...updates in December...

The new year is upon us.  The working draft of "Heart Shaped Box" is complete - now for a few heavy revisions to make sure that I get it right the first time.  As I do that, here are some new updates:

...a second print of "Powder Blue Gentleman" is available at Lulu...the e-book version has been completely redone and both hard and soft copies will be distributing through Nook and Kindle in the next couple of weeks.

...a youtube video of the recent rain was quickly slammed together...

...likewise, the commentary video for "Chase: Cut Short" was also added...

...a Ustream site is coming possibly as soon as this weekend...

More to come...

...there may be sturm und drang in Christmas (music)...

Getting easily lost in the pop music of the season, here are some alternatives.  The tones strike a different chord and probably ring more true.  It this age, the essence of things seem to get lost unnecessarily.  We can shut out the discord, for just a moment, and dwell in a place of good memories.  Spare a thought for yourself and what this time may mean for you.
The video herein may not be the best quality, so I'd entreat a purchase of them and listen to them without the interruption.
While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks -  Attributed to the poet Tate, at least by 1700, this hymn was a rare gem in that it is extant today.  Based upon the text of Luke (2:8-14), the majesty of the music portends the emotions felt by the shepherds when the angel came upon them.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/While_Shepherds_Watched_Their_Flocks
O Ce Veste Minunata - This, a Romanian hymn, lyrically ties the nativity scene in its picturesque terms.  It is a light tune, but still captures the scene in Bethlehem. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/O,_ce_veste_minunat%C4%83!
Noel sur les jeux d'anches - Attributed in the video to Daquin, the organist, there is slightly more narrative on the subject from the work of Grunenwald of Cran Gevrier.  Another very regal interpretation of the Christmas story, as 'Christmas on the reeds'.
The Holly and the Ivy - Predating the mid-1700s, the song is imagery of the green that snubs the winter's chill, retaining its colour despite the snow.  As Christians found symbolism, the green and reds of the season would become its fundamental colors.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_holly_and_the_ivy
Gloria in Excelsis Deo - In Luke 2:14 we have the song of the angels to the world.  The renditions of this song vary, but typically play with much verve.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gloria_in_excelsis_deo
Riu Riu Chiu! - Going fairly ancient in this song, although still extant in many renditions, the Spanish 'riu riu chiu' is likely from the late 1550s.  The titular phrase is to echo that of the nightingale, in this case to happily remark upon the proceedings of both the Immaculate Conception and the Nativity.  Bonus going and finding the Sixpence None the Richer version.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Riu_Riu_Chiu
The Infant King - although I'm unsure of the yT arrangment, it may have been a recording based on John Kelsall.  The imagery is apparent, but sweet this time of year.  The song originates from an unknown Basque noel.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Kelsall
Panis Angelicus - "Bread of angels" is the strophe that is still heard today at Mass.  Not going too deep on this one, it's a nod to Bocelli, who was in Anaheim today.  Sorry, bro, couldn't make it.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Panis_angelicus
I Saw A Maiden - Fifteenth century carol that is interesting for the word origin of lullaby, that of
how mothers would sush their children with a "lu lu" or "la la" or "by by" sound.  This rendition is that of the nativity and the young mother bidding her baby rest.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Saw_a_Maiden
Am Weihnactsbaum die Lichter brennen -  1841, Hermann Kletke wrote this beautiful image of Christmas: it's sights and sounds and the look upon the children's faces.  http://german.about.com/library/blmus_amweihnbaum.htm
Finished up last draft of next Anthology, new yT videos, updates to Twitter, etc.

...lesser known keeps of dross for the holiday tide...

Off the beaten track for some:  places to help search for that unique or inspired gift.  The Etsy section is based on my own tastes, but I think, if you really demand something unique, that's the place to go.


GEEKERY:
Think Geek - always a fun place to tool around, find specials and get chic geek items.
Discover This - for science kits and project material
Phat Collectibles - expansive collection of current and harder to find action figures and collectibles
The Onion - for the jokester, or, for someone you hate
Carol Wright - have to shop at the low end to appreciate the highs...am I right seniors?
Constructive Playthings - another local place (like Phat) that has an assortment of more organic toys
Lillian Vernon - more educational and non commercial toys
Scientifics Online - level 10 science toys
Things You Never Knew - junk, but...but...funny junk
Funky Fridge - magnets, for fridges
Robot Store - Jameco's succinct place
LITERARI:
What On Earth - same as next
Signals - literary gifts for those who still enjoy the art of reading...ladies, am I right?
Deviant Art/Photos/Places - get a unique print for a friend, by an independent spirit
TRAVELER:
Entertainment Guide Books - I like it as a standby or secret Santa
Magellans - traveler in your midst?
ETSY:
Steampunk Play - adventuresome kids may enjoy these items, plus, no one else will get the same
Dictionary Collage - I'm partial to these, plus they are inexpensive
Small Prints - she prefers city scenes, but they are picturesque
Shira Mazor - is on maternity leave, but has great wire jewelry
Food Candle - again, partial to things, such as wax fruit candles, I don't know why
Fine Heart Jewelry - gorgeous hand crafted stuff, love the lapis
Dream Steampunk - unique designs and items
Hand Struck Jewelry - more steampunk, but I like her take on rings 

http://www.carolwrightgifts.com/

...or, could tears seal unspoken pledges...

