Regan and Goneril, and learning how little they love him, Lear wanders, unsheltered, in a storm and says;

"No, I will weep no more. In such a night
To shut me out! Pour on; I will endure.
In such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril!
Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all--
O, that way madness lies; let me shun that;
No more of that."

The madness he speaks of is in working to solve deep problems that have no solutions--though, of course, he does need to deal with these problems, eventually. He has misjudged the characters of his daughters, apparently for the entirety of their lives. He had allowed himself to love them when his love was never returned. Dwelling on this could only serve to constantly remind him that what was most important to him--the love he depended on--wasn't real. There's the hurt pride, that his judgment was so flawed, and the narcissistic love test from the beginning of the play was so poorly considered. But the worst part is being reduced to nothing, and having to assemble his perceptions of the universe anew.

That word, "nothing," has, as is observed in the textbook's footnotes, a lot of significance in King Lear. After the flattery Regan and Goneril heap on Lear, the single word resounds quite strikingly;

LEAR: . . . what can you say to draw a third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.

CORDELIA: Nothing, my lord.

LEAR: Nothing?

CORDELIA: Nothing.

LEAR: Nothing will come of nothing, speak again.

CORDELIA: Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave
My heart into my mouth. I love your majesty
According to my bond, no more nor less.

LEAR: How, how, Cordelia! mend your speech a little,
Lest it may mar your fortunes.

CORDELIA: Good my lord,
You have begot me, bred me, loved me; I
Return those duties back as are right fit,
Obey you, love you, and most honour you.
Why have my sisters husbands, if they say
They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed,
That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry
Half my love with him, half my care and duty.
Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters,
To love my father all.


In class discussion, the teacher actually suggested it might have been better for Cordelia to mince words, to placate her father's ego to spare his feelings. The teacher asked, by show of hands, how many in the class thought it was better to lie to a loved one than to potentially hurt their feelings--which of course reminded me of the Enigma Kat's recent poll. Responses are pretty evenly divided in the Kat's poll, but I was one of only two people in class who raised his hand to say one should not lie to spare a loved one's feelings.

The point Cordelia makes is one of simple logic; if Regan's and Goneril's hearts are entirely devoted to Lear, then why are they married? Of course, Regan and Goneril were obviously lying, and Cordelia figures to do the same would be to insult Lear's intelligence. Lear either accepted the lies because he enjoys feeling superior to such obvious bollocks, which would inevitably be a lonely state of mind, or he is genuinely blinded, as, in fact, turns out to be the case.

That the play ends unhappily is not, I think, an indication that Shakespeare feels it's better to be dishonest with loved ones. I think rather the point is that enlightenment has intrinsic value. As Edgar says at the end;

"The weight of this sad time we must obey;
Speak what we feel, not what we ought say.
The oldest hath borne most; we that are young
Shall never see so much, nor live so long."

Shakespeare knows that to reward the characters with a happy ending would be shallow and to shift the focus.* Lear is a greater man in our eyes after his fall than he was at the beginning of the play.

I must admit, if I lie to someone, it is always out of disrespect. It means I think it's better to manipulate them than to have a meeting of the minds. Obviously, I'm not in the majority on this view, but I must say I have some trouble understanding the opposite opinion, though I respect my friends who hold it, since I'm fully aware of the fact that I'm not all-wise (believe it or not).

Anyway. The past couple of days have been extremely full. On Wednesday, I received my copy of Caitlin R. Kiernan's Tales of Pain and Wonder, third edition, which I'd completely forgotten that I'd preordered several months ago. I even got one of the signed editions with the nifty Tails of Tales of Pain and Wonder. The book itself is hardback and has an absolutely gorgeous cover.


*I only wish the writers of Knights of the Old Republic were half as wise. I beat the game last night, and I actually was supposed to convert a character back to the light side by beating her into submission. Sigh.

Here's something from 1943 (you can tell I like the 40s, huh?). One of the few where Donald's a winner. Sort of.

Because Robyn's feet smell like Christmas, I figured I oughta post this. If you're like me, you saw this at least 80 times, every Christmas, when you were growing up.



