Pajamas. Watching The Hogfather on the giant television. Stuffed to lethargy with Christmas dinner. Candles flicker. Dying tree perfumes the room with pine. Drinking red wine.
White ground, black & white striped birches, white roofs, serrated tops of black pines jagged against grey sky. No sun today; even the light is filtered of color. Coffee. Another party. Glögg & pastry. I need to shower and start dinner soon. After, we’ll walk in the monochrome world.
Breakfast: julvort french toast with raspberry kvarg and jam. Black coffee. Skiing after, making the most of the light; sun and blue sky tinted pink by permanent sunset. The day vanishes in chores: shopping, cooking, cleaning. Nothing written. Today was the solstice. The shortest day of the year.
Woke up late. Snow shrouded world, air thick with dense white flakes. Coffee in the press. Revising last night’s post. Forgot there’s a party tonight. Showered and dressed. Not enough time to write. ‘Tis the season. I don’t like to write late at night; my thoughts feel like snow.
Brutal Brewing’s ‘Hale to Winter and the Darkness it Brings’. Dark. Something burnt, bitter. Long, hot shower. Lotion. When I ask Em to put it on my back he says, ‘Too bad you can’t reach it yourself.’ I say ‘I can.’ I feel like a lizard in winter. My whole body smells like Christmas.
Standing on the balcony drinking hot coffee in the winter sun. Breath and steam mingle. White frosted branches and red berries of the rowan glitter. Crows busy on the roof.
There were times this summer when I loved you so much I couldn’t breathe. Times I’d lay next to you in bed, afraid to touch you for the pain, and look at your shoulders in the midnight twilight, and wonder how much of you had been eaten, and thinking if you died, I would die too. Not on purpose, but because it would be the end of the world, because without you there would be no world.
Do you remember when you asked me why I write? How I told you I don’t know? I think I might know now.
I think maybe I write to describe being human.
At some point last night the rain changed to thick wet snow and I woke up to everything blanketed in white. Coffee, black, made in the vacuum pot. The pianist on the second floor is practicing. Sunset. The white-bellied clouds turn lavender and blue.
The world is not so dark today.
Naked in bed drinking red wine. The staccato scatter of hard rain on the window panes. A current of Dvorak flows from the living room.
What other people think of you is none of your business.
― Paulo Coelho
Sometimes the little anime pictures on 4chan are eerily appropriate.
A badly written financial self-help book by a now bankrupt guy, who, as best I can tell, made his money peddling financial self-help.
- Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children, Ransom Riggs
- Teipei, Tao Lin
- Rule 34, Charles Stross
- Soon I will be Invincible, Austin Grossman
- (unpublished manuscript)
Kind of like The Road, but happily ever after.
The hunt for a killer spam filter (in second person Scottish).
Hot on the tail of Amazon’s delivery-by-drone announcement, Waterstone’s announced their own future shipping strategy: O.W.L.S.
You are one of the great social commentators of our time.