heksenhaus | Recent Entries

the only world to come is made of bones and blood and dirt.

reject the heavens!

reject the hells!

build yr towers to the sky and let the vultures roost!

work together against forever!

we will weather this, together, and build upon the ruins of camelot.

the weekend was filled with good company, surrounded by weirdos celebrating weird literature, and it was a good and gentle reminder that, even as it all burns, we matter.

(i am well and truly excited to read this, few can write so well about the horror of memory, of its inherent fallibility and the way the past erodes the present like scott nicolay can.)

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thinking about foxes and fishers, cats and blackberry thorns.
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the three remaining ragamuffin cats what spend their time here are all lounging in the winter sun, dozing gently.
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how dearly i love a handful of air supply songs has never been tainted by irony and it's important that you understand that.
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this feels like the end of history (but not in the fukuyama sense.)
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i can't recall when i was in delaware but i do recall the vegan reuben i had their and how good the french fries were (dusted in cayenne and a bit cumin.)
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today has been gentle, kind even, and i aim to see it continue in that direction.

tonight! i'm hosting a book launch for corey farrenkopf's debut collection ('haunted ecoligies') with guest readers s.l. edwards and christa carmen.
this is our first reading under new management and that's exciting.
but, more so, i'm just looking forward to an evening with comrades, a warm port in this dark storm, a reminder that we're all in this together.
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all three of the ragamuffins showed up for breakfast, this morning, trudging through snow on delicate catpaws.
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i miss listening to music, immersing myself in sound, and i wish i could better explain how active listening is, itself, a creating experience but i can barely explain where my shoes are, these days.
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May be an image of xray

(said beast who currently slumbers.) May be an image of cat

(all of this being all of that, and whatnot, but i do find a specific sort of thrill digging around here, not nostalgia for livejournal as much as a reminder that the spirit of discovery, the reminder that the world is full of interiorities, remains. and this is nice.)

(the cat slumbers, her head beneath a blanket, and i can hear the sound of the slush, outside, crackling as it freezes.)
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i haven't engaged in any sort of creative activity in what feels like an eternity, and i miss it.
(i miss everything, these days, as the world seems to continue to burn.)
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tomorrow! i'll print some more copies of my most recent zine (it's... something, even if i can't currently create anything new.)
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this country was never good but, like, now it's nothing but horrors.

(an abstraction, an image of a brick wall, cannot hold back the tide.)

watched 'gattaca,' tonight, for the first time in quite a few years and was struck by the (genetic) class solidarity with pretty much every 'natural' birth character knowing or deducing that vincent/jerome is a borrowed ladder and doing whatever they can to help him achieve his dream of going the fuck to space and it makes the film so much more profoundly optimistic than it's usually seen to be.
just a beautiful film that threads and elides, in equal measure, notions of genre (sf, romance, noir, ?)
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(p.s.: eugenics is bad.)

(i need to remind myself of this space and what it could be.)

(i feel like i should start using this, not as some sort of nostalgic echo of my livejournal experience, but, rather some combination of distillation and abstraction that encompasses both precipice and gulf.)

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.the ocean is an engine.

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March 2025

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