angela_n_hunt | Recent Entries

Okay, I'm just hitting the wall with trying to figure out what to do here, so I'm just going to point you at my Patreon. The update posts there are almost always public and hey, if you like the content or want to see how the sausage gets made, a whole dollar gets you into the sideshow.

https://www.patreon.com/AngelaNHunt

I'm sure I'll figure something out with this, but for now, I have to take it off my plate. It's pushing too many of my depression/anxiety buttons.

But I'm realizing with the transfer over to Dreamwidth, I'm not finding it in me to write much. Most of what I'm writing is over on Patreon.

It makes me feel very sad. LJ was such an important part of my life.

Well, I've finally joined the great exodus from LiveJournal. Seriously not a thing I wanted to do, but it's clear that the platform is on its way to obscurity, the way that MySpace and GeoCities went away. I'll try to figure out how to echo to LJ, but I don't even know how much I'll post here. Patreon and other platforms have most of my attention.

Hi! How are you today?

Current Mood: awake
Current Location: Office
Current Music: Waves of Change (Kaskade Remix)

Ad Astra - 2016 - Angela N. Hunt

Blessed Yule, my darlings!

I don't even know where to start.

Well, I do. With this.

I love you. Yes. You.

It's been one hell of a year and we need each other more than we ever have in a long, long time. We're being asked to rise up. We're being asked to not throw away our shot. And above all, we are being asked to find a way forward with Love and in service to Justice. There's a reason that Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness were init cap words for the Founders. Yes, the arc of the moral universe is fucking long.

It does not mean we can abandon the work.

But it's Yuletide. Until the Tide rolls out and leaves us with its scrimshaw, all we're being asked of is very simple: love one another, heal the sick, feed the hungry, defend the weak, and comfort the hurt.

It really is that simple.

And it is really that fucking hard.

I love you, darlings. Sol Invictus! The Conquering Sun returns!

"We rise and fall and light from dying embers, remembrances that hope and love last longer

And love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love cannot be killed or swept aside."
- Lin Manuel Miranda

Current Mood: somber
Current Location: La La Land
Current Music: random ad music from the TV in the other room

Today is my dear friend,

kore_rising's birthday!

Darling, thank you for all of the wonderful, wonderful stories. You are a diamond of the first water. Hope your day is perfect and wonderful.

Today is the anniversary of the bombing of Pearl Harbor and the day my father died, fourteen years ago today.

Fourteen.

It feels more like four days today. Like I just saw him yesterday and if I turn fast enough or around the right corner, I'll find him standing there, grinning at me like a loon.

I miss my father so much today.

There's nothing new to say or for me to tell you about my father. If you track either the Hugh M. Hyatt tag or the Poppa Bear tag here on my LJ, you will find my memories of him. Stories that I've kept alive as best as I can, because it's all that I have left of him. The things he touched and the things he made are not him. But the memories... Those are things, moments that retain a bit of his soul. A bit of who I knew and remember of the man. That I remember of my father.

This year has been so so full of death and grief. So many have died or been killed and not far away, not across the water, but in communities that I travel through, losses to friends I have known for years. Artists gone that I have known of for years. Children taking their lives, because they're not sure that the next four years would be survivable for them, because the gender they were did not comply with the physical form they were born with. Artists also taking their lives, because they weren't sure if they'd have health care the next four years, and better to make one's own exit than be at the mercy of a cruel and merciless government that demands Obedience, and dispenses only pain and a slow death from pre-existing conditions, because apparently the sick and disabled don't deserve care or help or gods forbid, hope. And on top of that, a friend I knew since high school finally lost the battle with his heart, the organ he had been given with a congenital defect that finally got him. He lived longer than any of us thought possible. So much so that I think we all thought he would be here for a little bit longer.

But maybe that would have never been true, no matter when he died. Jason's dying would have been a loss no matter what, and a lot of us would have wished for more time. Not for us. For his children and for his wife, who has been such a pillar of strength and power, that I am in awe and hope that when or if she needs to break or just take a break, we will all be here to catch her.

It's the least I can do. The least *we* can do as her community.

And here we are on Pearl Harbor Day and the World is on fire and we are firmly in the grips of what Heinlein called the Crazy Years. I like to think that my father would have been a voice of reason during all of this. Spoken out especially against the willful denial of scientific fact presented in hard data. This once, his stubborness would have been a gift and a source of power. He loved to argue. I like to think that he probably could have out-argued the Devil. He had that in him.

I don't have his facility for the math or the science. I can only write about the people and the art and the music that I track. The politics that I immerse myself in, because at heart, I am a truly political animal, and in another life, life in DC and write analysis for people who probably never read them. But whatever. That life is not this life and I work with the tools that I've been given.

