eternity unpromised

in Light, there a half dozen salvaged alien FTL drives that rely on mutually incompatible theories of the universe and they all work. There's a metaphor in there somewhere.

I was wondering if kefahuchi actually meant anything or if there were people named Kefahuchi out there. I found some songs named for the Kefahuchi Tract, and they sound like it all right, and I found a tumblr with some really cool pictures.


Here is some advice from an artist who's name may or may not be Mandy: never stop making art.
She said that to me particularly after we looked at each others' works (she especially liked the nude mantis-headed woman and the aurora borealis and the collage self-portrait, kaiser Wilhelm II and Ozzy and the bone and the gate of the hierarchs and moonset, she says I should do printmaking), I especially liked a collage and the colors of some abstract floral designs, Allie says a doodle with a house with a bear head and some pigs is the best thing in the notebook and oh, I do not deny that. Allie wants to write movie scripts and she shouldn't stop writing, or she's a different kind of artist, in other words.

And I was so distracted giving her a link to my deviantart that hopefully she can read I almost missed my stop. Good thing it wouldn't have mattered, because I can get to the same place via the Green Line. She'll have a deviantart eventually maybe.

I think it applies to you no matter what your medium may be, pencil or photograph or language or music.

I know what a street musician was singing, I just don't remember what it's called and I barely remember the lyrics, but I'd know it if I heard it again. Too much Sunny Day In Glasgow and Azam Ali on the brain to remember now.


To his credit, the Meistersinger prelude is not interminable and it actually does something. That isn't me just being bitter about his politics and stealing the credit for the leitmotif, or should I say idée fixe from Berlioz (disclaimer: I have French-Canadian ancestry), it's that the last Wagner piece I heard was forty minutes and just meandered for that length of time.

It rained in the afternoon and I lucked out when I got off the train. I'd say the music fit, after all, Jupiter is the god of storms, but I have Glazunov on my mind and thought that Beethoven's 7th was his Pastoral. It's not, it's the 6th with Beethoven, 7th with Glazunov.

Paganini's caprice was just a short violin solo.

For some reason, I thought Edouard Lalo was Spanish or Argentine or Portuguese or Brazilian, but Wikipedia tells me he's French.

Reshna, Rashna, I'm probably mistaken on this, but it's the Gujarati equivalent of a Sinhalese name I'm somewhat familiar with, told me a story about raccoons. Well, it was probably a raccoon anyway, because they're probably smart enough to deal with this even if they're baffled by their own reflections and the concept of sharing: something opened up a really complicated garbage disposal unit, where you have to line up the arrows exactly. She imagines two raccoons chittering the equivalent of "ok, now a little to the right, no, too far."

I don't know why I didn't bring this up last entry: there is a goose at the wildlife center who came in with fishing wire wrapped so tightly around his leg it cut into the tendon. Well, he's walking now, and he's going to be released in a week! Hurrah!

I dreamt of environmentally degraded fairylands and five towers. My burning question has nothing to do with that dream in particular.
Burning question: Don't you hate it when your brain gives you false memories of stuff that never happened?