Red Headed Femme: "Your Face, It Was Apricot"

Quote of the Day

“I know some who are constantly drunk on books as other men are drunk on whiskey.” ― H.L. Mencken

A fragmented excerpt from The Filer and the Astronaut by Louise Carol:

‘The time has come,’ the Filer said,

‘To talk of many things:

Of pups — and picks — and palimpsests —

Of Cadigan — and King —

And why this movie, cult is not —

And whether trolls believe.’

‘But scroll a bit,’ the Pixels cried,

‘Before you have your chat;

For some of us are full of links,

Oh do not rush so fast!’

‘No hurry!’ said the Astronaut.

They thanked him much for that.

‘A post of fifth,’ the Filer said

‘Is what we chiefly need:

Filking and Punnery besides

Are very good indeed —

Now, if you’re ready, Pixels dear,

We can begin to read.’

‘Pixels,’ said the Astronaut,

‘You’ve had a pleasant run!

Shall we be posting here again?’

But answer came there none —

And this was scarcely odd, because

They’d scrolled up every one.

~Comment from Stoic Cynic on File 770

Shall I compare this to a nutty tale?
Thou art too pink and poofy in thy prose.
Oh dear, thy hero isn’t even male;
Why must thee push thy dogma up my nose?

Sometime too loud the message fiction shrills
And often is thy plotting sadly dim
In service to thy listing of the ills
That needs must always stem from He and Him.

No, thy eternal grievance shall not fade
Nor wilt thou cease from ruining the gen’re,
‘Til ev’ry con and imprint you invade
Be stripped of fun and manliness and hon’r.

So long as men can type, thine eyes will frown,
And thou wilt work to keep the straight man down.

~Comment from Bloodstone75 at File 770

Roundup, and roundup, and roundup,
creeps in this online place from day to day
To the last syllable of acceptance speech —
and all our arguments have lighted trolls
the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief battery!
Puppies are but loud and shallow, poor players,
that strut and yap their hour upon the page
and then are heard no more. It is a slate
chosen by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
signifying nothing.

~comment by Steven Schwartz, File 770

Turning and turning in the widening blog
The puppy cannot hear the puppeteer;
Things fall apart; the Hugos cannot hold;
Mere doggerel is loosed upon the fans,
The canine tide is loosed, and in Spokane
The ceremony of awards is drowned;
The fest lacks all conviction, while the trolls
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some aggravation is at hand;
Surely the Slated Hugos are at hand.
The Slated Hugos! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image of a nominee story
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert prose;
A text with turgid body and an end wholly bland,
A phrase blank and meaningless about guns,
Is moving its dull verbs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant reviewers’ words.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That sixteen nominees in fiction slots
Were read like nightmares in my shaking Kindle,
And what rough book, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Sasquan for its award?

Comment by Kyra from File 770

Voting for Noms On a Summer Evening

Whose noms these are I think I know.
His blog is quite a silly show;
He will not see me stopping here
His lousy choices to forego.

My Siamese Cat must think it queer
To stop without a Hugo near
But I must set aside this slate
And vote again another year.

These stories, at best second-rate,
Were stuffed by Pups (and GamerGate?!)
The rockets they would try to sweep
Their wounded egos to inflate.

The Puppy Poop is much too deep,
My sanity I’ll have to keep,
And “No Award” before I sleep,
And “No Award” before I sleep.

~Comment by May Tree on File 770

October 13, 2016

"Your Face, It Was Apricot"

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