Oh, it hurts this year, Lady. It really fucking hurts. And next year doesn't look any better, in fact the next decade looks to be pretty fucking shitty. We're going to lose more people, and not to natural causes. Even my father's heart attack was an expected risk. It's not like the family history doesn't run in that direction.

So apparently today is going to be full of fire and tears. I will burn incense and offerings and pray. I will meditate and weep. I will rail at the cruelty of men and the blind neutrality of the vast Universe.

I need a box of tissue and a new cup of coffee. The crying is giving me that stupid headache that seems to follow such outbursts.

Pop, what are we going to do? I know that we can prevail, but I also know what the human cost of that effort will be. It'll be body count in both literal bodies, and in a lot of minds. It will break a lot of people and we will lose people we love and gods, I just want it to stop. I just. want. it. to. stop.

Goddess, help. Help. Help, help, help.

I don't know what to do.

I want my Daddy.

Current Mood: pain
Current Location: La La Land
Current Music: the heater's fan

Today is

alphaflyer's birthday! And I am really bad at coding things for LJ, so it's gonna have to just not live in the title.

May your day be full of wonderful things and much appreciation for your fabulousness!

Current Mood: tired, but festive
Current Location: La La Land
Current Music: the heater

A long time ago, some shit went down and I won't go into details, because frankly, the details bore me and more than likely would bore you too. But the situation is fresh in my mind. It's about how things end, and i find myself sitting with a shit ton of anger today which is, of course, triggering my panic disorder into all sorts of fun things.

Not.

Sometimes, endings aren't always good ones. Sometimes things end with tears and a voyage, or in this case, recrimations and betrayal, rather than smiles and a wedding. The World is going through a convulsive upheaval, and many things are Ending, while others are Beginning. And this time, it's ending with a lot of anger and tears.

What a time to be alive, eh?

But all the things that used to terrify me? I find that right now, they do nothing more than make me laugh in a way that says maybe I should start shopping for that gingerbread house sooner than later. Mer calls it being a feminist monstrosity, a member of the Harpy Corps.

I call it being the Devil.

The Devil really gets a bad rap if you think about it. Totally set up and gaslit by his deity and then thrown in perdition as a warning to anyone else who might think about holding to their highest truth and honor, defying contradictory Law. Except...that really hasn't worked, has it?

We're living in a world right now where people who call themselves onstensibly Christian spout hate and violence, and the people volunteering to protect the innocent and the weak are the fucking Church of Satan. Let that sink in. The motherfucking Church of SATAN. How the hell did that happen? I swear, it's like we're all through the fucking looking glass and no one knows the way out except a few of us who know the only way to win is to go forward and move your pieces across the chessboard. There's no going back. There's only forward. Trying to go back is what got us here. Trying to appease people who had no intention of ever being appeased and who are so empty that nothing will ever be enough to fill that void. Not the power, not the money, not the fame, not the adulation of being told how wonderful they are, not any of it.

So I find myself with a great deal of sympathy for the Devil and wondering why it's such a bad thing to be considered one. Right now, He's the only one standing up for some of us. If that makes me evil, so be it. In fact, fuck yeah. I've always wanted to be officially evil. I hear we get jackets.

Because being "nice" hasn't worked. Playing by the rules when the opposition has thrown out the rule book hasn't fucking worked. Being authentic and true to yourself, that kinda does, or so far seems to. The other will kill you. It certainly came damn close to killing me. I stopped being the Witch there for a couple of years. The one who's not good, who's not nice, who's just right. Right for herself, not anyone else.

Why is it wrong to want justice? To want others to suffer the way that you have? To understand at a visceral level the hell that you've been through? I'm not a good person. I'm not about rising above it all. Some people need to be put down like dogs and opposed with every fiber of your being. There are absolutes in the world. Not a whole fucking lot of them, but they do exist, and sometimes the right thing to do is so fucking obvious and in your face, I don't know how you fucking miss it.

But people do.

And if you bring it up...

You're the Devil.

You're the Devil for demanding that people own their shit and look at the truth of who they are, whatever that truth may be, good or bad. No cherry picking the attributes that we want others to admire in us, but all of them. For instance, I am routinely petty, spiteful, and fucking vengeful. They're all pretty serious failings.

And I'm totally okay with that. I'm fucking human. Sometimes the world needs pettiness, spite, and vengeance. Especially vengeance. I'm good with vengeance.

What I'm not good with is people telling me there's nothing we can do and to just fucking give up. Civilisation is over, blah, blah, blah.

And people call me depressed.

Fuck you.

