neil-gaiman:

I felt guilty for posting something I’d posted here before. Even if there were only about 200 people following me on Tumblr then as opposed to 55,000 now.

So here is a Lomo photo I took of Amanda one morning in a hotel room. It’s the smile that gets me every time.

(I have many rolls of Lomo film to get developed. You would be amazed at how many of the photos are Amanda in the morning. No, you wouldn’t would you?)

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neil-gaiman:

One of my favourite photos of Amanda. We were in the Mona Museum in Hobart, a couple of days before it opened.

Taken on 35mm film with my LCA+ camera

The light bulbs pulse to your heartbeat.

I’ve used this whole day going through folklore, mythology and Super Wiki and I found this:

“Dean keeps the trenchcoat with him, even moving it from car to car after they stop using the Impala to avoid the police.” -here

IT HURTS.

Also, I was on here for awhile. Went through the Wikipedia page about Hellbazer and alksgkjbdlgsdbf.

stopitsgingertime:

and then sometimes i cry because neil gaiman and amanda palmer

ohmygod, chapter five of American Gods

“Czernobog grasped Shadow’s arm. “Quickly, come here,” he said, pulling him over to a large glass box by a wall. It contained a diorama of a tramp asleep in a churchyard in front of a church door. THE DRUNKARD’S DREAM, said the label, explaining that it was a nineteenth-century penny-in-the-slot machine, originally from an English railway station. The coin slot had been modified to take the brass House on the Rock coins.

“Put in the money,” said Czernobog.

“Why?” asked Shadow.

“You must see. I show you.”

Shadow inserted his coin. The drunk in the graveyard raised his bottle to his lips. One of the gravestones flipped over, revealing a grasping corpse; a headstone turned around, flowers replaced by a grinning skull. A wraith appeared on the right of the church, while on the left of the church something with a half-glimpsed, pointed, unsettlingly birdlike face, a pale, Boschian nightmare, glided smoothly from a headstone into the shadows and was gone. Then the church door opened, a priest came out, and the ghosts, haunts, and corpses vanished, and only the priest and the drunk were left alone in the graveyard. The priest looked down at the drunk disdainfully, and backed through the open door, which closed behind him, leaving the drunk on his own.

The clockwork story was deeply unsettling. Much more unsettling, thought Shadow, than clockwork has any right to be.

“You know why I show that to you?” asked Czernobog.

“No.”

“That is the world as it is. That is the real world. It is there, in that box.”“

Hello. I’m Neil Gaiman, I’m a multi-award-winning author of lots and lots and lots of different things, lots of awards. So when I heard that I won the SFX Screenwriting Award for Excellence for my Doctor Who episode The Doctor’s Wife, my reaction was just…
Actually, what I was really just trying to say, was, Thank You. So much.

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