fables for deconstruction

Færie tales, annotated with anchored-link notes, as well as the public domain Project Gutenberg texts at SurLaLune. (via slinka)

This came as the result of JP pointing out to me that I don’t know the difference between Fates, Furies, and the Triple Goddess. I can’t recall offhand if Gaiman had the same mixed up problem, if it was another author who combined them, if it was my own muddled mind, or god help me, it might have been Clash of the Titans. I had several of the action figures for that, you know...

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bouncer cook waiter photoblog for gypsies, taxi drivers, and prostitutes ( memepool and boingboing )

dan simmons’ fiction

“I came back for my own purposes,” said the Time Traveler, looking around my booklined study. “I chose you to talk to because it was . . . convenient. And I don’t want you to do a goddamned thing. There’s nothing you can do. But relax . . . we’re not going to be talking about personal things. Such as, say, the year, day, and hour of your death. I don’t even know that sort of trivial information, although I could look it up quickly enough. You can release that white-knuckled grip you have on the edge of your desk.” I tried to relax. “What do you want to talk about?” I said. “The Century War,” said the Time Traveler. I blinked and tried to remember some history. “You mean the Hundred Year War? Fifteenth Century? Fourteenth? Sometime around there. Between . . . France and England? Henry V? Kenneth Branagh? Or was it . . .” “I mean the Century War with Islam,” interrupted the Time Traveler. “Your future. Everyone’s.” He was no longer smiling. Without asking, or offering to pour me any, he

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