Under the graying clouds, its light kept from absent sun,
a plate of jade awaits beyond in patience
its noble hue finding it cannot be outdone 
but the contrast and collusion is but accidence
in your eyes.


The Progenitor's cogent gem, the play of greens and grays,
undulating to signify all that's best that's come before
(as the lightened breath of an expert chansonnier,
or the treading of men who could not but help explore
the spanning sky).


And sighs will never be felt upon my nape, that incensive elixir:
the tear-laden hope of naught, will find their way lost
to your desire as some sad-faced saboteur 
hailing less to Zeus' daughters, more to worthless dross
prating as the tired tread of sad delights..


Here, however, I stand, unflinching, Aoide at my side
For I'd felt more at this distance than a 100 men would to the fore.
And, as a champion asks for nothing, but to his own, abide
then I'll take on that mantle, Disinterest, that assured guarantor,
for delights and skys
and healing eyes
the promise worth living for.


- 11/18/11

..."Bing"...Part 3..now available as ebook...

3:
      ...exhaustion led way to clarity.  The rush of death at the camp and the thought of pursuers had put me in a bit of a frenzy.  Now, having gone three miles deeper into the brush, skirting the prairie in one long swath, my sweat was cooling.  ....
     ....My luck held out in a sliver of massive soapstone some yards out into the open. The outcrop stood well above four feet, with bushes huddled together and a banyan tree crowning it – offering a place to blot the approaching light.  In the pitch I could not see; I pushed my back against the rock and backed in as far as I could - I knew this spot would remain in shadow as the light would break in an hour.
....

He was out there. He had just fed on the rich vegetation of the jungle, but he and I both knew that it was the animus of humanity that he hungered for.  I'll bet 3-to-1 on show that he somehow found the other two guides and made quick work of them. It would have been a scene reminiscent of Venice just five months ago...

Cradled between the Grand Canal and the Marco, a small bar had kept its crime scene in its queer state for three days.  The police chief of Venice (Sr. Ribieri Molcanti) had summoned me, knowing that I had finished up a dastardly case of intrigue in Macedonia.

Only he had the stomach to show me the ruined souls of eight patrons – the rest of the cabineri stood a ways off not making eye contact with me.  Two of the dead were Americans (thus the interest from the Bureau). The smell was overwhelming; my friend held a perfumed handkerchief to his mouth.  I entered remarking I've smelled worse at a Hollywood beanery.

The eight bodies were in minor disarray.  Their positioning indicated they had moments to move from a central source.  In the very middle table of the bar’s floor, no larger than a hat box is round, the bodies were entranced in their last seconds here.  I sat in the spot.  A lone perpetrator had done mysticism upon them, all at once, without disturbing the state of anything else in the room...except anything that once was alive.

Beyond the bodies, the potted plants, a roach or two, a parrot that sat in the corner - all were shriveled like old yams. They were oily to the touch; not a trace of moisture left in them. "Garish", I told my friend, who had already left to go outside.

I requested some tools of the trade (having my own lost in the wilds of Masovia) and went to work. Within half of a day, on little rest, I figured out the type of weapon, its purpose and the perpetrator of this crime.  [To be honest, not exactly the man, but I figured my murderer had to be of a mental stature equal to a Da Vinci.  To be honest, I didn’t want to believe that last part either.]

Ribieri did not believe me, going so far as to deny my friendship for a few minutes. With a small notebook and the help of a local historian (Sr. Georgi Benzilian), I fleshed out the details to the point he could no longer deny me material help in the matter of catching this criminal.

Leonardo Da Vinci had been moving to a new locale, since, by deduction, he must have been on the verge of being found out...what better trip then to take his machinations to the dark of Africa?

Light begin to touch the lower parts of the horizon. The sun is up quickly in the prairie, with only the tall brush providing cover. The bastard knew only so much, he had a virtual ton of equipment and there's no way it couldn't be spotted in the bright of day. However, I would need to be cautious - I suspect more than one person died attempting to bring him to justice.

Continue to Part 4...unabridged version available on Lulu...

