Bloody Mary. Watching way too much of the Tudors :P

Indulgences

I was thinking, talking it over with Drej on our profound-dialogue-of-worldly-authors doggy walk, about indulgences. I was thinking almost everyone has some. The kind that offer a personal expansion – the kind that cost all of our free money. Regardless of how little or how much you have, now or ever, there’s something you waste it on. Something that could have been a lot better spent, I suppose, otherwise. But you treat yourself.

The most common ones I can think of are smokes, drinks, clothes, pets, travels, suchlike… It got me thinking to how acutely abstinent some of us are. I’ve never smoked, I’ve never drank, what little coffees we meet for with mates usually cost very little. I wear mostly clothes that people give me. I don’t think that save underwear and socks I’ve ever really bought myself anything and my only shoes are so worn, they are held together by inertia rather than material. It would just never occur to me to spend money on shoes. The ones I actually bought and can’t wait to put on again, so I won’t have to wear other things, are my dear flippy floppies. They kind of signal summer to a great depth.

Regarding other things… my computer is very old, I eat very little and a lot f it is given by General’s parents, who have a farm, I download my movies, we don’t really heat or cool our home. Nowadays, and it’s not just because we can’t afford anything, but also because it feels good to be able to thoroughly economize, we have costs down to such bare minimum, we exist like hermits in a cave.

Up until we hit my indulgence. I waste, or spend, or trust or however it’s better to put it, all my earnings, such as they are, into paper. (The photographic gear fits under that as well. Everything should be on paper in the end.) I draw and I write and I publish books into economy that could hardly be worse. The distribution manager explained how a few years ago the libraries would buy at least a few, if not a few dozens of books, especially novels, and I’ve experienced that, because when it came to my picture books, libraries still have up to twenty or thirty each. Following the progress of Drej’s book now, libraries – IF they take anything – take one. Out of two hundred libraries registered in this country, only two took more than one – they took three.

I picked a great fucking time to have an indulgence. But as it goes for the lot of them – they keep us sane.

Prometheus promos and hot men's dentals

I am not sure what Prometheus is going to be about, as far as I can tell it will delve deep into the world of Aliens and other serious shit, but I am already loving the really spooky promos they are putting out periodically. As Weyland Yutani's android Bishop was almost as creepy as the first movie's Ash, and Gods know I wrote *novels* about what I would do to him if I could keep him, now there's a new toaster in town. This latest promo introduces David. Although Michael Fassbender is quite young and has magnificent green eyes, I can't take my eyes off his mouth... There's just something so incredibly unnatural about it - like it belonged to another species. How can anyone have so many teeth?? It's hard getting over Gotye, who looks like someone ran out of room for incisors and then added them in afterwards. That being said (and if need be, I'll say it again: in my next life I want to come back as Michael Fassbender's underwear), I can't think of anything less appealing than an android type-David... (LOVE the Julian Sands hair-do. Has there ever been a worse hair-do on a grown man?!) That's like a friggin' nuclear wasteland waiting to happen. It's like a serial killer with an IQ of a child, dressed in a poodle. If I had a rich dad who bough some for his company, I would have made sure we were never on the same floor.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nMlBVtR12Hs

 It looks very shiny, though, doesn't it? Very clean?

 Two people from thsi industry i am always looking forward to seeing again: Scott and Rapace.. The movie also has Idris Elba. Doesn't get much cooler than that.

Certainly a lot less clammy than Giger's vaginal designs would have it... Which is a shame, as those sceneries contributed to the cult status. It made you really not want to be there. Here it just makes me wish I'd brought a bigger mug of coffee.

This would have been Joffrey after I would have been done with him...

... and no, the likeness to my ex husband is purely coincidental. It did not even occur to me I was doing his portrait until somebody pointed it our. Subconsciousness is indeed a sticky bitch :D

