?

Log in

* Beginning to prepare for a our week-long roadtrip to AZ next week. Going down to see Kidling1! I'm both looking very forward to this and dreading some of it. The drive can get brutal. We are poring over the atlas...trying to find alternate routes to spice it up. Kidling2 and his gf are going to stay at the house and keep the dogs company. I'm hoping he will also finish painting the kitchen. It's supposed to rain...so the weather may not be the best for curing paint.

* I have found a house up on the Oregon coast...and D says that if it's still on the market in November...we can go take a look!! Still very, very tentative but I'm excited. My aunt had a beach house on the Atlantic when I was a child. I can't even really begin to IMAGINE owning a beach house. It's beyond all my wildest life fantasies.

* One life lesson I am reluctantly learning is that LIFE IS SHORT. This is such a platitude and yeah yeah short...live for today blah blah....but there is this deeply wounding TRUTH under that glibism. LIFE IS FUCKING SHORT. There is no "right" time to do any thing, not a god-damned thing. And if you choose that route, you will regret it. To the depths of your shaking soul.

* Still mad mad madly in love with Matt Bell. Reading his collection of short stories now and they are all hurting my feelings. SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO amazing. My feelings HURT. Also reading the Jungian Marie Von-Franz's On Dreams & Death and of course that is even more amazing than Bell's insane prose. So, it's all crazy here right now.

* And thinking about my own writing. Hades has just spied his Persephone, modern dress -

His dreams had always been nightmares. White and grey illuminated horrorscapes. Endless landscapes littered with hybrid human machines. Churning seas of black bloodied desecration, body parts washing ashore upon a beach of pulverized bone. Laboratory experiments wrought on God's helpless creatures by maddened scientists with steel fingerbones wearing sadistic lab coats for skinsuits. Miscarried fetuses, mouths gaping in grief, eyes fastened on the witnesses to their gasping endings. These were his dreams before that morning. After that morning, he only dreamt of her. But then his sleeping dreams migrated into darkling daydreams; her beautiful face and feminine figure distorted through the twisted torture chamber that was his unconscious.

He stood on the treeline edge of the meadow, the morning sun tricking the mind with its rising. The earth spinning beneath his booted feet. Summer very nearly spent, lying sated in the long grasses. But that was just a poetic turn inside his mind as he watched her undress and pose for the camera. When Muth hiked back down to his car for the bottled Pelligrino and a different light diffuser, she laid her body down, in the long dried grasses and the clodded dirt. Her skin was tanned golden and the silver deflector had been casting her in too cold a reflection. He stood, breath held, daylight voyeur of her blonde hair, the sun-bleached hairs on her arm and the nape of her neck when she lifted the waist-length hair with both hands, the blue eyes that matched the color of the sky. He had to purse his lips to keep from panting.

He felt overwhelmed. By an emotion he was not familiar with and therefore could not name. His body told him it was lust, but his heart had bowed down, supplicated itself before this goddess. He knew there must be a price for spying the unaware nude virgin, but he was willing to pay it, all of it, with blood and bone and semen. With reverence and worship. He wanted to sacrifice, to make offerings, to fall prostrated.

She did not see him. At first.



* THIS is my favourite cut on the album....and has moved into my top 5 fave songs of Nick's ever. It is a mature and studied version of the intense young Nick songs which drew me to him decades ago. I've always wanted some Nick lyrics tattooed...and now I'm mulling over some lines here with Saturn and her rings?



This is the moment
This is exactly what she was born to be
And this is what she does
And this is what she is
* ashbet - yes, yes, yes!!!! Watch The Kettering Incident!!! *flails* This show had me falling off the sofa last night. I did not see THAT coming and I should have! All of you who loved Stranger Things are going to go nutballs for this adult version. Watch it!!!!

* Autumn has FINALLY arrived and I hope it brings me some renewed passion for the things I once was so passionate about but which this long summer seems to have stripped me of. Fall and Winter are my months. I am already waking from a dream-filled sleep at five, and that's something I want to continue...get up, write for a few hours until my boss wakes up, and then move into the day. I feel grey. It's a strange sensation for me especially in this long-running way.

