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Drove to Colorado with my boyfriend and his dog

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Autumn... dance...

Is this pixel? art?

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"Without cynicism, [Syd] Mead maintained a faith in that future, of the implicit promise that under an azure sky, boundless beauty awaits in a deathless tomorrow. It might be a tall order, but certainly the destination remains, just over the horizon." —Collin Sundt, The Brooklyn Rail

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House ad for Six from Sirius 2, 4-issue miniseries, December 1985-March 1986, by Doug Moench and Paul Gulacy

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Sometimes the world just makes you sad.

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heartbeat?

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Chiitan 😭

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Caza, 1970

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“I want you to do this with me for one month. One month. Write 10 observations a week and by the end of four weeks, you will have an answer. Because when someone writes about the rustic gutter and the water pouring through it onto the muddy grass, the real pours into the room. And it’s thrilling. We’re all enlivened by it. We don’t have to find more than the rustic gutter and the muddy grass and the pouring cold water.”

— Marie Howe, Boston University’s 2016 Theopoetics Conference  (via mothersofmyheart)

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Cat Claw by Bane Kerac.

Last image is from the stage play shown last year in Novi Sad, Serbia.

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Lo Sconosciuto - Full Moon in Dendera, 1985

by Magnus

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its possible to grow in your knowledge in a way that is very destructive to what you thought you knew as a writer.

plant blindness is very useful for writers because it allows them to give their settings placelessness. write stories that "could be set anywhere." I used to imagine placeless places. post-apocalyptic wastelands without trees, towns amidst long roads and cornfields.

Now I know that along the paths or in the cracks in the concrete, the weeds are growing. And a weed is an ecosystem, and an ecosystem is a Somewhere, a network of tethers to a land that is rooted in deep time. Plants are a clarification of where and when we are, and what happened, and what people did to the land, and how long ago that was, and whether they are still doing it. Everywhere is land, everywhere has ecology and geology. The omission of the plants in any setting feels like intrusive clouds of amnesia or jarring black bars censoring part of the reality.

I am conscious of the presence of land in my stories. I am conscious that the land is the ultimate progenitor of the characters, plot, and setting. I am aware that there are plants, which make the setting into a Place with a history and ongoing present.

the way I used to write is irretrievable. places are not just scenery, they are narratives of history, destruction, renewal, energy flow and cultural values. The plants are a driving force with their own agency. I can't not write about the plants!

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Red Sonja #2, 1977. Frank Thorne.

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Love how in Barker the sexuality is a real part of the world, not just an add-on for effect, sales, etc. Sex is everywhere in Barker. In the violence, in the looks, bodies, clothes, and importantly in the sex. 

This one (as well as Nightbreed) feels unfocused like a novelist who likes to write 1000-page books and can’t really create a streamlined 100 minute story. Which might bother some. But if you accept it for what it is, it’s quite wonderful. 

This is why I began talking about sex. The current (still?) idea about sex scenes not being relevant to the story is part of it. Not because it’s puritanely dull to think so because you don’t like sex (or maybe already overdosed on online porn?), but because it inevitably reduces movies (or fiction) to “vehicle for plot.” All you want is plot, and a sex scene doesn’t tell the plot (which, yes it can, of course). And that is idiotic. Plot is part of movies, sure. But not the point of them.

There is a pretty clear plot to “Lord of Illusions,” even if there might be a few odd loose ends etc., but I’d suggest the plot is a means not an end.

The end? Well, for me, it’d be the shot of a man being reborn, his insides a cathedral of pulsating flesh.

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Some sort of pixel art about spring and the horror of being alive still.

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It seems to me (am I old?) there used to be a small but known and accepted corner of life and the living that accepted that destruction was, let's say, the only option. Is there now? I mean, not as some freakshow, infirm, people-we-gotta-save. Just. Acceptance. Sometimes. Some people. Are going for destruction. It isn't nice, or pretty, of course. But it's life. And you can't therapy-speak it away. I miss that. However horrible it was. I think it was a good thing. It was a spark.