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Sep. 7th, 2012

Palyé Yoëness Hull Seal

[sticky post] Amazon, Ho!

Look for https://www.createspace.com/3976299 and give this whole procedure 5-7 business days to be fully operational.

I am about to cross a barrier that I've been sniffing about for a long time, and I'm still full of trepidations concerning its fate, or that of its sister volumes of The Touching Lands Dance, but here we go. The Family Forge will soon become a real, live softcover book at about 212 pgs. (glossary included) available from Amazon.com for only $9.85! Carolyn, my editor @ WormholeElectric.com did the PDF file embeddng that stopped things cold in August. It's now undergoing a print review process, so hopefully all the files for the words and the cover will parse properly. If all goes well, I might even have some hard copies on hand at Philcon. The Kindle® e-book will still be available. May Those Beyond nod approvingly at my efforts and assist in its and my financial prosperity. 

Ure'i Apash Nal!

Oct. 24th, 2016



I asked myself the classic interview question:

"Where fo you see yourself in the next five years?"

And of course, I cast myself forward into time. The lack of vitamin D in my bloodstream turns me white, and my hair grows out. I'll look like a yuppie in shorts and a sweatshirt, and later in the kind of short black suit that Winry Rockbell wore in Full-Metal Alchemist: Brotherhood.  I'll be cool then; I'll drive to Lunacon in a VW E-Golf and stuff like that.

Then I get old, walk my rounds with a cane and meet my god-daughter Sydney fresh from her residency at NY Presbyterian. I get real old, die and watch the CBS News article from the other side that says , "Ariel Cinii, author of the beloved Sartine science-fiction novels that launched the popular movie series, died of heat stroke in her beloved Ft. Tryon Park. She was 117 years old."

The reporter trod about the park and talked about me, how I'd go out there week after week with my portable computer under my arm, pick a bench that faced the Hudson River and write until the batteries ran out. Then he talked about how I came to live around there. He'd dig up the dream I had in 1978 where I met my future self, "sitting serenely in a green place high above the Hudson where the boats looked like toys." He'd go through my 4th LSD trip on Canada Day, 1988, when I came to the park moments ahead of a summer thunderstorm, and then the Gods told me, "This is your home."

They'd show scenes from the "Touching Lands Dance" movie that referenced Stacey Davies, then talk about her suicide, and yadda, yadda, yadda. The last line of the piece goes, "Abby moved into a little apartment on an inclined street between Fort George Hill and Ft. Washington Avenue the Sunday before Thanksgiving in 1991. She stayed there ever since."

Then my computer changed radio stations at 9:00. Meditation over, I made chili cheese fries.

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Oct. 23rd, 2016


Still Editing

It's a chill Sunday. I had instant mashed potatoes with Dinty Moore Beef Stew for brunch during A Thousand Welcomes on the radio. I  watched France 24 (English) much of the day and at Vazw'u Nal (sunset) reminded Those Beyond that I had virtually no vitamin D in my bloodstream, so the least they could do was throw The Switch and make me an Albino. Then  during the night I went back to editingThe Family Forge.

"Turn off that crap and get back to work!" Telly warned me, "We're almost done."

I took a Twitter hour at 9 PM and viewed a NASA mini-movie about researching Greenland by dropping probes out of a Gulfstream II ot III. Telly took s bitching break until I came to LJ. I wish I were stoned, but editing feels almost as good.  Going through this novella again, I get to edit it to sound more the way pilots talk when they write about flying.  It's about two teen-aged brothers who dump life on the farm so they can take up the Life at Sky by signing up on a flying steamship. They get tied up with a teen-aged girl, whose dad runs the ship, and an adventure that leads to bigger and not-necessarily better things happening along the way. It's got breakthrough technology and flying islands.  Read the book, somebody.  I've gotta finsih.  

Oct. 22nd, 2016


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Molly av Vazwú Nal


hms42 let me know that Tor Books was lookng for non-European-based novellas. In Response, I'm editing The Family Forge I published this online in 2012 and gota decent revue from total stangers. Telly will be responsible for thsi one.

Let's see what happens this time.

Family Forge Novella front cover
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Oct. 21st, 2016


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Oct. 20th, 2016


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Oct. 18th, 2016



Catman  called yesterday asking me to bring his house money over to the nursing home in the Bronx. Litle did I know what an awful journey awaited me.

Audio: Koyaanisqatsi by Philip Glass
The place is hard to reach by subway. I had to take the BX12 crosstown to the Bx38 on a crowded ride down White Plains Road. I crossed two highways befroe I had to get off and find Underhill Avenue, which I discovered did not intersect with White Plains Rd. Then I followed the house numbers to an obscure building across from a McDonald's, like in the directions. There he met me in  a whelchair, announcing that he'd called me some time after I left to say he was about to be transferred back to Mt. Sinai Hospital in Manhattan.

I rode with him in an ambullette (a van w/o the flashing lights) on the Bruckner Expressway at rush hour to  a rap station, shunting onto Bruckner Blvd. half the trip. I disliked the Expressway but I hate Bruckner Blvd. The whole street is a set of back lots and freight doors for trucks and factory warehouses. It wasn't until we got to Spanish Harlem in Manhattan before I knew where we were.

Across 110th Street
We unloaded his whelchair, a walker and a plastic bag of his clothes at a big Amerikan hospital, up an elevator and through seveal anonymous transitory corridors. This was somewhere around shift change at 6PM. {*My Meditation time is from 6 to 9PM; this is usually me being religious.} I warned Catman about this but I stayed with him anyway. Checking him in took just that long; sitting in a modern waiting room with many chairs, two big TV screens––and a fluorescent ceiling. {Insert photomyoclonic rant AGAIN}. I hadn't seen regular TV news (CBS), or Entertainment Tonight in a long time. I had to angle my hand so that I could see the TV w/o the lights (not entirely possible). About half past The Big BANG THEORY, he was rolled to his room. Then I was misdirected by hospital personnel to the washroom.

Audio: The Division Bell by Pink Floyd
I was in a bad way. I got out of the building at 9:00.  Across the street were two lunch vans, fluorescent-lit with big strobing signs for "FOOD" on top, across from a couple of ambulances with their lights still on. It took 15 minutes to get a burger & soda, which I ate in the dark until the M4 bus stopped. That trip was almost 100 blocks uptown, across 110th Street (here, Central Park North), through White Harlem, Washington Heights and past New York Presbyterian Hospital. For protection, I sat up front where the lighting was off, except when the front doors opened for passengers. This bus made almost every stop. No victory.

Home, I got to bed with the LED candles on. I'd reached my Exposure Limit and prayed the phone would not ring again.  If it did and anybody wanted anything, see above title.

Notes to self:
1: NEVER get hospitalised.
2:  The only cure for fluoreescent poisoning is cannabis. Never do without again. {I still do.}

May the blessings of Sacrament flow freely to us all.

Oct. 17th, 2016


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