* D brought me home an offering this week. It is....disturbing....so behind a cut. Trigger warning for sad tragic dead creatures.

dead things that sufferedCollapse )
* Anyone else watching or have watched The Kettering Incident? We are LOVING it. But I have this huge soft gaping hole spot in my heart for all things Australian. This is set in Tasmania. Who would like to repat with me? Or New Zealand? I watch endless episodes of Annabelle Langbein just for the scenery and the swooniness of her kiwi. I was bound and determined as a young person to move down under or save 100K and apply for New Zealand citizenship. It consumed me for several years. I had a long-term Aussie bf named, of course, Kim. I was in love with all things Down Under. Still am, I suppose. Anyway, try The Kettering Incident. I'm thinking that those who liked Stranger Things will like this.

And here's a very funny joke -

The scene is North Africa, at the height of fierce battles in World War II. An Australian junior officer meets a British senior officer on the front line. “Good morning young man,” says the British officer, “Did you come here to die?”

“No Sir,” replies the young Australian, “I came yesterday”.

* Consumed with Cave as of late. It's almost his birthday. Enjoy this old picture -


The main chara in The Kettering Incident is always wearing a Saints t-shirt. Nick and Chris recorded a song together many moons ago. When it was suggested they make an accompanying video, Nick asked, what's on MTV? What do Americans like? And the answer was T&A. So here ya go -

* I deactivated my FB. I HAD to, you see, lest I drive to someone's house and beat them senseless. And that "someone" more often than not is my bestie. The problematic issues in her personality which can be shrugged off in person, are somehow amplified to absolutely unbearable decibels online. Can anyone explain this phenom? Anywho, I left FB about five weeks ago. However, yesterday, my curiousity could not be contained and I wanted to see how low this community would sink in relation to my neighbor's death. OMFG. What has happened to us???? If anyone thinks that FaceBook is anything more than a showcase for the stupid and the vile...well, that person might be part of the problem. Eh? So, I reactivate and instantly my feed is overflowing with truly inappropriate posts about my neighbor, the ambulance, death on the hill, and even the freakin' pastor eulogizing her in the local MARIJUANIA HILLYBILLY GROWERS CHAT PAGE. This is not good. This woman was a church-going, god-fearing, older life-long resident, mother of five policemen, and married to one of the Church elders....WHAT ON EARTH IS WRONG WITH THIS PASTOR???? The despicable chat page is full of the insane pot bust (complete with chippers and dogs and armed swat guys and jail time) and suddenly here is this eulogy which in and of itself is a piece of horrific crap....AND THEN, my bff posts that she saw my neighbor being put in the ambulance "and she didn't look good". Seriously? And in the midst of this "update" a relative responds with "oh my god, my aunt is dead?!". And I just clicked out and deactivated AGAIN and ran around my house stabbing random things.

* The sexton is returning from three states away to begin the burial proceedings.

* D has been itching for a major landscaping change around the house. Driving up to the mountain lake the other day cemented his resolve. I'm still mulling it over. But...he wants to rip it all out. Period, end of story. Mmmmm. This is and is not a ton of plants and hardscape. Some of the plantings are about thirty years old, some "feel" natural to the woods and the elevation, and some don't. Most of the landscaping struggles because of the clay soil and the seasons. I get his vision - sparse, natural forest. We did attempt this about four years ago when we opted to let the lawn go wild, go to meadow. It failed. So, that part of the inneryard is a mess. We also attempted to let the blackberries grow wild(er) and again, failure. Plus it drew the deer. We also have river rock flower beds and rock paths and lots of dirt where the dogs have destroyed the ground cover. D wants all of the domestic plantings ripped out, the conifers limbed up, the paths relined, and bark and pea gravel put down. He also wants more hardscaping and a fire pit. For colour and bloom, he says pots. And I think he's right. The potted plants grow fabulously well and are healthy. Plants in this poor soil struggle and are stunted in comparison to their potted brethren. So....it's a new project.

