Friday, July 21, 2017

072117c



Marcie's Day


Only the bulkhead now between Marcie and what remained of the rest of the crew, which had expanded to fill three quarters of the ship, and it oozing under doors, through vents, and through the tiniest holes.

Seventeen people she'd worked with for months, amalgamated as a malignant mass, a composite entity retaining no visible trace of humanity, its exterior a palimpsest of colors that shifted and transformed ceaselessly: vermilion, gold, a myriad shades of green and blue.

Why had Lon drunk the liquid they'd found in the stoppered flask? Yes, the characters they'd decoded had referred to a miracle cure, yes, he was facing a painful death from the infection he'd picked up on the abandoned station and yes, Federation medicine could do nothing for him, so perhaps he'd thought he had nothing to lose. Well.

The bulkhead creaked, forcing her back to the present, as a voice vibrated through the decking, calling her name.

*

She wrung her hands, stared wildly around the hold. Spacesuits: no; escape pod: ditto. She had nothing to work with, nothing, nada, zilch, etc. Suddenly her eye was drawn to the probability generator. How could she have forgotten? Dangerous, yes, but she'd nothing to lose either. She raced to the machine, removed the lock they had bolted down over the control panel. The bulkhead screamed and polychromatic gel flowed out around it and dripped in globs onto the floor. The scent of lemons mingled with chocolate (or was it burnt roast?). She grabbed the probability dial and gave it a strong twist. Wheels spun and clacked, lights flashed, and peripheral vision overwhelmed her sight. It was more distracting than being blind. She couldn't actually see anything, but she couldn't ignore anything either.

A moment later she could see again. She could see, but for some reason, she could not take a step. She looked down, then, at the glistening multicolored sausage that had been her legs; at the squirming polyps that were ballooning from her flesh like chewing gum bubbles, separating, and drifting away, tendrils waving au revoir, on the stiffening breeze; and at the roots that her fused limbs were sending out through the quivering ground at ever-increasing speed. She shook her head, smiled, and extended her arms, which burst into bud. She stood at the center of a rapidly Marcifying plain. It was going to be a good day.


Publ. Daily Cabal 2007

072117b


Reread the first Amber pentalogy by Zelazny last week. Still a great pleasure, tho each time the dearth of important roles for women annoys me. A young woman would have to imagine herself as Corwin to really enjoy it.

Now I am reading Nevernight, by Jay Kristoff. Looks like a man's name, but viewpoint character is a woman. An assassin-in-training. omniscient narrator explains her peculiar world in footnotes. this approach is working so far. stay tuned

072117



I have spent most of the week in bed, getting no exercise, so naturally, after staying awake past midnight, I was wide awake at 5 am, anaerobically exercising my arms. argh!

breathing easily
after waking too early
I should be grateful

Thursday, July 20, 2017

072017b



puppy is loose
and looking for fun
tired of guarding
an empty house

072017



Sunny Pate

Jennifer Alaine

one cup sunflower seeds (hulled), soaked for two hrs., rinsed, & sprouted (0-18 hrs.)
one cup walnut halves & pcs., soaked for four hrs., rinsed, & sprouted (0 - 8 hrs.)
juice from one lemon
four cloves garlic
approx. 1/8 of a large onion
3 or 4 tablespoons miso, or to taste (we use South River sweet-tasting brown rice miso)
one cup water

In a food processor or blender, chop the garlic & onion. Add the walnuts and chop coarsely. Combine
the miso & the water. Add this mixture and all the other ingredients to the food processor. Blend until
smooth. Serve with raw veggies, alfalfa sprouts, bread or crackers. Or use as a filling for nori rolls,
stuffed raw peppers (try anaheims or ripe bells), or stuffed raw mushrooms.


Delicious!

Wednesday, July 19, 2017

071917b



Marcie's Day


Only the bulkhead now between Marcie and what remained of the rest of the crew, which had expanded to fill three quarters of the ship, and it oozing under doors, through vents, and through the tiniest holes.

Seventeen people she'd worked with for months, amalgamated as a malignant mass, a composite entity retaining no visible trace of humanity, its exterior a palimpsest of colors that shifted and transformed ceaselessly: vermilion, gold, a myriad shades of green and blue.

Why had Lon drunk the liquid they'd found in the stoppered flask? Yes, the characters they'd decoded had referred to a miracle cure, yes, he was facing a painful death from the infection he'd picked up on the abandoned station and yes, Federation medicine could do nothing for him, so perhaps he'd thought he had nothing to lose. Well.

The bulkhead creaked, forcing her back to the present, as a voice vibrated through the decking, calling her name.

*

She wrung her hands, stared wildly around the hold. Spacesuits: no; escape pod: ditto. She had nothing to work with, nothing, nada, zilch, etc. Suddenly her eye was drawn to the probability generator. How could she have forgotten? Dangerous, yes, but she'd nothing to lose either. She raced to the machine, removed the lock they had bolted down over the control panel. The bulkhead screamed and polychromatic gel flowed out around it and dripped in globs onto the floor. The scent of lemons mingled with chocolate (or was it burnt roast?). She grabbed the probability dial and gave it a strong twist. Wheels spun and clacked, lights flashed, and peripheral vision overwhelmed her sight. It was more distracting than being blind. She couldn't actually see anything, but she couldn't ignore anything either.

A moment later she could see again. She could see, but for some reason, she could not take a step. She looked down, then, at the glistening multicolored sausage that had been her legs; at the squirming polyps that were ballooning from her flesh like chewing gum bubbles, separating, and drifting away, tendrils waving au revoir, on the stiffening breeze; and at the roots that her fused limbs were sending out through the quivering ground at ever-increasing speed. She shook her head, smiled, and extended her arms, which burst into bud. She stood at the center of a rapidly Marcifying plain. It was going to be a good day.


Publ. Daily Cabal 2007

071917


Night b4 last, when I put on my Bipap mask, my lungs were flooded with the sweet air I'd been needing. yesterday morning was almost like going back into a swamp. but last night, I only felt a bit better, and now, only a bit worse. I am getting stronger.

across the room
purple glads leap
from the vase