Posthuman Blues

Sunny but gray. Off to a languid start. I'm so profoundly tired of thinking about "Operation Iraqi Freedom" that I could vomit. The eyes are vanishing from the sockets of the anthropoid rabbits, just as I had feared. (The faces look disturbingly like those of cows unlucky enough to get rustled by little gray men. Thankfullly, no trace of unmarked black helicopters in the vicinity.)

I'm missing Edgar and Linda. Some days I just don't have the psychic stamina for a comic book convention. Today is one of those days.