Since I haven't felt much in the way of a creative urge in, oh, several fucking months, and when I do I can't follow through to save my life, I've decided I need something else to do with myself. Unfortunately, since time travel, mastering Chinese overnight, and/or becoming the world's best sniper are out of the question, I have no idea what that something else should be. Suggestions would be welcome, if I didn't suspect that they'd be almost useless.
Good thing there's always the old standby: comic books. Life, you ridiculous noun, meet your new best friend, the adjective Vicarious.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Every little thing helps.
While I don't have all the details just yet, I learned today that Dr. Long Ghost's biopsy revealed that he does not have cancer. Sweet blessed god(s), talk about good news. I'll find out more when I pick him up from the vet tomorrow.
It's not only the good news about Oliver's health that's got me feeling more positive these days. Last week- yes, xenisucks.com readers, I know how well those two words serve to diminish any sense of authority I might otherwise have- I started doing yoga. It's very much the kind of modern, feel-good, suburbanite-friendly yoga, but I don't care. It's a good introduction to what I hope becomes a regular part of my daily routine, and I actually do feel better. As everyone knows, I'm a lazy dude, adverse to many things that require time and/or effort, but I can manage twenty minutes a day on top of my regular strollin' around the neighborhood (which I'll do more of once the weather grows warmer). I've been pretty good about reducing my booze intake- not so good at quitting smoking, alas- and it seems like a natural progression to get some decent exercise as long as it doesn't feel like exercise. Going vegetarian almost a year ago was the first step in the right direction, i.e. being a conscientious, healthier, more relaxed corpse. Here's hoping that yoga will get me a little further down that road. Maybe one day I'll be able to touch my toes without my lower back shrieking in pain.
Credit where credit's due: I owe my introduction to yoga (holy shit, I just found myself looking forward to it tomorrow morning) to Dave. Merci beaucoup, monsieur.
Lessee, what else? The ever-excellent Rachel sent me a bottle of shou wu chih. I finished Lawrence Sutin's biography of Aleister Crowley today. They put a computer in the proofreaders' pseudo-office at work, so I'm even more isolated from people than I was before- thankfully. The weather's been gorgeous lately, so much so that I'm reluctant to check the forecast out of fear of jinxing it. Mucho Brant Bjork vinyl should be arriving shortly. Dave bought a teapot, so I've been drinking tons of pu erh the last few days. Asgard is shaping up slowly but surely. Writing is as frustrating as ever, but I'm working on changing that. I've found all manners of things to burn, especially dragon's blood and Solomon's Seal, that please the olfactory glands and clear the mind. On top of it all, I'm glad to be writing here again.
Yeah, life is all right. Hope y'all can say the same.
Love always,
D.A.S.
P.S. I know it's a little late, but happy birthday, Jen! Get well soon, and please forgive me for not calling or writing lately.
It's not only the good news about Oliver's health that's got me feeling more positive these days. Last week- yes, xenisucks.com readers, I know how well those two words serve to diminish any sense of authority I might otherwise have- I started doing yoga. It's very much the kind of modern, feel-good, suburbanite-friendly yoga, but I don't care. It's a good introduction to what I hope becomes a regular part of my daily routine, and I actually do feel better. As everyone knows, I'm a lazy dude, adverse to many things that require time and/or effort, but I can manage twenty minutes a day on top of my regular strollin' around the neighborhood (which I'll do more of once the weather grows warmer). I've been pretty good about reducing my booze intake- not so good at quitting smoking, alas- and it seems like a natural progression to get some decent exercise as long as it doesn't feel like exercise. Going vegetarian almost a year ago was the first step in the right direction, i.e. being a conscientious, healthier, more relaxed corpse. Here's hoping that yoga will get me a little further down that road. Maybe one day I'll be able to touch my toes without my lower back shrieking in pain.
Credit where credit's due: I owe my introduction to yoga (holy shit, I just found myself looking forward to it tomorrow morning) to Dave. Merci beaucoup, monsieur.
Lessee, what else? The ever-excellent Rachel sent me a bottle of shou wu chih. I finished Lawrence Sutin's biography of Aleister Crowley today. They put a computer in the proofreaders' pseudo-office at work, so I'm even more isolated from people than I was before- thankfully. The weather's been gorgeous lately, so much so that I'm reluctant to check the forecast out of fear of jinxing it. Mucho Brant Bjork vinyl should be arriving shortly. Dave bought a teapot, so I've been drinking tons of pu erh the last few days. Asgard is shaping up slowly but surely. Writing is as frustrating as ever, but I'm working on changing that. I've found all manners of things to burn, especially dragon's blood and Solomon's Seal, that please the olfactory glands and clear the mind. On top of it all, I'm glad to be writing here again.
