Yet another link.

Medusaheaded information aesthetics. That be some good isht.

Cancelled comics (and why Last Days of FOXHOUND continues to rock hard).

I'm not going to bother getting into the whys and wherefores of The Intimates and Breach being canceled; people don't read anymore and they definitely don't read comics. Besides, the person on the other end of that link does so more than adequately.

There's no point protesting against the wilful ignorance and ossification of the mass mind.

-----------------

And the Boss herself shows up. Nifty.

listpostlist (and so on)

Black Hole Ate My Twin, But It Can't Catch Me.: I'd say there's a war on. You?

Meanwhile, closer to home ...

Heart risk gene hits African Americans hardest: Yeah. Real nice, God. Evolution. Whoever the hell is responsible for all this.

Technical hitch delays Ariane 5: This sucks but at least they're trying, right? Pointless observation: I first heard of these guys in Charles Stross' Accelerando.

Gravity Tug to deflect asteroids: See, now this rocks.

Hormones make women safer drivers : Uh, ok. Whatever helps y'all sleep at night :p

------------------------------

I fully grasp the self-contradiction inherent in what follows. As the saying goes, bite me.

What I'm reading: Just finished Peter Watts' Starfish and Maelstrom. Aside from being a good way to weed the suicidal out of the populace, they're both excellent books. Maelstrom in particular has so many mind's eyeball-kicks in it, you'll be blind by the time you're done. Blind like Saul, nawmsayin'?

What I will be reading: Behemoths β-Max and Seppuku. As soon as I can actually find them.

What I'm writing: Dosojin, a Japanese ghost story (with a, ah, twist) that I really, really should have finished by now (1,850 words thus far, 650 to go),

and The Unbearable Lightness of Being (Fictional), which I like to think of as just plain weird (504 words thus far, final length unknown). Started it yesterday oddly enough.

What I'm listening to: I'm on a late-to-mid-nineties kick right now so, among otherr things, Notorious T.H.U.G.S. by Biggie and Bone Thugs 'n' Harmony. That and I Sho' Will by Lil Wyte, which is considerably more recent.

What else: Hmm, got a job. No further details.

It might be a good idea not to melt the skin off of children. Just a thought.

Thoughts?

Medusahead: I have linked Zigi. Any objections can be taken to the complaint department.

Very good then.

After certain employment-related ... activities, I wandered Brookline for a while. The New England Institue of Art provided a couple of hours entertainment.

the following events took place and were recorded between the hours of 5:30PM and 6:30PM

5:35PM: On my way home I wind through Copley Square, where amusement can often be found.

Today is no exception.

5:43PM: The first thing I notice is the shoes. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of shoes, neatly arrayed in lines and lines of pairs. Even the fountain has been emptied out to fit them all in.

Each pair has a tag attached. Some have ages, some have only names. The names all have one thing in common: they are all Iraqi.

Across the square there is another set, this one exact in number: 2054 pairs of US Army* boots, representing the obvious (if you're reading this in the distant future, I'm talking about the US/Iraq War that began the 21st Century ;D ).

5:50PM: Candles held in coffee cups gather, held by freezing hands. A first thought springs to mind:

they died for their country. the least you can do is catch a cold

In any case, I can't help but be (vaguely) attracted to the girl reading the litany of names (Oh. Did I not mention that?). Her voice is blank as a slate:

"Halil Ramzi. Age 12."

and pretty for all that. Dark blonde hair, red jacket, black shawl, blacker legs, blackest shoes. Her pretty comes out when she smiles.

Second thought occurs: bulls**t. bush isn't here so what's the freaking point?

" ...brahim. Age unknown."

age unknown, age unknown ...

5:59PM: Homeless man shows his approval of the exhibit. I take his cue and stride into the field of boots. Most of the boots have flowers next to them but one particular pair catches my eye. On closer inspection, it turns out to be transparent. Contains a shirt (Native American, looks like) and a card. Card reads:

Mother of 2. Left 7 to fight for her native country. God bless her spirit & country.

6:10PM: Idle thought strikes: so, do landmine victims get one shoe or do they get a pair like their more thoroughly annihilated brethren?

6:20PM: The microphone battery dies. Some older guy asks what size it is. I note he doesn't ask anyone in particular. I take matters into my own hands. Turns out they're packing up anyway so my little good deed will just have to happen in a theoretical otherwhere. Most guests drift away. I linger, among the boots.

6:28PM: Painfully old lady, sweater barely whiter than her hair, asks me if I intend to publish this. I look at her and think of the faceless digital mob. I answer:

i'll try.

She seems pleased.

*they may or may not be authentic US Army boots and may or may not belong to the dead. I'm assuming they do.

-----------------------------------

The exhibit disappears at 2PM tomorrow incidentally. I wonder how many of those shoes will be stolen by then.

What? This is fall-going-on-winter.

Acquired the original PS1 Tomb Raider. Seeing as I've only played the sequel and a demo of TR3 (and being something of a completist), that should require no further explanation.


And yes, I should be writing. The shame haunts me.