And here's Bjork, featuring a man with the very serious job of walking in snow;

Just woke up moments ago--I think I'll write down my dream.

I was in some kind of hilly, greenish area, at a high altitude with a lot of complicated roads, sort of resembling Princess Toadstool's course from Mario Kart 64. I was talking with a stern, female impresario who wanted me to be Claire Danes' understudy in a ballet. Claire Danes didn't really know how to dance, which made me perfect, apparently, because not only did I not know how to dance, I looked nothing like Claire Danes. I started to stress a little about being in shape.

But I was distracted because, nearby, on an enormous drive-in screen, a strange version of Pulp Fiction was playing. Jules was wearing his suit and was in a diner booth with Tom Roth's character, "Ringo". Jules was talking excitedly about something, and he had an English accent for some reason.

The impresario was done with me, so I wandered until I came across a pond. I looked at my reflection and asked, "How could I possibly be Claire Danes' understudy?" Then, behind me, I heard muffled, high pitched chanting. I turned around, and there was a row of wooden, Japanese dolls, held up by a single rope drawn between two hills. Above was an enormous, ancient stone bridge. There were red paper lanterns, and a slightly smaller screen than the one I saw earlier, but it was showing the odd Pulp Fiction in its proper aspect ratio (unlike the other screen I saw). It was a close up of Jules' face, and he was trying to explain something that was really important to him.

Without seeing him, I knew somehow that the proprietor of this, er, nook, was an old man to whom movies were extremely important.

Then I woke up.

I got an 87 (out of a hundred) on the in-class midterm, and the teacher complimented my writing, telling me I lacked only enough quotes from the text. So, maybe he's not such a bad guy. He likes my writing. Angels and ministers of grace nothing, it's my ego that'll preserve us.

And we're doing King Lear next. Hello, fond briar patch. My copy of the version with Laurence Olivier and John Hurt came in the mail a couple weeks ago, too, and it's fabulous. So I shall enjoy some whiskey to-night.

I finally downloaded Winamp a couple days ago to replace the copy I lost on the hard drive that died last year. I was reluctant to download it, because I knew it would never be the same as my ancient version number with the Gendo Ikari skin I downloaded from gods know where in 2000 or 2001. And because Apple is a police state, I can't transfer my old collection of mp3s off my iPod and onto the computer. My good old collection, that came together slowly over more than five years from sundry sources, never amounting to more than a thousand files, but having a special flavour and personality all its own. Now, of course, I probably have at least two thousand mp3s from the past couple weeks alone, but it's just not the same, man.

This new Winamp isn't bad, though, especially since it lets me switch to "classic" mode, and at least I don't have to deal with iTunes anymore and the soft spots in its skull.

Anyway, here's some more music; four videos. Spot the hidden Melora Creagor!

The second episode of School Rumble;



And here's a song I'd like to get out of my head;

This series is easy to underestimate. It looks kind of cheap, but in retrospect, I realise it never missed a beat. When it ended after two seasons, I was sorry for taking it for granted. This is the first episode;



Looks like I'll sink or swim with just the two pages. Oh, well. The paper's only 20% of my grade SIGH.

I managed to add exactly one paragraph to my paper last night. It now stands at two pages (or 532 words, for the grown-ups in the audience). I just don't know what else I could possibly say.

I also have to read Philip Sidney's The Defence of Poesy to-day. At least I have Atomic Fireballs this time, though I'll hold off on those 'til I've finished my tea.

I've downloaded every Ramones album to-day. I haven't even finished listening to all the Led Zeppelin albums, not to mention all the Chuck Berry I downloaded, though in Berry's case I accidentally downloaded a bunch of collections. Generally speaking, I hate collections, but it's even sillier in this case as it means I have several folders with the same mp3s in different orders.

Digging the Ramones so far . . .

Remember that paper that was due last week? Well, I was rather pleased with the page and a half I wrote, especially since the four prompts I had to choose from were each awesomely dull. Yes! These are them;

Consider the role of women in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. In what ways are women represented differently than in heroic tales such a Beowulf? What do women’s roles in this tale suggest about the ideals of the Medieval Romance?

