wildcat

Woke up at six this morning - before six, actually - and fought with sleep before waking up to have a shower and get ready for work. By seven I was in front of the computer with the intent of starting a story that was in my head last night, which I did for an hour before leaving the house. The story includes Michael's fish Dante, in a way, and it might have what I intend to be a happy and horribly disturbing ending. According to Margaret Atwood, as a Canadian my stories will end horribly even if they end happily. I look forward to seeing how things turn out.

Collecting materials for the collage I want to do, on my next rantbook. So far it has a picture of Bjork emerging from a sea of silver CGI bubbles, tongue ejaculated out. I have some old Promethea comics I want to cut up - I have the relevant issues duplicated in the graphic novel editions - amongst other things. A postcard from Peabody's. A Marlene Dietrich interview. A few other things. I might try to stick that martini menu from Suze that I swiped a thousand years ago in somehow. I just need to buy glue, which I'll do tomorrow. I vaguely remember this weird paint on adhesive from day camp, but I can't remember what it's called - it would give the thing a glorious glossy shine.

Like Farrah Fawcett's hair.