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tinhuvielartanisI'm back from taking care of Davis and Kathleen's three cats, Eclipse, Lucy, and the always Mighty Marble, the Astrocat. I always fall prey to a combination of comfort and sadness when I go to their house. So many lovely memories...and so many devastating ones. There are some days that I'm wholly unsure I will ever be purged of the madness that overcame me when I met the Harpist. I spent my last vestiges of optimism and the ability to walk under the warm sun, loving him. That was in 1997-1998. After the dissolution, I walked into the Blessed Dark, and I have never looked back, except with a certain regret.
But I think my soul is better for it. I don't feel natural walking a path of light. It doesn't seem sincere. The monsters I harbour are often my only comfort now, and I think that's the way it should be for me. And, if events had turned out differently during that time of Celtic Wonderment, I would not be where I am today.
Everything is connected. Everything means something. Everything is important in the forging of a spirit.
On my way back from taking care of the kitties, I swung by the ABC store to replenish my Irish Creme in order to make the coffee that much tastier. The woman asked for my ID. When I showed it to her, she did a double take and said "I don't believe it."
I turn 45 years old in five months.
This pleased me to no end. I told her that you reach a point in your life when being carded is actually a good thing. She laughed and told me she agreed 100%.
Sometimes, it's just damned groovy being a Vampire. Actually, it's the Evans gene. It was passed on to Aunt Josephine, who looks like she's in her sixties, when she's actually closer to ninety now. Aunt Tudi also had the gene. When she passed, she looked to be in her forties, but she was 67. I am the last Evans to carry this trait, as our numbers have dwindled and no one in my generation has the fortune of the Evans Vampire Chromosome.
I don't know how old the woman thought I was, but she obviously thought I was much younger than 44. Actually...you have to be 21 or older to buy alcohol, so I figure she thought I was near enough to 21 to hold me in suspicion.
Speaking of Vampires, I posted this picture of Barry and Finn on Facebook, 'cos someone was keen on seeing it and I figured I'd share with all the Shriek fans. The picture is from 1985. I never knew the date until Vivienne clued me in, in the comments section of the photo. Barry has changed very little from that picture. There are signs of age, yes, but nothing like what it should be for someone who turns 56 in September.
Todd piped up and declared the picture "creepeh." When I private messaged him and told him he'd just called Vivienne's ex-husband creepeh, he swiftly replied with "Oh dear. Damn it." I can't stop laughing. HAHA, he just wrote me back and said "I really need to use judgement, eh? I never want to be a dick." ::dies laughing::
Publicly, I told him I would kill him off in my next novel but, since I'd already done it once (his anchored character Paine Bryerson was the only one to die in The Chalice, and he did so at the hands of Cadmus Pariah, which was intentionally ironic, considering his disdain for, as he calls them, "Screechback"), I'd have to think of something equally as vile to make him miserable.
I love Todd. He always makes me cackle.
I have another buttload of Rothian photos to display here. The people on Tumblr are insane when it comes to posting pictures of The Roth. And all of them are so damned lovely.
I now have over 200 pictures of Tim Roth. That is ridiculous. I'd be ashamed of myself, but I'm too busy stoking the smouldering fires of my lust.
Watch this space.
For now, I think it's time to either work on the Gethsymonae story, or begin a new one for Cadmus. He's clawing at my brain, demanding attention since the whole Flint debacle.
When Cadmus is out for blood, you either feed him or he feeds himself, at your expense.
I'd give anything to know what Clive Barker would think of Cadmus, since his influence is quite evident on the character.
I guess I'll never know.
But I think my soul is better for it. I don't feel natural walking a path of light. It doesn't seem sincere. The monsters I harbour are often my only comfort now, and I think that's the way it should be for me. And, if events had turned out differently during that time of Celtic Wonderment, I would not be where I am today.
Everything is connected. Everything means something. Everything is important in the forging of a spirit.
On my way back from taking care of the kitties, I swung by the ABC store to replenish my Irish Creme in order to make the coffee that much tastier. The woman asked for my ID. When I showed it to her, she did a double take and said "I don't believe it."
I turn 45 years old in five months.
This pleased me to no end. I told her that you reach a point in your life when being carded is actually a good thing. She laughed and told me she agreed 100%.
Sometimes, it's just damned groovy being a Vampire. Actually, it's the Evans gene. It was passed on to Aunt Josephine, who looks like she's in her sixties, when she's actually closer to ninety now. Aunt Tudi also had the gene. When she passed, she looked to be in her forties, but she was 67. I am the last Evans to carry this trait, as our numbers have dwindled and no one in my generation has the fortune of the Evans Vampire Chromosome.
I don't know how old the woman thought I was, but she obviously thought I was much younger than 44. Actually...you have to be 21 or older to buy alcohol, so I figure she thought I was near enough to 21 to hold me in suspicion.
Speaking of Vampires, I posted this picture of Barry and Finn on Facebook, 'cos someone was keen on seeing it and I figured I'd share with all the Shriek fans. The picture is from 1985. I never knew the date until Vivienne clued me in, in the comments section of the photo. Barry has changed very little from that picture. There are signs of age, yes, but nothing like what it should be for someone who turns 56 in September.
Todd piped up and declared the picture "creepeh." When I private messaged him and told him he'd just called Vivienne's ex-husband creepeh, he swiftly replied with "Oh dear. Damn it." I can't stop laughing. HAHA, he just wrote me back and said "I really need to use judgement, eh? I never want to be a dick." ::dies laughing::
Publicly, I told him I would kill him off in my next novel but, since I'd already done it once (his anchored character Paine Bryerson was the only one to die in The Chalice, and he did so at the hands of Cadmus Pariah, which was intentionally ironic, considering his disdain for, as he calls them, "Screechback"), I'd have to think of something equally as vile to make him miserable.
I love Todd. He always makes me cackle.
I have another buttload of Rothian photos to display here. The people on Tumblr are insane when it comes to posting pictures of The Roth. And all of them are so damned lovely.
I now have over 200 pictures of Tim Roth. That is ridiculous. I'd be ashamed of myself, but I'm too busy stoking the smouldering fires of my lust.
Watch this space.
For now, I think it's time to either work on the Gethsymonae story, or begin a new one for Cadmus. He's clawing at my brain, demanding attention since the whole Flint debacle.
When Cadmus is out for blood, you either feed him or he feeds himself, at your expense.
I'd give anything to know what Clive Barker would think of Cadmus, since his influence is quite evident on the character.
I guess I'll never know.
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no subject
Date: 2012-04-09 05:23 pm (UTC)I know exactly what you're talking about.