I didn't come here to fucking give up. If you're not making your corner of the world a better place, you're doing has been worthless. Call it Anji's Corollary to Schroeinger's Law.

Screw you. I want a better world. Me and Jenny Sparks.

And if that means being the Devil?

So fucking mote it fucking be.

Current Mood: fury
Current Location: La La Land
Current Music: the heater's fan

*Because as the desceandet of a band of Southern California Indians, the Luiseno Indians, I am not deaf to the cries of my ancestors slaughtered by conquistadors. Currently only the Rincon Band of that tribe survives, and owns a lovely casino.

So, in the BiGJAM House, we do not celebrate on Thursday. It's a tradition that started in my twenties, when I discovered that two of my friends had sat home alone on the day, and had not sat down to a handmade warm meal in gods knew how long. That first Friday, I went to Andronico's, bought half a cooked and stuffed turkey, (thank you, Andronico's!), the makings for a traditional meal, came back to the duplex and tried to teach myself how the hell to make a Thanksgiving dinner. I had only ever been on kitchen duty growing up. My mother never taught me how to do any of it.

I won't lie. That first dinner was barely adequate. The potatos were lumpy, I think the stuffing was Stovetop, and everything else was just passable. An excellent first attempt.

And it is, to this day, one of the best memories of Thanksgivings dinners that were full of warmth and love and too much food followed by pie. For a day, I helped my friends, and especially myself, feel a little bit more at home in the world.

That's a big deal in your twenties.

Needless to say, ah, you could say I've improved from that day. (And that would be a screaming understatement LOL)

What started out as a dinner between friends, became an open dinner for anyone who was alone and needed company that day. A day where even if I hadn't met you before, from that day on, you were a member of my chosen family. Because the people that would turn up with established friends, always turned out to be as dear as the ones they came with.

What started out as cooking on the day of, over the years gained a day or two here. Because as the number grew from four to at its highest 35, I started to teach myself more dishes and refined my techniques. Now I start prep a full week before the day of dinner.

Yes, you read that right. A full week.

There's good reason for that. The annual menu now includes the biggest fucking turkey I can find that year (24 is ideal, but I'd really love to get 30 pounder some day, CACKLE), the usual sides, AND chicken and beef liver pate, cakes, banana bread, pies, cookies, and if I end up having five minutes, a cheese and veggie plate and deviled eggs. And people still bring food if they want to.

So let that sink in for a minute.

Because this year is different. This year, I knew and know that I could not do all the work that I did before. There was no way. I just can't work like that anymore. So for the first time since that first dinner, I've cut back and streamlined. Dropped the pate, because I don't currently have a working food processor (that alone was a huge gain of time, it's a complicated dish), dropped the cakes, and only made two batches of chocolate chip cookies, versus my usual raft of dozens of those, sugar, peanut butter, and whatever new cookie recipe had caught my eye.

Yes, I was fucking nuts.

And it made and makes me stupid happy to do this every year. I can't even tell you. This is one of the great touchstones of my life.

Cutting back was really fucking hard for me, because I felt like I would be letting everyone down. Don't worry, Sane Anji pointed out that I always make too much fucking food, and there was a good chance no one would even notice, let alone care. The priority was to do the dinner without murdering my sanity and mood.

So here we are.

Final prep day.

I’ve got volunteers for help and I’m going to make sure that I take every offer of help that shows up tomorrow, even if it is for something as simple as, "would you please refill my glass?" (never cook sober) Or "watch this while I go to the bathroom? Thank you!!!" Simple stuff and it will make everyone feel good to help, instead of me chasing them out of the kitchen all the damn time.

I get the lesson now, Lady. Trust people to help when they actually show up to help, and know that I can’t do everything on my own. Except if no one shows up, figure out a way to do it by myself. Don’t let their lack of support or apathy drag me down. In short…

Fuck the crab pot.

Yeah.

Fuck the crab pot.

Roger that. I copy loud and clear.

Now understand that yesterday, I did not take timed breaks and ended really hurting my right shoulder due to recalcitrant ancient flour and an equally ancient flour sifter. Don't ask. It was an ugly three hours. So by bedtime, I was in fucking pain. Well, cannabis to the rescue.

Between taking a serious hit before bed and having the Husband put the Whoopi & Maya cannabis salve on my back, I am tender today, but not racked in pain. I've been diligent about setting my timers and sitting often and taking Advil and my dose frequently, Oh, and mostly use my left hand for heavy duty. (Thank Crom for ambidexterity)

So far. So good. I am not in great shape, but I'm nowhere near yesterday's stupidity. (Dude, it was boneheaded.)

So far, I've got one pie in the oven, and just walked away to take my break from slicing apples for crumble and pie. I'd call the experiment a success.