Consider the role of Monsters in Beowulf. In what ways do they serve the purpose of this Christian era tale? In what ways might they undermine the Christian values of the text?

Consider the critique of religious corruption, or of courtly love in the Miller’s Tale. Explain the importance of “God’s Privetee” in the Miller’s “quiting” of the Knight.

In a discussion of either Julian of Norwich’s “Showings,” or of the Book of Margery Kemp[sic], discuss the ways in which the author uses and extends the notion of “affective piety” in order to empower women spiritually and/or socially.

See what I mean about this guy trying to shoehorn discussions on feminism into the class? I mean, sure it's a valid topic, but given the limited amount of time with which we have to discuss British Literature from Beowulf to Thomas Gray, you'd think there wouldn't be room for feminism to take up fifty percent of the midterm prompts.

But, obviously, there's not a lot of imagination at work in these prompts. And here's the kicker--the paper I wrote, which was a page and a half, is too short. The teacher had forgotten to specify length, so while everyone who turned it in on Thursday gets credit, a lot of us have to pad our papers out to five and a half pages. How the hell am I supposed to wring four more pages out of this thing? I chose number four, by the way, and Julian of Norwich. A page and a half was all I needed to discuss how The Book of Showings used affective piety to break barriers for women writers. It's done.

Though, incidentally, he's the one who told us about how affective piety was used by these writers to expand their turfs as women. It's his argument he wants echoed back at him, just like all the other prompts are either about his arguments or points made by the text book. Except I have four pages of padding to do, which inevitably can't communicate anything except, "Yes, I read it, yes, I was listening, yes, I read it, yes, I was listening." Which, I know, I know, is obviously going to be the point, except I find writing about the things I want to write about difficult enough. I find it almost impossible to write shit on purpose. I need an angle, or I'm just Piggy's brains on the rocks.

The Beowulf question might have been a little more interesting, except Beowulf was reminding me too much of Caitlin. Though--would you believe it--I'm mainly beating my brains out about Sonya lately. We had such a good rapport, why'd she have to--

No, must stop. It's no good, puzzling over things with no answers. Best to look for soluble problems elsewhere, as Morteirmiru said. Morteirmiru who ran off with Sonya.

I guess that's as good an explanation as any. I suppose it'll have to do, anyway.

On a more positive note, I downloaded every Led Zeppelin album to-day. I normally don't like to listen to music with lyrics while I write, especially lyrics I haven't heard before, but I have a feeling what I'm going to be writing is going to be so vapid it won't matter. I wish I had some Atomic Fireballs . . .

Another Elvis Costello album for Moira, Armed Forces this time;

1. Accidents Will Happen
2. Senior Service
3. Oliver's Army
4. Big Boys
5. Green Shirt
6. Party Girl
7. Goon Squad
8. Busy Bodies
9. Sunday's Best
10. Moods for Moderns
11. Chemistry Class
12. Two Little Hitlers
13. (What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love, and Understanding?



The past couple of days I've been writing about religious persecution, mischievous faeries, and agriculture. I think at this rate, I'll be done with the necessary background material in a month and a half. Maybe. I'm kind of at a point where I feel I must admit to myself I'm writing my own Silmarillion. I honestly have tried to scale back to just the material I know I'll need for the comic. But I can't help it--there's just too much I want to know. I swear it'll all be sincerely bonus material. You won't have to take a course to understand the comic.

I actually managed to get up at 12:30 on Saturday. This follows Friday when even I was amazed that I managed to sleep past 5pm. My spirit animal may be a pet rock.

I was bringing the trash cans up from the curb just before leaving for class when I met a pretty, short haired white cat. She (I'm guessing it's a she since that's how she'd be cast in a Disney movie) was on the fence between houses and started to run away when the big trash cans I brought up scraped loudly against the concrete. But she stopped and watched me, and I noticed she looked slightly cross-eyed. I stood still and silent, and we watched each other for a few moments. Her eyelids finally started to droop, so I stepped closer. She immediately back away, but then walked back towards me a little, her nose twitching. She never let me pet her--it might have happened if I'd had a lot more time to just stand silently with her--but she seemed to grow accustomed to my proximity. I like friendly cats, but there's something to be said for the cautious ones, especially if my grandmother notices her hanging around and tells the gardener to kill her.

