Mehitobel Wilson: writer, reader, chronic curmudgeon.

Tomboy bombshell cowgirl; lover of funk, attracted to roadsides.

Besotted with spots.

Friend to sleaze.

Admirer of filthy films, fleshy steaks, Hong Kong rap, new felt and pocket-knocking 8-balls; prefers 10 gallons of hat and 4 fingers of Jack.

Procrastination here breeds urgency there. Urgency begets sharper fiction. The dream: hone it to a splinter, and sink it deep.

So I'm here.

Bisectual

Please send accident-prone, much-adored dumbass Geoff Cooper good vibes, because the dear doofus split his hand in half. He needs it to type. Of all the assholes running around right now, thinking they can write, and talking about how well they can write, Geoff's the only one who can.

(Actually, he doesn't talk about how well he can write, at all. He just does it. Which puts him firmly in my good graces. But even if he jackassed around, talking about himself in 3rd person and running his mouth, I'd forgive - even encourage - it, because he's actually fucking good.)

He's also one of those rare people who became a real, stolid lifelong friend on sight.

He's not DEAD, for chrissake. He's just cloven at the moment.

So, John Gotti died of "head and throat 'cancer.'" This less than a week after acting Gambino boss (son Peter) was indicted for racketeering, extortion, etc. Reported facts aside, I'm tempted to think that the head and throat are excellent targets, and that the Gambino family is ripe for a takeover. Meanwhile, it is appalling that the feds (allegedly) told the media of John Gotti's death before they told the family.

Next up: the story that kept me awake all last week, "Land of Odds, One Mile" will be in the Chiaroscuro Webzine's July '02 issue. (Yeah, a couple weeks from now.) Yes, ONLINE, people. I haven't subbed a story to an internet venue since the FIRST issue of ChiZine, July 1999.

Off, now, to brandish (and even employ) a spud wrench. Oh, happy day, Day 2 of my toilet replacement project. (Day 1 was cut short due to lack of spud wrench.) I must meanwhile ponder zombies and ducks.

posted by Mehitobel Wilson at 1:16 AM

Psychic Hong Kong

I've been busting my ass on a (somewhat ornery) story this week; you'll hear about it if it goes well. It has to go well by tomorrow, because it's due tomorrow night.

So I stayed up far too late last night, working on it, and then nabbed a smear of sleep. While a'sleepin', I had a long narrative dream. Part of this dream involved my awareness that Sam Lee was in town doing a record release party, but I didn't know where he was. The FBI guys who had been tailing me for years broke their FBI-guy code and whispered, as they passed me, the name of the hip-hop bar where Sam Lee was. I'd never heard of the joint and neither had anyone whom I questioned. I didn't actually go out looking for him, just checked phone books and asked around.

Anyway, I pop over to the LMF website today and... they released a new album this week. Woohoo!


I don't actually know if Sam Lee even fools around with LMF anymore, but that's beside the point. I'm all about LMF.

SKINS OF YOUTH hardcovers are sold out from Necro; certain retailers will have them available. Paperbacks are still available direct from Necro or through retail outlets.

Speaking of which, Shocklines is going to take all my money once I, uh, get some money.

Those of you in Europe, keep an eye out all month for Arab on Radar. Tour dates are available here. By "keep an eye out" I mean "go see them play." They will make your face explode. (Americans, Canadians, Mexicans, and extravagant jetsetting foreigners who will be in the US this summer, go ahead and check out that link for the Oops! The Tour mass mess, too.)

Those of you who are going to the More than Music fest in Columbus, bow down before Ghost Orchids, because amongst the Orchids is the Almighty Julian Danger, ever-beloved and always rockalicious.

Folks have been asking whether or not I'll attend DragonCon this year - for those of you who were about to ask, here's the answer: dunno yet. Haven't decided. I humiliated myself last year, but I also had a blast (and didn't know I'd actually been humiliated until after the fact.)

It's late (nearing Art Bell time) - and our yard is dark. My lights are the only ones on in the house. This lures solidly-built flying bug beasts to crack themselves against my bedroom & office windows. The first night this happened, I thought neighborhood kids were throwing pebbles at the house. Nope. Palmetto bugs were ricocheting off the glass. Strangely, this disturbs me more than when I find them in my house.

Oh, and damn you, Dee Dee, you dumb fuck. RIP and all that, but... shit, rock stars just piss me off when they die for stupid reasons. I know that's what rock stars DO, but I still wish I could have scolded them first.



posted by Mehitobel Wilson at 2:54 PM