wildcat

Commiserated at Hime Sushi with Glory today because the end is coming, the restaurant's been bought like some extravagant farm upstate by someone and the place will be closing down and disappearing to be replaced - not by a body snatcher, but by a restaurant snatcher. I ate a tempura bowl, crab sunomono and miso soup with a hot green tea to sooth my troubled internals. And I was reading comics - a nowhere issue of Teen Titans and a lovely issue of Tom Strong. But, more importantly, the newly released second volume of Grant Morrison's Doom Patrol (titled, o best beloved, "The Painting that Ate Paris"), wherein amongst other things the nefarious Brain once placed inside a robot body primed to self-destruct, admitted his feelings for the hyper-intelligent Monseiur Mallah, a French ape. They kissed - this robot and this ape - and the robot body exploded and all that was left was Mallah's beret. A rather sour end.

I've begun the next story for the fiction workshop, which picks up a character I've written only briefly in the past and runs with her. It's something. It's something terrible, like an ulcer or a half-completed diatribe on Apartheid - too many years too late. The story is unfocused and a bulging mass of ideas and lines that extracted themselves from my head, but it hasn't got much in the way of structure yet; not in my head and certainly not on the page. But I have time to write and see where this goes. The story gives me free rein with my love of bizarre of peculiarly melodramatic names.