But all of this spawned some heavy thinking this morning. Specifically...

Man, the fucking arrogance of “Let nothing stop you.” Yeah, if you are completely healthy and able-bodied, and/or are born with enough support and care, you totes can go balls to the walls. There are people behind you who will catch you if you fall.

Then there’s the rest of us, who I’ve joined and didn’t understand and couldn’t believe when they said that they couldn't do things, because frankly, I saw how much it was a lie when it came out of my mother. I just missed that that piece of data was specific to her. You can’t help someone who won’t help themselves.

It wasn’t a universal.

So, yeah, some grace and compassion for myself. There’s no way I could have known any of that. A) I was a kid in a hideously abusive household and B) I was a fucking kid! Jesus Christ, give myself a fucking break, guys! We don’t expect that kind of cognitive burden from a child! It doesn’t matter if they’re a prodigy! (And I wasn't) That shit will burn them the fuck out.

I didn’t know and I couldn’t know.

I know now. And knowing what I know, I can take this knowledge back to the world of the abled and finally explain in terms that they can understand what it’s like to be caged by disabilities that you have no control over and that on some days, make you just want to scream with rage, pain, and frustration. How everything in your life requires a work around, life hacking every minute of every day for the rest of your life. Because for some of these things, there is no cure and in some other cases, they would refuse a "cure" because y'know what?

We're not broken.

We're just different.

I can tell people that. I can do that.

Yes, Lady. I can do that.

Yeah.

Lots to be grateful for. And grateful for you. Especially you. You keep me breathing.

* I had a footnote in mind earlier, but it has gone walkies. Oh well! It's gone now! :)

Current Mood: conflicted and grateful
Current Location: La La Land
Current Music: U2 concert on the front room TV, Bono singing In A Little While

The Magician - Tarot Apocalyptica - 11-2016

No. I wouldn't fuck with her either.

Serendipity. When it hits, it hits, and you pray to be in the right place, at the right time, with a working camera. This counts as the Arrested Moment. This is what I was waiting for.

The Magician

Mistress before Gods or man. You do not doubt her mastery or her power. The suits obey her and her Will is total and complete. Her war rig awaits, the Wheel in her hand. The World is laid at her feet.

Now. Pick up what you can carry. And run. *

*I still don't have a REVERSED meaning, but I'm sure it will come to me in time. For now, this is the card meaning.

* * *

Okay, this one is gonna get REALLY long.

( Tell the truth and shame the devil. )

Current Mood: a little anxious
Current Location: La La Land
Current Music: Earlier: Bargrooves: Espace Prive (Disc 1)

Magician Crosses - Tarot Apocalyptica - 11-2016

I want it put down officially for the record that it was the Mouse's idea to go in the water. I didn't even bring it up. So we went down the embankment and she walked into the shoals of the Los Angeles River.

This was the last shot of the shoot. Daylight dying by the second around us. The sound of the sunset chorus coming from the songbirds. Far away, the distant hiss of traffic from Burbank Avenue and the 405. (Yeah, this place is right between the arms of them. Crazy innit?)

There is such an introspection and peace to this image. Last light. Last look.

Time to head home.

* * *

So leading up to the shoot we had a Black Moon while all of this was going on. Second New Moon of the month, which happens as rarely as the Blue Moon does. (Imma gonna get all woo woo on you.) Apparently really prangs the energy, and actually made sense why I was feeling so sideways to the world.

In other news, being October with my birthday, anniversary, and Samhain coming, I realized I had no energy to carve pumpkins, let alone decorate. I was just too damn tired and had no motivation or enthusiasm to do it.

Luckily, this is where the Bean stepped in. I let her decorate the house with the regular things to her great delight. Delegating! I can haz!

And I told myself not to stress.

Yeah.

That went as well as you think.

* * *

And currently, as of today, I find myself thinking of my father a lot. Which is normal. We're coming up on his death day. My father tried to teach me so many things that I am only now starting to understand. Gods above know why he thought a six-year-old was going to grasp this shit, but hey, it made an impression and I'm apparently figuring it out now.

He used to play this game with me. He would say, you can make any rule for the game. So, I'd make up something silly, like stand on one leg. Then it would be his turn, and he always said, "I make a rule that I win."

And I would lose my shit, well as much as a six-year-old can. But every time, he'd point out that it wasn't cheating. I had not made a rule that said you had to win by a certain metric. (Yes, I'm quoting.) He never said as much, but I think what he was trying to say to me is/was: we make our own rules. We are the masters of our destiny. Not our churches, not our governments, not even our peers. We decide what our moral or immoral center is. And one of those choices can be, to win. But you have to choose, and you have to abide by those choices. Be willing to take those consequences.