I can't overstate how much I miss my aunt's cats. Their absence makes me feel like I have a chemical imbalance. Everything feels very, very unnatural.

I didn't actually go straight to class--I had to read Shakespeare's sonnets and eat breakfast first, and I did both at the same time at Starbucks. I've read the sonnets before, but it was years ago, and I don't think they ever impacted me as much as they did to-day. It was also amusing to see how many good Christians in the class seemed upset by the idea that Shakespeare might have been in love with a man.

I feel like I oughta post one, but it's hard to decide which. Here's 23;

As an unperfect actor on the stage
Who with his fear is put besides his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage
Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart,
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love's rite.
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
O'er-charged with burden of mine own love's might.
O let my books be then the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
Who plead for love, and look for recompense
More than that tongue that more hath more expressed.
O learn to read what silent love hath writ;
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.


And here's another Smiths video, one directed by Derek Jarman, whom Robyn and Moira have recently told me about;

The paper I said was due on Tuesday is actually due on Thursday. So I'll be working on that for the next couple hours. I so don't feel like it, though . . .

Watching the season finale of Terminator: The Sarah Conner Chronicles on Monday (or, if you're like me, you watched it online), you might have been asking yourself, "Who's this band they're talking about? Who are these 'Smiths'? Golly, I wish someone would post a YouTube clip of them in his blog."

Well, fear not, friends. Because it so happens that's just the kind of hero I can be sometimes;



Also, I've discovered that Colin Meloy of the Decemberists recorded an entire album of Morrissey covers. And it's public domain now, and available as a free download at the Internet Archive. And it's pretty good, I think. I could only find one clip on YouTube of Colin performing one of these, though; here.

EDIT: Incidentally, Morrissey's first name is not Paul. It's Steven. His full name is Steven Patrick Morrissey. And now that's something else you know.

Augh. There's a gardener outside making arrhythmic tapping noises I can't sleep around even though I'm strornry sleepy. I'm currently blasting Prince and the Revolution in a puerile attempt to annoy the gardener right back. I don't think it's working.

Thinking right now feels like trying to puncture a granite block with a butter knife. And to-day was yet another day where I had all sorts of plans.

Oh. I think he's stopped . . . more later . . . PERHAPS.

Finally a decent episode of The Colbert Report. It's been too long.

You know, I think the dichotomy of the Democratic presidential race is well illustrated by the images that come up on the first couple pages of Google image searches for the candidates. Here's a signifying Obama;



And a Clinton;



Any moment I expect Hilary to ask Barack, "Why so serious?"

I have to say, Hilary's rhetoric's been downright obnoxious lately. I think I'm tipping more towards Obama lately, though I don't think he's quite Superman. Aquaman, maybe.

I'm still tapping away at A History of a Fake World. I made some decent progress on Tuesday. Four thousand years down, four thousand to go. I keep writing and rewriting the first script of the comic in my head. It oughta be damn near perfect by the time I'm done. Of course, I'll be really irritated if it's not . . .

You may've heard Gary Gygax has died.



Gods, I miss playing Dungeons & Dragons.

Here's Elvis Costello's Imperial Bedroom for Moira (and for anyone else who wants it).

1. Beyond Belief
2. Tears Before Bedtime
3. Shabby Doll
4. The Long Honeymoon
5. Man Out of Time
6. Almost Blue
7. . . . And In Every Home
8. The Loved Ones
9. Human Hands
10. Kid About It
11. Little Savage
12. Boy with a Problem
13. Pidgin English
14. You Little Fool
15. Town Cryer

As a bonus, here's a nice version of "Shabby Doll" I came across featuring Fiona Apple;



Elsewhere in the music world, I've been following in Jim Emerson's blog the ongoing saga of the Once DVD cover's crapification. The latest post on the subject features quotes from Glen Hansard (one of the film's stars) ranting about it at Pitchfork. The Emerson blog has the photo comparison, though, where you can see the hilarious, seximus maximus thunder thighs someone apparently thought Hansard needed for the DVD to sell.

