Current 93

amazing show. 

Don't think I've ever seen david tibet this close

Martyr Made (Darryl Cooper) - "#22 Whose America? ep 1 : Rough Extraction" and "#23 Whose America? ep 2"

Amazing story about the miners in West Virginia.

Part two is quite different, about the racial tension and fights in New York, LA, and others from 1950 on.

Six hours, ending with Godspeed You! Black Emperor

Philip K. Dick - "Do Androids Dream Of Electronic Sheep?"

Forgot how really different it was compared with Blade Runner...

    He finished undressing her. Expose her pale, cold loins. 
    "Is is a loss?" Rachel repeated. "I don't really know, I have no way to tell. how does it feel to have a child? How does it feel to be born, for that matter? We're not born, we don't grow up; instead of dying from illness or old age we wear out like ants. Ants again; that's what we are. Not alive." She twisted her head to one side, said loudly, "I'm not alive! You're not going to bed with a woman. Don't be disappointed; okay? Have you ever made love to an android before?"

    "Mercerism isn't finished," Isidore said. Something ailed the three androids, something terrible. The spider, the thought. Maybe it had been the last spider on Earth, as Roy Baty said. And the spider is gone; Mercer is gone; he saw the dust and the ruin of the apartment as it lay spreading out everywhere–he heard the kipple coming, the final disorder of all forms, the absence which would win out. It grew around him as he stood holding the empty ceramic cup; the cupboards of the kitchen creaked and split and he felt the floor beneath his feet give. 

    Mercer smiled. "It was true. They did a good job and from their standpoint Buster Friendly's disclosure was convincing. They will have trouble understanding why nothing has changed. Because you're still here and I'm still here." Mercer indicated with a sweep of his hand the barren, rising hillside, the familiar place. "I lifted you from the tomb world just now and I will continue to lift you until you lose interest and want to quit. But you will have to stop searching for me because I will never stop searching for you."
    "I didn't like that about the whiskey," Isidore said. "That's lowering."
    "That's because you/re a highly moral person. I'm not, I don't judge, not even myself."

    "It didn't get sick. Someone–"Iran cleared her throat and went on huskily–"someone came here, got the goat out of its cage, and dragged it to the edge of the roof."
    "And pushed it off?" he siad.
    "Yes." She nodded.
    "Did you see who did it?"
    "I saw her very clearly," Iran said. "Barbour was still up here fooling around; he came own to get me and we called the police, but by then the animal was dead and she had left. A small young-looking girl with dark hair and large black eyes, very thin. Wearing a long fish-scale coat. She had a mail-pouch purse. And she made no effort to keep us from seeing her. As if she didn't care."
    "No, she didn't care," he said. "Rachel wouldn't give a damn if you saw her; she probably wanted you to, so I'd know who had done it." He kissed her. "You've been waiting up here all this time?"
    "Only for half an hour. That's when it happened, half an hour ago.." Iran, gently, kissed him back. "It's so awful. So needless."

VaatiVidya - "The Entire Story of Armored Core 6"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4n9eakXNsIQ&pp=ygUMYXJtb3JlZCBsb3Jl

T. Kingfisher - "Nettle and Bones"

Enjoyable fairy tale of a Queen's daughter who is trying to save her sister from her malicious prince.

Dog made of bones.

Not as exciting as Katherine Arden, but a fun read.

Marra caressed the hollow orbits, delicately winged in wire. Everyone said that the heart was where the soul lived, but she no longer believed it. She was building from the skull downward. She had discarded several bones already because they did not seem to fit the skull.

People were remarkably willing to dismiss their own sight. Marra thought perhaps that the world was so strange and vision so flauwed that you soon realized that anything and everything could be a trick of the light.

The middle sister, Kania, was only two years older than Marra. They shared a mother but no goodwill.
    "I hate you," said twelve-year-old Kania, though gritted teeth, to ten-year-old Marra. "I hate you and I hope you die."
    Marra carried the knowledge that her sister hated her snugged up under her ribs. It did not touch her heart, but it seemed to fill her lungs, and sometimes when she tried to take a deep breath, it caught on her sister's words and left her breathless.

Daisy Johnson - "Sisters"

Gothic novel of two sisters who are really close.

Not bad, and the "secret" is alright".

This the house we have come to. This the house we have left to find. Beached up on the side of the North York Moors, only just out of the sea. Our lips puckered and wrinkled from licking crisp salt, limbs heavy, wrought with growing pains. The boiling-hot steering wheel, the glare off the road. It had been hours since we left, buried in the back seat. Mum said, getting into the car, Let's make it before night. And then nothing else for a long time. We imagine what she might say: This is your fault, or, We would never have had to leave if you hadn't done what you did. And what she means, of course, is if we hadn't been born. If we hadn't been born at all.

Times loses its line and jiggles out of place. Everyone is living and dying at the same moment. The house has been standing for nearly fifty years, the foundations have only just been laid, the land is bare and barely good even for farming. There are whales on the beach

We keep drinking. I check often to see that September is there and she smiles at me and touches my face and hair, holds my hands and moves them towards bottles of beer, bottles of sugary cider. The conversations run around us like a river with us catching only occasionally on loose, unstuck phrases or questions directed not at us but in our general direction. I find myself talking or look and see that September is talking for the both of us. She is, at times, sharp and mean the way I know her to be when around anyone but me - and occasionally Mum - but at other moments she seems to soften towards them, those strangers, and I hear her talking about what our mum does and the things we are interested in. And, looking across the fire, I see how they lean close to her to hear and nod or laugh in agreement and ask her more questions or say something to try and draw her approval. I am drunk. Yes. I think then, as I have so many times, she is the person I have always wanted to be. I am a shape cut out of the universe, tinged with every-dying stars - and she is the creature to fill the gap I leave in the world. 

And then I feel, like a chilly exhalation, September arriving into me. She does not come gently or with peaceful intentions. My sister is a black hole my sister is a bricked-up window my sister is a house on fire my sister is a car crash my sister is a long night my sister is a battle my sister is here. September is holding my lips shut. I understand, for the first time, the promise that I made her and exactly what it means: If there could be only one of us it would be you. My arms are yours, my legs are yours, my heart and lungs and stomach and fingers and eyes are yours. She is familiar as a song, my hands lifting without my say-so, my legs clicking to attention.  A moment where I think no (nononononononono) but it is too late. There is someone else inside me, using my mouth to speak, holding me still.