Quite the lesson packed into so small a game. It's up there with his, the sky is red thing that he'd spring on me from time to time.

So.

I make a rule that I win. It’s not cheating. The parameters of the game are that you can make your own rules. One of those rules can be, I rule that I win. Done. No. It’s not fair. But life’s not fair, and anyone telling you differently is selling something.

My rule is, I win.

And you can too.

* * *

You ever have one of those days where you just wonder where you are? Not literally. Not physically. Just...at what point am I in my life? Where am I? Who the fuck am I? The Universe is vast and uncaring and yet...likes Life. Endless life in endless combinations. Infinite diversity.

I forgot my meds yesterday. No bueno, but I also didn’t pass out around three to get a nap. Something to think on. I don't know if it's happening because the Wellbutrin is wearing off and the Prozac takes over, and the Prozac makes me sleepy. I took my regular dose this morning. We'll see what happens. (Yes! I am my own test bed!)

My hand remor was bad this morning too. Thing is, I don't notice it anymore unless I'm trying to do fine handwork, or someone points it out. I've just learned to work around it.

I can't decide if that's good or bad.

What else?

I feel good today, if in a bit of pain, so painkillers before I head out to Costco. Pray for me.

What else?

I’m really not all here today. I am just drifting out of my body, wordless and floaty.

And last night was rough. I had a whole raft of difficult and painful emotion come up that I kept trying to process on my own and that was rather stupid. Then the light bulb went on and I thought, how about I just...sit with the feeling. Stop trying to fix or resolve it. Just let myself feel the pain, the hurt, and the disappointment, and let myself grieve. And eventually, all the pain and hurt processed and drifted away.

I wish I could retain this lesson better. It keeps getting taught to me and every time, I act so damn surprised. Gah.

And that's it.

What's next?

Current Mood: artistic
Current Location: La La Land
Current Music: Behemoth humming to herself

Magician Waits - Tarot Apocalyptica - 11-2016
This one is very similar to the portrait, but has a completely different feeling for me. Also, apparently my idea to avoid water at all costs for the Waste? Yeah, that went out the window...

I have only done the usual color correcting on this one.

That's it.

That's the shot.

It wants to be a book cover so badly.

Also, at this point, I had ditched the fucking flash. It was just pissing me off so much because I was having to make do with the on-camera pop up flash, and that fucker always blows out way too fucking hot.

Did I mention that my external flash unit failed before we started shooting? Yes. The fucker failed.

So, this is me remembering all of my long gun training and getting super steady with my breath and using my knee under my elbow as a tripod. Like you do.

I fucking love it.

* * *

Yes, there's actually more...

I had a whole new batch spawn sub thoughts about how I just don’t bounce back from things anymore. The body is just so slow to recover.

I fucking hated it. I continue to hate it, but I am coming to some kind of detente with reality. We'll see how it goes.

Then there's today. Anger is still right there under the surface. I’m having more stairway conversations.

Today, I’m going to try and draw an angel. I’m going to draw it on the tablet and see how it goes.

Spent the morning daydreaming/troubleshooting the High Priestess. Thinking about how to make the dress for Cristi without it being perfect on a dress form and that’s all fucking right. I just have to get it constructed. Dress form could be months from now if ever. It’s all good.

Though, I gotta get me the Brother sooner than later though. Being able to do embroidered keyholes for the Imperator??? EEEEEEEE. But whatever. We’ll make due.

Because I hate putting in buttonholes. They are the worst.

Current Mood: baffled
Current Location: La La Land
Current Music: the heater running

Magician - Tarot Apocalyptica sides - 11-2016

Okay. Yeah. I can kinda take a pretty damn good photo.

Another accident, sorta. I was trying to get detail of the hair and crown and the Mouse just stayed in character.

I had a shred of light left from Golden Hour when I shot this and it shows. I have cropped and done some burning, along with the usual color correcting that I like, but other than that, that's it.

This one is going in a frame and going over my desk. I think it's the best photo I've taken of her in years. The Husband's comment was, "Ooo, yeah. That's Arya Stark."

Fuck yeah.

* * *

Continuing catch up...

Along with the relapse of really bad depression, I also caught both a horrid cold AND an ear infection. No, I don't know how I managed it either, other than the fact that depression literally depresses your immune system. I'd just never experienced it before. Holy fuck, that SUCKED. And dude, I haven't had an ear infection since I was a child. I will not regale you with TMI of what I had to do to get over it and clear that eustachion tube, but fuck sticks, that was awful.

The rest of the time, I just felt in limbo.