Yeah, life is all right. Hope y'all can say the same.
Love always,
D.A.S.
P.S. I know it's a little late, but happy birthday, Jen! Get well soon, and please forgive me for not calling or writing lately.
Friday, February 02, 2007
Como andas, D.A.?
Well, then. Looks like I owe what few readers I have an apology for my protracted absence. Simply put, I haven't really felt like writing lately. Sometimes writing stuff other than fiction or (bad) poetry is a reasonable substitute, but such hasn't been the case in 2007.
So, let's play catch-up, shall we? Como andas, D.A.?
-I moved. In early January the house in front of my former, rather troglodytic residence was vacated, and Dave and I jumped at the opportunity to rent it. Given the new place's amenities (a porch, gas heat and a gas range, a big kitchen, twice the square footage, hardwood floors, an abundance of windows), the increase in rent is well worth it- and believe me, the increase wasn't too hard to swallow. Odds are you've already seen the new place, which Dave and I have christened Asgard, but if you haven't, swing by sometime.
-I'm single. Wait, that's not news, that's the status quo.
-I have been writing, just a bit. Unheimlich merits an occasional thought, and I'll probably extensively revise Critical Hits over the course of the year, but there's not much in the way of new fiction on the horizon.
-Good ferret news: Tim Finnegan is doing extremely well. His fur's grown back, he's put on a lot of weight, and it seems that the medication for his faulty adrenal gland will continue to work well. He's also taken to sleeping in my bed ever since I moved into the new house. It's hard to kick him out.
-Bad ferret news: Dr. Oliver Long Ghost is dangerously ill, and the vet suspects he may have cancer. He's going to perform a biopsy on Monday so that he can make a proper diagnosis. It goes without saying that I'm worried sick about ol' Longtoast. Everything else this month has seemingly gone in my favor, or at least just been on the weird side of bad, except for Oliver's rapid decline. I hope he pulls through, but- and I hate to say it- I've got to remain realistic. Poor fatty.
-Miscellanea: Been catching up on my reading. Haven't been going out much (and don't really want to, either). Cutting back my drinking has gone pretty well, though I'm still smoking cigarettes. I also can't wait for warmer, sunnier weather.
And that, dear reader, is it for now. I'll try to start writing more often, but in the meantime, happy birthday to James Joyce, and y'all have a good Imbolc and Groundhog Day.
So, let's play catch-up, shall we? Como andas, D.A.?
-I moved. In early January the house in front of my former, rather troglodytic residence was vacated, and Dave and I jumped at the opportunity to rent it. Given the new place's amenities (a porch, gas heat and a gas range, a big kitchen, twice the square footage, hardwood floors, an abundance of windows), the increase in rent is well worth it- and believe me, the increase wasn't too hard to swallow. Odds are you've already seen the new place, which Dave and I have christened Asgard, but if you haven't, swing by sometime.
-I'm single. Wait, that's not news, that's the status quo.
-I have been writing, just a bit. Unheimlich merits an occasional thought, and I'll probably extensively revise Critical Hits over the course of the year, but there's not much in the way of new fiction on the horizon.
-Good ferret news: Tim Finnegan is doing extremely well. His fur's grown back, he's put on a lot of weight, and it seems that the medication for his faulty adrenal gland will continue to work well. He's also taken to sleeping in my bed ever since I moved into the new house. It's hard to kick him out.
-Bad ferret news: Dr. Oliver Long Ghost is dangerously ill, and the vet suspects he may have cancer. He's going to perform a biopsy on Monday so that he can make a proper diagnosis. It goes without saying that I'm worried sick about ol' Longtoast. Everything else this month has seemingly gone in my favor, or at least just been on the weird side of bad, except for Oliver's rapid decline. I hope he pulls through, but- and I hate to say it- I've got to remain realistic. Poor fatty.
-Miscellanea: Been catching up on my reading. Haven't been going out much (and don't really want to, either). Cutting back my drinking has gone pretty well, though I'm still smoking cigarettes. I also can't wait for warmer, sunnier weather.
And that, dear reader, is it for now. I'll try to start writing more often, but in the meantime, happy birthday to James Joyce, and y'all have a good Imbolc and Groundhog Day.
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