I am writing (a short story, as this lately seems to be my grand forte) about a Joffrey-esque boy, a prince, in living Hell much earned. The story depicts his father, a feeble-minded, weak man in a position of a king, who grows increasingly absent from leadership as his teenage son - who cannot do wrong in his father's eyes - begins to rule as a youthful regent. He has a sister, but she is less terrible. The boy on the other hand is a nightmare. And not a sexy nightmare, like Sephiroth is a nightmare you WANT to be having, but a true nightmare. Manically vicious, fascisticly cruel, genocidal, psychopathic little freak drunk with power - with an unlimited supply there-of by the time he is fifteen... He hurts thousands of people, ruins the lives of tens of thousands of subjects and several on top, personally, or through his reign. After his father is killed it seams nothing much worse can happen to the people of an otherwise hard-working and fairly minding-their-own-business kingdom.
          But a king is not a God and at some point he kills the wrong woman - the wife of his guards' captain and the captain loses it. They overthrow the family, slaying all, including the sister, although they were just going to toy with her, but things got out of hand. The boy, however... the boy would live. He would be stripped completely naked, nobody to clothe him, and he would be chained into two iron balls for gloves - too large to enable him to run, swim, even lift them properly, dress himself or bathe himself. These two ball gloves would also tell everyone who he is: he is the boy king that ripped the bleeding heart out of a nation since he was five years old.
           And as a form of punishment, the cruelest of the cruel and the most righteous of them all, he would belong to each and every man, woman and child for one day at a time. For one day at a time, every countryman would be able to do anything and treat the boy king anyhow they pleased. Two guards at all times would follow himg, making sure he does not try to kill himself or anyone tries to kill him too thoroughly or too quickly.
           The story would follow him through several days after about half a year since his table turned. By then he would already be long pass his wits intact and his body almost irreparably crippled. But not yet dead. Not by a long shot. The final entry on the final day written down would be that of a woman whose child was dead because of him, who would spend the whole day making sure he gets better, gets proper bathing, food and dressing of his wounds - the tenderest treatment he has ever had in his entire life - just so that he would live a lot, a lot longer, and suffer a lot longer still.

"In the dream, his father was a king and his sister a princess. She sang such innocent songs. In the dream his father was king and everyone else was beneath them. No matter what a desire or command, everyone was subject, body or soul. That seems so difficult to believe now. Like an echo that came back distorted to mock him.  In the dream he himself was king for an hour. this would have indeed been a sweet dream, if the boy was asleep. Alas, he was not."

Mum and dad made a tribute lunch to the bookie launch - dad by making my favourite foods (stefani roast, red cabbage...) and mum by wrapping the book with a flower on a posh spot behind the table :)) That was super sweet of them, we even opened a bottle of bubbly, even though nobody really drinks it. I've made a couple of sales and couple of deals, enough to feel slightly less empty-handed for a change.

... And I remembered that once, a long time ago, I illustrated the original 'Stone Age Home Read' really, really, neatly, but the mentor that was supposed to read it, never returned it. Which kind of pissed me off...

Then I painted a design of Paper Kay from the moment she realizes she's abandoned the ranks of hunter-gatherers of stories and joined Chimes as someone who makes sure certain stories don't last too long. A story shepherd, if you will... And her life begins to make sense again.

Birthday food and being Cankar

On exactly this day, couple decades ago, a very large baby was born by a very cool lady. He had teeny tiny fingernails on his bubbly baby hands which he clutched in fists, thumb in, much like he does today; he had gorgeous, full, pouty little mouth, which he still has today and pretty much the same hair-style. He was a quiet, curious, hungry baby. There was a little bit of a healthy, manly fascination with breasts. That hasn't changed to date either.
      To celebrate that very thankful day, I broke my diet and we went to the Serbian restaurant, like we often do to celebrate rare precious stuff. For the love of all that's hot and creamy, that food is to die for. My tummy wasn't too grateful, not like my tongue was, but I am hoping I will recover by the time we run out of toilet paper. Good things about Serbian food is you don't get hungry again for about a week.

The Cankar thing - Cankar is the national top shit when it comes to literature (and by that of course it means he wrote stuff to slash your wrists by) - today when when Drej and I were walking out mutts, in the rain, chatting merrily away ... We met another lady and she said something about how Drej and I are both published writers, nay? How profound our conversations during walks must be! ... Ehem. Well, yes. As a matter of fact, they can be. We discuss high literature aplenty. We compare ideas and polish our techniques. We critique each-other and others with great taste ... Until somebody walks by a puppy. Then we make retarded baby noises and talk about puppies for the remainder of the route.

Zurnizip FINALLY home

After such a fucking painstaking grind and sooo many growing pains, my first self-published (and edited, so it's not quite quite quite a tribute to perfectionism just yet :D) bookie is finally here... Surreal, I know. But I am already anxious about having more than one on my special achievements shelf !! :D

http://zurnizip.blogspot.com/

It's bad enough to discover that an actor you found to be gruesomely unattractive as a man yet oh so erotic in a heavy make-up role of a fiction villain, started his career in a boy band from the eighties... It's much much worse to start humming their greatest hit and your husband mutters: "Ah. Bros."

O.o

 God has a vicious sense of humour...

... And I was SO close to writing a really good copulation-strangulation scene, thinking of him... Gone now. All gone.