Never mind that September the 27th rolled around, the day that my Uncle-in-Law, Albert "Bud" Wheelon died, two years ago and some change. It hurt this year more than last. I'm hoping that someday others will illuminate his legacy as things de-classify. Maybe it will be me. I don't know. I just know that he shouldn't be forgotten by history or America. I don't want to see him suffer a Hamilton, and get forgotten for two hundred years. It's not every day that you find out that you are related by marriage to the first Mayor of Area 51.

Then October hit. My birthday month. And then the long slide into the holidays. This year flew by. They keep doing that. But whatever. I keep working. I keep writing. I keep making cards.

During all of that, my self-talk was pretty poisonous. Sub thoughts rolling around in my head about how I was nothing and haven’t amounted to anything in my life. How everyone I know is more successful than me and doing more than me.

Which is bullshit.

And then I started to improve healthwise. I had moments of feeling moderately happy and content, even if the poison thoughts ran in the background. I got my skull rivets back, (someone had walked off with them) so I went back to work pounding rivets on the Magician's belt and corset.

I was working.

But I was fighting myself every Gods-be-damned inch of the way.

Current Mood: thoughtful
Current Location: La La Land
Current Music: Zoe Keating

Alternate Magician Card - 11-2016

NB: main website is down for inexplicable reasons, so this gets to come live on LJ first.

This was actually the version of the Magician I was going to go with at first, but as I was fiddling with my camera, the Mouse had relaxed and...THAT (which I haven't posted yet) was the shot. Which I took, and this was no longer the Magician.

Considering how I threw every obstacle I could think of in my own path to sabotage this shoot and this process, (no, really, I fucking was and it was fucking stupid, but somethimes you have to be stupid) it was a miracle that I got THIS shot, never mind the one that followed.

Saturday's shoot was the perfect example of what happens when I finally get the fuck out of the way of the work and just do the fucking work.Hopefully this time it'll stick. Cause it's not the first fucking time I've had this damn revelation.

But more on the shoot later...

* * *

And I begin to catch you up...

I had a relapse. That's why I had not been blogging or talking as much and pretty much reduced to retweeting memes. Crushing depression, I had gotten to that stage of work with the Sutro Bath shoot where I just wanted to quit, because I hated everything. Ditto for the Apocalyptica and I'd only gotten one card in the bag. What the hell. Talk about resistance. (I will be finishing up Sutro now, but it's on the back burner.)

So I put my head down and I kept swinging and I kept working, but it felt like I am and was going so so so slow. Slow is better than not at all. It’s better than a lot of people ever manage. So why couldn't I just chill and do the work?

Because I was depressed and felt like shit and that was the hardest thing to do right then.

And really, if it wasn’t hard, everyone would do it.

So I just sat with how I felt. It is and was okay to feel like shit. Nowhere does it say that I have to feel great all the time and nowhere does it say that I have to perform happiness or wellness for anyone.

So it really fucking sucked to go through, but the jewel I found in the dark was worth it. I did say that this Apocalyptica was a journey of recovery. I just wish I knew a little more ahead of time when I'm fortelling, know what I'm sayin'?

Bloody hell.

Originally published at Curse & Quanta. Please leave any comments there.

And a lot of briefing/bringing y’all up to speed, because boy howdy, a LOT has been going on. In fact, I don’t even know where to start, so I’ll just start in the middle and work my way out.

First off, the campaign for the fourth card, the Imperatrix, is now live! You can find it here:

We’re already at 42% funding, which blows my mind and humbles me.

So, the Major Arcana continue to drive ahead, shredding the track. The Magician is days away from shooting. Here, have a peek at some stuff:

The High Priestess has already acreted a fair amount of fabric and props. I’m hoping that once I get the Magician in the can, the High Priestess will (prop and costume wise) come together quickly.

Because we hit a bit of a snag. The location that I chose initially for the High Priestess in NoCal…won’t work. It’s surrounded by a fence and a jog to get out to it. Unlike the Magician or the Fool, there’s an actual set piece that needs to travel to the site. The same is true of the next two cards, the Imperatrix and the Imperator.

So. I’ve had to rethink a few things. In a perfect world, I’d be able to get cast, crew, and set out to the locations that I want with no problems. Except I’m not Annie Liebowitz, Mark Milller, or Ridley Scott and with the attendant budgets that go with them.

YET.

So my current plan is thus: me and my camera have already begun to go out to the locations on my list and started shooting ALL of the master plates NOW that I will need at the exact time of day and place that I want. It only costs gas and me. And the occasional scramble over obstacles. And falling on my ass.

