Rambly entry of Stuff and Things

2002-12-03 - 2:27 a.m.

I think it's that time of year...we all go a little bit crazy. I've been indulging in self-destructive thoughts (not the overt "Hey let's destroy myself!" kind, more the "I'm going to do stuff that isn't necessarily healthy but is socially acceptable and then I'll feel bad about it" kind), Pookie is waffling between utter and complete despair that he will fail all his courses and end up a ruin of a man and feeling so ebuliently happy that he bounces in the same spot. A lot of my favourite diarylanders are not making much sense to me right now, but that's okay, because that's why they're my favourites...

So, I think it's the time of year. Or, it's just one of those waves of insanity that grip large amounts of people, tossing them from pinnacles of despair to depths of delight, making days and nights crazy until everyone is left, bedraggled and confused, on the shore to observe the wreckage.

My next novel, which I've decided to start in January, will be a fantasy that is suitable for publication and may be readable by you folks, and will include many phrases so laden with imagery that you will want to just douse them in oil and light them aflame.

I didn't want to leave the house today, and I mainly only did it because of Pookie. If it weren't for him, sometimes I'm sure that I would be regressing a lot more than I do. My avoidant personality, on occassion, is only kept at bay by his force of will. It's nice to have that. In my turn, I am determined to not let him wallow in self-dislike or self-pity for more than a day at a time.

One of the books I bought to celebrate my writing was Neil Gaiman's "American Gods," and now I'm wondering what's wrong with me: I seem to be left outside of the "greatest" works of my genre's generation.

American Gods is mediocrely written, even though Gaiman is supposed to be, like, the greatest writer ever. I like his comics (er..."graphic novels,") somewhat, but his novels, if this one is any sign, are...bleh.

Tori Amos, another iconic figure, strikes me as equally mediocre. We saw her live a couple of weeks ago, and I felt like I was in the wrong music hall. She wasn't -bad-, really, just...bleh.

Harry Potter moves and the Lord of the Rings movie also left me wondering what happened to art. They are soulless, clumsy reproductions that -look- nice, but have no more art in them than a silkscreened copy of the Mona Lisa. Bleh.

And there's nothing new on television that I like.

I'm enjoying the older things: Tom Baker's Doctor Who, old reruns of The Simpsons, of Roseanne, of Deep Space 9, old movies ("This is Hellhouse,") old books (I need more Dostoevsky!).

Either I need a renewal, or the entertainment world/industry does. I do know that I'm looking for something -good-.

I think I'm going to indulge in a Pride and Prejudice (A&E's miniseries version with Colin "Mmm" Firth) festival all by my lonesome this week.

Cheers,

The Magus

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