Sunday Morning

So PPS is offline for the moment. Interesting. For the next week, the faithful denizens of the blogtal will be effectively disconnected from each other (in the sense that their posts will not pop up in a common page) but in any other sense, it's business as usual. Which brings to mind the wonders of RSS but that will be material for another post.

Trawling through my blogroll I realised that today is a rather somber one for bloggers, as we reflect on tragic events past and possibly future. There are emotions and anger, sadness and indignation. Heavy thoughts to be carrying. I wrote part of a short story to post, but somehow it doesn't feel like being published (stories are like that). They have their moments of glory, and more often of irreconcilable bull headedness.

I felt like telling it to go do something physically impossible, but I thought maybe I was being hasty. Besides, what possible good story could come out of a half dream involving a grown up Alice, the Queen of Hearts (yellowed around the edges), a white Rabbit named Robert (who died of bullet wounds, tragically late) and Cheshire, The Smiling Cad? Not to mention Dorothy's Ruby Red Shoes (which she lost a long time ago and should be considered fair game) and other Carollian miscellany?

Something involving sex, I suppose. Hmm.

Anyway, it's technically Sunday. And I have to get some sleep (technically).

Before the edges start to melt again. Lovecraft doesn't have a clue.