But I digress.

tl;dr: I’m accelerating the shooting of the master plates/backgrounds and discovered some good news in the process. As of today, I’ve shot the Echo Park Secret Swing, the old abandoned Los Angeles Zoo–seriously cool!–two different art deco underpasses, one in Pasadena and one over the LA River. Next, I’ll be heading out to Murphy’s Ranch, aka Hitler’s Bunker.

No. That’s not a mistype.

Then I need to rebalance the next locations I want, because every one after those is further out. Most likely, the Edwards AFB Boneyard will be next, then the Victoria/Laguna Beach tower, and the ship wreck trail.

In between all of these shooting loops, I will build all the sets that I need, until Cristi and others are available, which won’t be till October at the earliest. Then I rent a green screen studio, put model and set in front of a green screen and go to town. In fact, if I play my cards right, I’ll be able to shoot all damn day, rotating models and sets. For the NoCal models, I can have them all meet me in one location. Ditto, the SoCal models.

There’s actually a lot of upside to this. My producer-husband happens to do exactly this sort of work (it literally pays our rent) and knows how to talk to green screen lighting grips. I’ll have total control of the entire environment. It’ll also bring up the comfort level for the models. Instead of sweating their ass off in the desert, they will be in a climate controlled location with showers and bathrooms and kitchens. And down here in La La Land, you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting three green screen studios. Competition is fierce and the cost is really low, compared to dragging everyone and everything out to a location.

As long as I match light and color temp… Well, I think I might dare you to spot the difference.

I have the time. I just have to build and shoot as much as I freaking can. And like most things in my life, this may be a felix culpa. I seem to always land on my feet in a better situation when things go south like this.

Ooo! Also, once again, my primary model for the Imperatrix said YES! WOO! Two for two!

* * *

In the meantime, my jaw started aching like you would not believe last night, y’know, night before launch. I couldn’t tell if it was my teeth that were hurting and it was referring or if it were the ear and Eustachian tube that was giving me shit. It was the ear. It’s much better as of this evening, but gods, it fucking sucks. I got sick near the end for the High Priestess too.

Hello, Resistance.

Oh, and there is nothing worse than feeling an ear drain. GAH. It’s not painful. It just feels fucking gross.

And that’s it for the fish report with a beat! *random Roger Waters reference* I apologize for the novel, but I wanted to let everyone know what I’ve been up to while being relatively quiet here and elsewhere. I’ve been building and sewing and driving and shooting and… I’m a wee bit tired.

But I’m happy. Happier than I’ve been in a long long time. It feels good.

Originally published at Curse & Quanta. Please leave any comments there.

Apparently I was just unconsciously shooting book covers for an epic fantasy series…

I’m not complaining!

There’s nothing about this one that I don’t love. NOM.

* * *

I woke up okay, but the anxiety is trying to amp up to panic, so I’m breathing and doing the exercises first, before I go and take my Klonopin.

School starts tomorrow. As a result, I am taking the Bean out to get new shoes. Shockingly, the shoes the Mouse currently has are fine and she loves them. One less thing.

* * *

Trying to figure out how much I can do in a day is really frustrating me. I just have no sense of what my endurance or recovery time is. I know I need to exercise more, but everything is a choice. I can exercise and not work on the Apocalyptica. I can exercise or not take care of my girls the way that they need. I can’t give up on my health, because it is directly related to my sanity.

So. I’ve got to figure that out. Which is okay. Everything is solvable.

In the meantime, I need to get the rest of the Sutro photos processed so I can to strip the establishing shots I took over the weekend into the computer, so I can get them prepped. And everything is taking five times longer than I want it to and then I stop…

I breathe…

And remember…

It takes as long as it takes.

And who knows? Hiking out to all these locations should get me in good shape. Climbing too. I’ll just let my body do what it needs to do. A breathing body is a perfect body.

Originally published at Curse & Quanta. Please leave any comments there.

Screwing around with effects here.

* * *

Party was a swimming success as far as I can tell. The Mouse loved it and had a ton of fun with her friends. There was much grilling and drinks even if the weather was 102′. We stayed in the shade, unlike the younger set, with the outdoor fan and correct application of chilled beverages kept it pleasant. I also got to smoke two cigars with friends, which I haven’t done in far too long.

I had planned on taking the girls to get shoes for school, but again, I have forgotten how I do not have the resilience I once had. I just managed to make a simple dinner, and that was work for me. As a result, today is a rest day. Bless the Ant. The only reason my garden isn’t dead is she went out and got everything watered in defense against the heat.

If I had any complaint about today, it would be the fact that I’m exhausted and moving slow. My creative brain has a ton of new stuff in it from conversations had with friends yesterday and I itch to work. But. Not enough spoons.

So I’m making notes and breathing. If it’s meant to get made, it’ll be there tomorrow.

Hope your weekend was equally wonderful.