* Working on my story/character arcs and I have had to come to the place in which I admit that everything I write is a Tragedy. For some reason, that has staggred me a bit.

* For an "unlistenable" album, I can't listen to anything else -


she faltered by the wayside



* We drove up to a moderately-sized lake the other day. I'm in longing for some sort of second home, a retreat. I know, I know, I already live in the deep woods...and I'm not sure where this NEED is arising....but, I'm feeling it. So, a lake within an easy few hours' drive....but, alas, it wasn't for us. I want the ocean. I have penciled in an Oregon coast house-hunting trip for next spring. Or maybe mid-November....

Anyway, we did find a wonderful OLD teensy town on the tip of the lake and in that small enclave was this amazing little cemetery. A few photos under the cut and the rest are over at mourning_souls.



Read more...Collapse )

* Sad news this morning about my neighbor passing away yesterday. I just spent two hours with her and her husband two weeks ago. We are currently trying to collect more vintage photographs for the Historical Society. She had such great photos and stories! Her family has been here since the early 1900's. When my friend and I left, we agreed we would have to rertun with the video camera and conduct a small interview. She and her husband were asking us how they can rent the association building for their 60th wedding anniversary in December.

* Yes *ahem* I am still doing some volunteering for the community.

* I think....we are going to take the plunge and get satellite tv. Drop netflix and see if there isn't somefuckenthing we can watch on 158 channels. The cost is giving us pause....but we currently get four channels and three of those are PBS and it's just not enough. Netflix is a wasteland. What flisters have cable/satellite and are happy with the investment?

* I am writing! I feel good about separating my two stories and things are flowing much more smoothly now.

* Kidling1 has been asked to volunteer as the ASL guide at the Frank Lloyd Wright house! I think that's very cool.
* My endless endless listening to The Skeleton Tree. I think I get it now. It is a mirror draped in black. The mourning. But it isn't about Arthur, or necessarily Cave's own grief but rather his NEED. The need that his insane heartache has wrought, inside and outside of him. I think....the album is about Suzie. The mother of the dead child. And how Cave needs her. His heart is broken, but more, his heart is broken for her. He accepts that Arthur has fallen away from them, he accepts that. But the aftermath of that falling is what he cannot accept. The phone ringing, the line of purring cars, the rain, the empty hands, the paralysis, the inability to breathe through the pain, the need to vomit in the sink and wipe your mouth and carry on. The world turns. With no way in which to care for those left behind, the bereaved. And he bears the responsiblity of bringing this life into the spinning world, the world that can spin you out of it.

It's terrible to see humility on his face. He's always been private and fierce and incredibly above it all. A true rock god.

I hope that the film and this album make him a few years' worth of salary. I really do.



* Writing has slowed down because I'm back in planning mode. I've got Scrivener open with this "new" story and trying to storyboard it, and arc it, and flesh out the characters. I'm focusing now on fictionalizing the Giger/Lo love affair and using Persephone/Hades as the cloaking metaphor. It feels good to map it out, it feels bad to not be coaxing any words onto the page. I'm also toying around with my crazy assed witch baby story. I want to send that off to one of these dark 'zines.

* My mother wants to fly to upstate New York for Christmas. I'm not sure what my response should be to that. I don't know if my father could even attempt it. But...it's strange to think we might be doing the holiday alone.
* Yesterday was my father and Kidling1's shared birthdays. Today my folks are coming up here to celebrate, but alas, S is far away in Arizona and I have to wait until October to smoosh her. Skype and Snapchat are modern things of wonder. I often imes, with her so far away, remember back to my young adulthood when my family were all in the UK and I was here and 3,700 miles was not a bridgeable distance. Snail mail and late night long distance phone calls. /rocking chair reminiscence

* So, because of today's 'que the pool is heated! Deliciousness! I got up early early and swam for an hour and it was just decadent. I wish all of you could jump in, too! Another summer has passed us by and we are only two trees down in relation to putting in a solar pool heater. NEXT YEAR, we are promising ourselves.

