I stepped on my reading glasses today. Stupid me. Probably no further posting until I get them replaced.

Last night, as promised, I had my neck MRI’d. The machine is not built for persons who are fat and bulgy like myself; my elbows rubbed against the sides of the chamber when the technician shoved me in. Then, of course, there were the customary deafening noises, curiously reminiscent of very bad 1990s techno music, and made slightly worse because my right earplug came loose. On my way out, I gibed, a little sourly:

‘The floor show wasn’t bad, but the music was terrible. If you had a better band, you could probably afford to hire a bigger hall.’

I then went home and slept for a time. Upon waking, I decided I had better work on one or another of the promised blog posts. I ended up choosing the lafferty, and wrote several hundred words (interrupted by boning up on the Standard Model), culminating in the following bit of oddness:

This particle, which Dr. Boudreaux dubbed a hemion, was duly detected among the emissions of the F–V device, and the decision was taken to produce hemions in quantity and observe their interactions with normal matter.

I thereupon relayed a warning to the Psychological Correction Bureau, and prepared to observe Dr. Boudreaux’s interactions with normal humans.

Wendy sez I ought not to post the finished story for free, but see if somebody like McSweeney’s will buy it. Me, I dunno. I just write them, see?

This is a blatant cheat. I am posting today to let the Loyal 3.6 know that there will be no post today. Normally I wouldn’t do that, but I’m trying to keep the string of daily updates going.

In a little over two hours, I am to report to the local hospital for the long-awaited MRI on my busted neck. We shall see if any genuine treatment is indicated, as opposed to taking ibuprofen and toughing it out.

Possible upcoming posts, if I continue to be able to work regularly:

• Another lafferty, this one about the psychological fallout from finding the elusive left quark.
• ‘Goodbye, Radar’, #11 in the M*A*S*H essay series.
• ‘The Mid-Galactic Arts Nobbling Council’, in which H. Smiggy McStudge explains how to destroy science fiction.
• ‘Quality vs. Quality’: a teaser for a new essai to be included in Style is the Rocket.

Once I work up to that point, expect the new collection to be released at any moment.

Suggestions? Requests? Bouquets or brickbats?

After all, he never had any real hope in the affair from the beginning; but being a cheerful hobbit he had not needed hope, as long as despair could be postponed.

—The Return of the King

Dear Theophilus,

Not being a cheerful hobbit, I have not Sam Gamgee’s happy frame of mind. My outburst the other day, which the Loyal 3.6 have read, some have remarked upon, and one has sneered at, came from the exhaustion of hope. I shall try, this time, to be less cryptic and elliptical about what is bothering me. [Read more…]

I shall not fool myself again. I shall immure my heart in the living rock a thousand fathoms deep, where it will trouble no son of Adam, and vex no daughter of Eve. And though I have nothing to gain by my labours, labour I shall: for I cast my defiance in the teeth of oblivion. I have seen that no reward can come for my work in this world, for the longing of my heart is denied, and the desire of my soul is shut up against me. Asking bread, I have received stones; casting my net for fish, I have caught serpents. Very well, I shall live upon stones and serpents while I may; and though none may mark my passing, or remember my works thereafter, at least it shall not be said that I ceased from my duty. I shall sow, though I cannot reap; I shall pour out the last measure of myself, though the vessel be not refilled. Let it be for a bitter jest; and if all the world have no manner of use for me, nor for the work of my pen, still let the jest be played. God at least may laugh.

That which is filthy can be washed, and made clean, and redeemed. But that which is filth itself cannot be made clean: for if it is washed, all of it will be removed and nothing remain. It is fit only to be cast into the midden, or consumed by fire.

Just to let the Loyal 3.6 know—

I have recently been ill, with some combination of allergies, sinusitis, and cabin fever. This all got me down sufficiently to make my depression kick in at full strength; so that yesterday it actually hurt to breathe. I was having cramps in my diaphragm and actually had to lie down and consciously concentrate in order to take one breath after another. My depression has manifested itself in this way before, but yesterday’s bout was uncommonly severe.

I do feel substantially better today, and may try to do some writing once I have found myself some food. (The larder is a bit bare at the moment, because I have not been well enough to do any shopping. Before anyone asks, yes, I have enough money to do the shopping; it is health and energy that have been wanting.)