Originally published at Curse & Quanta. Please leave any comments there.

This one is going to be an eventual bookmark/business card. Exquisite, isn’t she?

* * *

So I am the parent of a 12-year-old, officially and everything. Lordy. It does not remotely feel like twelve years and change have gone by. I mean, clearly they have, but damn. It seemed so slow at the beginning and now, the time flies.

I’m also back on school year hours which starts my day at 0630. Honestly, it feels good to be back on the morning shift. While it is true that I am a night owl, the mornings are the only time I get to myself and have any semblance of silence. The rest of the time, it’s just wall to wall noise.

My Hello Kitty metal water bottle achieved lack of containment, which is a tiny loss, but I really liked it. I didn’t know they could fail like that. Live and learn.

Yesterday was a rest day. I realized I hadn’t taken one in over a week and have been going non-stop again, so, I made rest happen.

In other news, completed the chaotic giant rock task that’s been dominating my week this morning, and on my way back from Arcadia (don’t ask), I was able to detour to the Colorado Street Bridge and get some establishing shot plates for the Apocalyptica. Also realized I was wearing the wrong damn shoes for hiking (flip flops). So, going to make a point of kitting out Moneypenny with a basic hike pack to live in the car, since this is basically the way I’m doing things. Go to place A, detour to shoot location on way back, lather, rinse, repeat.

Oh, and I really have to go dumpster diving sooner than later. I need to build a stage, a throne, and a royalish divan type object, so that means taking people’s left on the street furniture, and stripping them to their frames. Reupholstering really isn’t that hard and again, see the backlog of fabric in the Garage of Doom. And pallets can be had for nothing if I cruise the neighborhood. Lot of construction going on right now.

And that’s me. How are you?

Originally published at Curse & Quanta. You can comment here or there.

No, we didn’t get arrested for having weapons. I have no idea how I managed it either, so don’t ask. LOL

* * *

*ahem*

TODAY IS THE MOUSE’S BIRTHDAY. THE POPULACE WILL MAKE MERRY UNDER PAIN OF DEATH. YES.

The Birthday Girl has asked for a session at the Salon of Mom and materials will be arriving soon for Cake of Awesomeness (delivery is my life saver).

*gets momentarily serious and maudlin*

I cannot remotely describe my eldest daughter adequately. She’s growing to be easily taller than me at this rate. She has a dancer’s grace and the steel strength that goes with it. She’s silly and sings ridiculous songs when I’m having a bad day. She’s maddening as hell and argues with me over any injustice in her mind, no matter how slight. She’s smart, goes without saying, but, the thing that I’m proudest of?

She’s kind.

Not all the time. She is a child still. But she tries. And she stands up for her friends and for herself and is not afraid to speak out against the things that she feels are wrong.

I don’t know how we got so lucky. She’s amazing. I helped make her. But the making of her now is starting to be more of her own choosing, and she is choosing far more wisely than I ever did. I mean it’s not all great. She appears to have inherited my predilection to anxiety and has an unusual variant of ADHD, but she’s learning how to turn them into strengths, not weaknesses.

And this year, the Perseid meteor shower that heralds her birth every year appears to be even more spectacular than usual. I blame her grandfather for that one. He likes to show off.

I have no idea what she will become. I just know it will be glorious. Even if that means becoming a beach bum. Because if she chooses that, she will be the greatest beach bum the world has ever seen. Or not. Doesn’t matter. Whatever she chooses, she appears to be choosing to be uniquely herself.

It’s fucking awesome.

Originally published at Curse & Quanta. Please leave any comments there.

On the Parapet

I am so lucky in my friends and models. Such beautiful ladies, as Baron Munchausen would say…

* * *

The day today was an exercise in controlling the urge to scream. Mostly in frustration. As a result, my garden has been seriously weeded.

Actually, that’s a pretty awesome and positive outcome and a correct application of that feeling. Huh. Go me. Amazing what meds and therapy will do for you.

Oh, and my arms are tired. Some of the weeds required serious digging out. *shakes fist at whatever that thing is with the giant tap root that isn’t a dandelion)

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an_hyatt

A.N. Hyatt

April 2017

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The Enchanter's Theorem

Stories, poetry, pictures and musings

Recent Entries

A Detente of Sorts

I keep meaning to post...

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Tarot Apocalyptica - The Magician

Tarot Apocalyptica - Magician Crosses

Tarot Apocalyptica - Magician Waits

Tarot Apocalyptica - Magician

Tarot Apocalyptica - Alternate Magician Card

Tarot Apocalyptica – The Imperatrix

Duel

Untitled II

Watcher at the Wall

Stand Defiant

On the Parapet

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April 2017

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