quotes for every occasion

[radfrac_archive_full]

"It went away? 'I dwell in darkness without you' and it went away?"
--Sorsha, warrior-daughter of the evil Queen Bavmorda, in Willow (1988)

I have a new notebook waiting. I haven't quite filled the old, despite finally getting back to my writing routine today. Starting a new notebook always fills me with a sense of possibility. There are at least three ideas I quite like, plus adjuncts to the old, in the current/passing-away notebook that I haven't had time to develop because of, well, All That.

Trying to read my notes: Maybe I should try waking the hounds from their slumber-- "No, that can't be right," he muttered.

I've been making my own coffee in the mornings, mostly out of Frugality Measures, but I find I like the routine -- the Bodum and its plunger, the table in the window. The space for this meditative morning-ness is brought to me by my father, who took away a heap of cardboard boxes and a box of crumpled paper on Tuesday, and brought me all my parents' surplus glassware. I could run a bar now, if I had anything to serve other than cherry brandy.

Oh, yes, cherry brandy, right. A friend of mine, a poet (a poet whose poems I actually like! Very Rare Creature) wrote a memoir about first moving away from home, and how he bought a bottle of cherry brandy and put it on his shelf, symbol of adulthood and the future. I can use all the symbols I can get, even other people's. I was given a horseshoe that goes to the newly (and not necessarily happily) independent who need luck the size and shape of a hoof. (That's not mockery, friends-- many useful entities come with hooves. Fauns, satyrs, and other of my favorite ambiguities.) I bought the cherry brandy. I like it, actually, though certain of my acquaintance suggest it tastes like cough syrup.

I'm saving up for absinthe. Wouldn't be Paris of a Certain (Almost Entirely Fabricated) Era without absinthe. I could never take myself quite seriously enough to be a Goth, but I seem to have acquired a few of the trappings despite myself. Though my skull-shaped glass stein was a gift. And came from Las Vegas.

--rf

Comments

Under the Volcano

[(Anonymous)]

I think it was in Malcolm Lowery's Under the Volcano where the protagonist is stumbling around his backyard looking for a bottle of absinthe that he threw out the window in a fit of drunken rage.

But you won't be like that.

You will sip it elegantly and think Fine Thoughts.