The weather (or lack thereof) is starting to get to me. Everything is just so maddeningly static. Are you familiar with the doldrums, dear reader, in it’s original nautical definition? Of course you are, dear reader…sorry, sometimes I forget to whom I’m talking. Anyway, that is what this feels like…but I feel it physically, and even more psychologically. Just like a sailing ship stuck on windless waters, so am I just sitting here, helpless to move in any direction until conditions in the atmosphere change. It’s like living on the set of “The Fall of the House of Usher.” Or a Beckett play.
Anyway, I’m going to try to power through and get a couple of pages down, uncooperative universe be damned.

N.P.: “Please Mr. Gravedigger” – David Bowie

A weird day followed closely by a weird night. Not good weird or bad weird…just kinda weird. I did see a meteor tonight, which was simply bitchin’. It appeared when it entered the atmosphere and then seemed to hang there. I looked directly at it for several seconds before it suddenly broke up and disappeared. Also, I was going 92 mph.
Anyway, I’m gonna see if I can knock out a few profound truths in these goddamn books, and then maybe sleep.

N.P.: “Love Like Blood” – Dool

Well, today was rather a domestic day. No idea how normal people do that every day. Just dreadful. There were both whiskey and wings, though, which ended up being a day-saver.

N.P.: “The Devil (Didn’t Make Me Do It)” – Twin Temple

Interactions with people are becoming increasingly unrewarding. And I’m pretty sure they need these interactions more than I do.
What this night needs is a nice medically induced coma.

N.P.: “Bed of Thorns” – Gary Numan

Hats off to Mr. David Ostrum of Paola, Kansas, who, after being dragged through the corrupt family court system, petitioned the judge to grant him a trial by combat. Fuckin’ right. He wants to figure out custody and visitation, as well as who the hell is going to pay the property tax by swordfighting his ex-wife and her attorney. He requested the court grant 12 weeks for him to procure katana and wakizashi swords, and let his wife and her attorney do whatever it was they’re gonna do between now and the day Mr. Ostrum runs them both through. This fucking warms my heart.
“To this day, trial by combat has never been explicitly banned or restricted as a right in these United States,” said Mr. Ostrum, going on to say that trial by combat had been used “as recently as 1818 in British Court.”
It’s not going to happen, but holy shit I wish it would. Can you imagine?
“Baby, you know I love you, but I want a divorce, half your shit, and I’m taking the kids.”
“Pistols at dawn, bitch.”
What a wonderful world it would be.

N.P.: “No One Ever Walked On Water” – Gone is Gone

There is no way I’m going to let myself get old. Not like what I had to deal with today. Jesus. Can’t do it. If I make it to 65 (which is relatively unlikely), I’ll probably point the Panty Dropper south and head to the border where I’ll get in some ridiculous gun battle with los federales, and go out in a pointless and clearly avoidable blaze of glory.
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There is one aspect of research I’ve been doing for the slasher novel that I rather enjoy more than some of the others. At this point, my thinking is, “Well, okay, I probably have this down but…can I really be sure? I should probably do this at least a few more times, just so I can be absolutely certain that I’m getting it right.” Heh. There are times when one must suffer for one’s art, dearest reader, and this is just such a time.

N.P.: “Slice of Life” – Bauhaus

On a bit of a roll, dear reader…tonight may be a late one. Yeah, why not. Pass the desk whiskey. Turn the music up. Way up. Let us drain our pens of bitter ink, dear reader.

N.P.: “No Good” – KALEO

On the verge of something big, dear reader. But no writing got done today. No. Today was spent celebrating the birthday of the Mother of Chaos, my mom. Happy birthday, Mom!

N.P.: “Hyperdrive!” – Reed Reimer, Emory Larson, Devin Townsend

Had a lot of time set aside for writing today, but I ended up resting more than anything. Which is disappointing. Mortality is such a pain in the ass. I did manage to do a bit of work on the book and a couple of other things.

N.P.: “Lay Your Hands On Me” – Peter Gabriel

Got a ludicrous amount done today. Regrettably, none of it was writing. But it all had to be done. So that’s fine. Tomorrow, dear reader…tomorrow is reserved for whiskey, wings, and writing (there may be some of those goings-on tonight (except for the wings)).

N.P.: Hurdy Gurdy Man – Donovan