Nov. 9th, 2002

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There has to be some sort of mental switch in my mind, which trips itself once I hit the point of "ah, no actual work tomorrow, nothing urgent to do", and promptly informs my body that it can try to go to sleep. Thank heaven for coffee.

Just won some doujinshi on ebay, which pleases me, but I must avoid making a habit of it. (We will omit the list of exceptions that gets filed next to such a rule, along the lines of "except if they should happen to be Gitenshidou" or similar. Or if they should be by and by, or any other reason why.)

I was rereading Stephen Marley's Managra, and just enjoying it. It is baroque. Astonishingly baroque. Totally baroque. A Dr Who "New Adventure", the Fourth Doctor with Sarah Jane Smith in an Europe that's been recreated -- multiply recreated, actually, resulting in a Britannia Perfidia and a Britannia Gloriana and a Regency Britannia and loads of different versions of different countries in different periods -- stocked with clones who've been given the memories of their historical (or fictional) originals, but who realise what they are, and who cheerfully cross the borders where necessary. Dimensions Ordinary and Dimensions Extraordinary. Three Lord Byrons (nicknamed Mad, Bad, and Dangerous To Know.) Torquemada and Richelieu and Borgia as three of the Cardinals in the Vatican, all together. A Visage Attic full of masks belonging to the mysterious Persona. The Lady Incarnadine, and the Lady Intangerine. Aleister Crowley, Faust, and Paracelsus all competing for the leadership of the Anti-Church. (Cellini's in the running, too, but gets . . . written out.) Glorious stuff.


"Where have Byron and company gone?"
"Percy and Claire went to fly cats -"
"Dreadful! I adore cats."
"I also."
-the Doctor and Mary Shelley, Managra


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