Hansard takes a moment to give justified props to Criterion DVD art; "It's the opposite of what someone like Criterion would do. They create wonderful art. With a Criterion DVD, you just want to buy it for the box. They do it right."

And here's dessert;

Yes, I'm really busy to-day, but I'm eating breakfast--oatmeal, which seems to take forever to eat. Chris Walsh posted a great Star Wars, Saul Bass opening sequence parody, so I'm taking this flimsy excuse to post this actual Saul Bass opening;

I have about a million different things I want to do to-day, plus a paper I need to work on for class. So here's a video.

I really can't be a self-respecting Morrissey fan without posting this song at least once. Robyn quoted Anton Chigurh the other day; "Now is not a time." All I could think was, "How Soon is Now?"

I uploaded Elvis Costello's My Aim is True for Moira, so I figured I might as well share them with the rest of you. "Once upon a time, I had a little money . . ."

1. Welcome to the Working Week
2. Miracle Man
3. No Dancing
4. Blame It on Cain
5. Alison
6. Sneaky Feelings
7. (The Angels Wanna Wear My) Red Shoes
8. Less Than Zero
9. Mystery Dance
10. Pay It Back
11. I'm Not Angry
12. Waiting for the End of the World
13. Watching the Detectives

Nothing much to report about yesterday. Maids showed up early, so I ended up with only about four hours of sleep, and I went through the day awake but useless, like a running car motor on blocks.

I read part of Caitlin R. Kiernan's Sirenia Digest. The first story, "Beatification", is a nice story about a strange sexual ritual. It's followed by the first chapter from Caitlin's upcoming book, Joey LaFaye. I've only read part of the chapter so far, but I've found it oddly familiar. In tone and in many of the opinions expressed, it rather closely resembles Caitlin's Live Journal. Most interestingly, perhaps, in a complaint regarding people who use their blogs or Live Journals to vent about their personal lives, or, as Caitlin puts it in her Live Journal profile's list of "Dislikes"; "people who whine on lj".

I can't say I feel a similar disgust towards such people (I'm often enough such a person myself), though I can understand the attitude because I did feel the same way for a while. I think my feelings were mainly based on remembering revealing posts I'd made that were cathartic at the time, but which made me feel somehow vulnerable later, not only for the personal information I revealed but also because of opinions expressed in the heat of anger or sadness that I no longer held. So I would look upon people who continued to make such posts as being irresponsible or immature.

But now I'm slightly ashamed of having felt that way. It seems a rather arrogant, or maybe anti-organic, point of view to have about something like a blog, where the frequency of posts makes consistency of opinion impossible if you're a normal sentient creature who changes over time. And why, really, would I want to portray myself as someone who never cries over a broken heart? Who am I helping? People who don't want to deal with sympathy they might feel for my troubles. Republicans, in other words.

There's something to be said for avoiding personal attacks against former friends. It would make a friendship difficult to mend if public documents of personal disputes remain. On the other hand, I've always had a low view of relationships whose health depended on sweeping information under the rug. In my experience, if issues aren't dealt with straight, they tend to seep up from under the rug and hurt things even worse. And I also prefer not to let strangers influence my decisions. If an uninvolved party is upset by an apparent contradiction in opinion I've expressed, it doesn't concern me unless they can provide a solid argument.

Mainly, though, I don't think the phenomenon of people treating their blogs as confessionals is so much a problem of people needing attention as it is a problem with a listener deficit. It's nice to be able to talk to someone like the mass, quiet, audience for whom you can't possibly hope to edit your statement to accommodate differing opinions regarding components of a story or argument, so you largely don't bother. It's liberating, and at a sort of atomic level, it is nice to get that attention. Why not? We all need it; I think it's silly not to admit it.

Anyway, I think I like Joey LaFaye so far, but then, I like Caitlin's Live Journal. I must, since I still read it despite the fact that she's banned me from commenting on it.

I guess I'll get back to history-writing to-day. I better go to the grocery store, though, since a lot of food seems to have disappeared rather suddenly . . .