Nesa, I just saw ya'd commented on the previous entry. I missed it, when Id check in here (which was/is rare) I didnt look at last month's stuff. therefore, and henceforth, too, I didnt reply.

so I will now. Thanks a million fer yer wellwishes (belated, but great) during the merry season. I hope you had a good one, too. do they do Christmas over there by the sphinx, by the way?


...



I havent been writing any fiction, as tho that's a surprise. and in reality, that statement aint 100% correct; I wrote almost a thousand words a few nights ago, and maybe typed seven-eight hundred yesterday. but the thing is, when I look at what I'd started, it made/makes no sense to me, so I either start something new or simply close-up shop and forgo writing altogether.

such is life.


lets see...random thoughts at this exact moment

its so fucking toasty in here. I got one hell of a fire raging downstairs in the woodheater and its just perfectlty comfortable in here. plus, I got half a spliff and several glasses of jimbeam/coke to finish; prolly wont even need heat directly...

life is a drag. work is a bitch. everything is so sour. I dislike (good word, eh?) winter. dammit, wheres spring? spring means life is good, work is a pleasure, everything is so sweet. go the fuck away snow and wind, gimme tee-shirt temps and breezes that feel like swedish massages on my ass during those long summer nights.

damn I "...dislike..." winter, period

bout done with Tami Hogg's [sp] dust to dust. gritty as hell but a bit on the slow side, Vic is just into Koontz' your heart belongs to me and says he's going entirely too deep with commonplace descriptions. said a swimmingpool at sunset took two pages. sounds like the old Koontz to me.

on the table awaiting perusal are Sandra Brown: unspeakable; Richard Laymon: island; David Golemon: event; Marina Werner: no go the bogeyman.

I always spell boogieman with two ohs. am I wrong for doing that? does spelling a word differently make me an evil person? oh how I suffer pangs of guilt knowing Im nothing but a lie on silent lips; a ghost of my former self entwined in a complex array of steel-like cables holding my real self away and apart from my other real self.

[dont ask, just go w/the flow, k?]


playing chess and maintaining a fire and smoking pot and drinking whiskey and basically enjoying a saturday afternoon.

lta