Roc attack-silhouettes from back-garden hedge birdies time of year.
Weirdly, I was convinced he had played John Constantine, referring to him as “Judge John Constantine”, in what could only be the Constantine/Judge John Deed mashup the world so clearly needs.
Managed to somehow hurt the exact centre of my back while asleep, during dreams, as far as I can remember, spent strenuously trying to recall Willem Dafoe’s name.
Just got some surprisingly positive feedback from a short story competition earlier in the year, despite, on a re-read, now realising how completely unhinged it was.
“They drink their drinks and defecate happily.” « genuinely the final line of the story.
Is it weird that every now and again I get the theme tune to GoBots running around my head? Specifically, as sung by Timmy Mallett.
I didn’t even watch the cartoon.
Hammering with its tiny, tiny fists.
Just heard what sounded like an old timey stream train whistle being pursued by a police siren.
Is it possible to be haunted by Looney Tunes?
“Is someone emptying a skipful of sand on my roof?”
Get-up-and-look-outside-worriedly levels of rain noise.
Oddly stressful dreams of wandering supermarket aisles looking for the new AI-powered chocolate.
Ah yes, bin day tomorrow, announces the unexpectedly windy night.
Sufficient moody rain to summon a Batman.
Tiny snow falling thickly.
The impotent hard ting of icy rain when already snuggly immune.
Also, Bill Pullman moves himself around as though powered by supermarionation, and I in no way mean that as an insult.
100% did not remember Richard Pryor or Marilyn Manson being in that film… feels like entirely distinct eras overlapping.
Lynch’s Lost Highway, a darkened room, a wintry evening.
A non-zero chance my sanity won’t hold.
The little section of my back garden that the birds routinely attack also appears to retain snow after a melt.
It’s not really snowing, more raining directly into ice.