* Seriously considering a full leg tattoo piece to add to my Durer angels, more Durer angels and woodcut-style background...and maybe angelic script? I want a modified Klimt Death on the other leg....I need to go down the hill and talk to my guy.

* Listening pretty much non-stop to the new Cave. It's...unlistenable. At least without crying and becoming utterly panicked and lost. Even with his reassurance that "It's alright now", it really just isn't. At all. He's lost his faith. And yet, this work is so very him. It's all bewildering and terrible. I'm not able to coherently think about this album. But perhaps it isn't about that. It's about FEELING.



Jesus Fucking Christ.

There's just too much pain in the world. Peace is over for this man.

RIP Arthur Cave.

Nothing really matters. O' that night we wrecked like a train. Nothing really matters anymore.

*weeps*

a goal without a plan is just a wish

* Trying to hold the indifference at bay. You know, that emotion that overcomes those of us who don't grapple with depression when things get rough and dark? We just sort of become zombie-like? Deadly quiet and removed. Trying to not go there.

* It cooled off here over Labor Day weekend and even though it's warming back up down in the valley....I think that we might have tipped over into the beginnings of fall up here. The nights are COOL and the days very comfortable. I doubt we'll see the high hot temps again this year. We have ZERO wood in because we turned the wood shed into a potting shed and the mule shed into the wood shed and now we need to get the cords stacked in the new wood shed.



Still a work-in-progress. I need to prime and paint all the rafters the same red as the roof and then finish staining the rest of the small shed black. Also, move the wood jeep and put the potting bench in there. The black has mellowed over the past few weeks and now I'm back to mulling over doing all the buildings black next year.

I've also, FINALLY, decided that we are going to replace all the floors downstairs. So, there's that. And that's a good thing.

* I stopped reading. I had to, it was making me a crazed myopic inward-staring fool. Of course, I now have found my Beloved in Matt Bell, and I have his entire small ouevre on order and WILL devour it when it comes, but that will be it for a while. But I did read a metric tonne of books in the last month. Just last week I read Holly Black's The Poison Eaters *no*, Jeffrey Eugenides's Virgin Suicides *yes*, the Matt Bell *genuflect*, and a bunch of Persephone/Hades for children.

* Trying to find a new TV show. We've begun Witches: A Century of Murder. So far so aggravatingly good. Also, netflix has Destiny streaming right now and you should watch that.

* Inspired by the Witches, I have begun a short story -

darkness is hereCollapse )

* I have also been writing in earnest on my modern myth(s). Yes, plural. After much internal wrestling and external time-wasting, I have accepted that these are two very distinct stories. One is a long short piece and the other is perhaps a novella? So, I'm back into the dregs with that. It's good. It's better. I'm becoming disciplined and that's helping anchor my days.

* How are you all?!
* Is it obvious, I wonder, that I'm deflated? All the sticky adhesions inside of me, making me flatter and flatter. I'm not sure how to open myself back up again. I've been banking on this waiting as a choice, a phase. But it's failing me. I did begin "writing" again last week. If you can call it that. Wrote a scene for my Persephone/Hades. Bad YA at best, total drivel at worst. It seems I've lost that particular spark. I've looked back over my Idol entries and perhaps I said everything I wanted to say in regards to those two? Not sure. Anyway, I'm NOT giving up....just disgusted with myself. And still reading like I'm getting paid for it.

* I think part of my current "block" with writing is that I've seen The Holy Grail of words....and my writing seems pointless now. OMFG. It's disheartening, of course, but also an amazing experience in that this is the book that I've been waiting for. For YEARS. Matt Bell - In The House Upon the Dirt Between the Lake and The Woods. This is dark, dark, dark, heady lyrical DARK stuff. I'm not kidding, so don't consider this a rec unless you are drawn to early Cormac McCarthy, Michael Gira, and Nick Cave. But it's so glorious. I can only read it in short, sharp bursts before I need to leap up and run around my house tearing at my hair and beating my chest.

* Waiting with sadness and trepidation for Nick Cave's new album being released this coming Friday. After the tragedy -