...center and humble thyself in things above...

these were the leaves I saw today
needing no other adornment 


their hue between green and yellow
rustling in the light post-rain breeze


delight is found where one may look


Paul said, "Let nothing be done through strife or vainglory; but in lowliness of mind let each esteem other better than themselves...[He] made himself of no reputation, and took upon him the form of a servant"






for whom shall i be a servant
to myself?
it offers nothing and creates discord
instead be a servant of all
and create harmony
and richness of mind


See more green, grapes, at the Mother Colony House.

...enjoying "Twain's Feast"...

...great read of Andrew Beahrs, "Twain's Feast: Searching for America's Lost Foods..." (2010).  Given to me by my little sister, it's a great marriage of the life of Twain and the foods of America that he relished.  If you have a gullet made for the subtleties of food, of recent American history (unfortunately, quickly fading if not all together dead) and the Great American - I recommend it completely.

Shuffling through the anthology book, "Great American Folklore" (Battle, 1986) tonight, I came across a tale that reminded me of Clemens.  "An Experienced River Pilot" (pg. 29) goes:

"The steamboat got caught in a bad fog at a time when the tide was low.  In order to get through the fog without mishap, the captain thought it best to bring in a local pilot to steer the boat to safety.  As the boat left the docks, the captain said to his new pilot, "Are you sure you know where all the rocks are, sir?"  "Yep," replied the pilot.  And with that came a grinding crash as the steamboat abruptly listed to the left.  The pilot shook his head.  "There's one of 'em now, damn it."

[Other thing I came across was the children's rhyme used for the Le Carre novel in, "Rich man, poor man, Beggar man, thief, Doctor, lawyer, Indian chief.  Ragman, bagman, Tinker, tailor, Junkman, sailor."  Another great novel, by gum!]

Final draft coming soon...about four hours of work to go.  A piece I was working on today:

...betwixt the high-lit graying clouds, a plate of course jade sky awaits behind,
the whisper of soft falling mist, not yet rain,
suspended and swirled on an accord of mysterious fancy
and I, transfixed, could not but gape at the Progenitor's cogent gem
the undulating greens and dark that remarked upon all that came before
and summed in you.
And your breath, the incensive elixir,
pulled upon my nightly wont
and I found a moment's rest...

..."Bing"...excerpt Part 2..now on Lulu...

2:

When I awoke with the kirpan* at my throat, on the edge of cutting it, I knew that my so-called guides were already mystified by Da Vinci.  By what means, I could not guess.  However, being that he was a day ahead of me, I was aware of the risks involved.  The inexhaustible means and mechanization he had at his disposable were not a trifle – these hypnotized men were proving the rule.  He was a scientist, an alchemist, and had proven the dangerousness of his knowledge in places across the Mediterranean
[* I understand that this is not the continent for the kirpan, but, having recently fought alongside Sikhists in the North of India, this knife readily reminded me of one.]

My luck bore out as I slept with a revolver on my belly and my hand on it at all times. With only a forced turn and three shots, he was dead.  His eyes bulged, his body convulsed back, bringing the knife with it.  The other two guides ran into the brush - I could only make out the direction by the foliage that jostled behind them. I emptied out the remaining rounds and spat.  I reloaded without missing a beat.

....

As I made a direction by the constellation Lepus (using the variable direction of the moon, and the north-easterly direction of the wind the last day), I struck north by east.  By three in the morning, I could feel the clamminess of the jungle start working on my body heat. I trudged on, at an almost frenetic pace to stay warm. Better to keep going and sleep during the early day.  I've done the opposite before and all for the price of a mean-spirited headache.

Humming a bit of Gus' tune put me back in the music room of his little apartment on Los Angeles Street. We'd pull back some dry whiskey, a few pints from the corner mart, and have a couple of swell young starlets join in the fun.  Gus was almost on with the Coconut Grove and I had a way with "I Surrender Dear". That one made the ladies cry. Boy, could I put the ham on with that song, all on pumpernickel and mustard and carried it all the way from the deli.

Chuckling in the pre-morning mists of a jungle was not on my honey-do back then.  Nor was this interminable bastard on my short lists to celebrate with this year.  Let me tell you that I was hankering for a pull and a long smoke.

Suddenly I found that my movement was encroaching on something that wanted for quiet.  The jungle was unnaturally still and I was being the belligerent one.  Not a single sound from a creature came, at least not in the area within 150 feet. There was something out here that even the bugs didn't want a part of...and I know that fear wasn’t coming from me.

I looked below [my feet].  What first appeared as normal foliage was nothing more than shriveled growth.  In fact, as far as I could see in the meager light, the entire jungle around me had been sucked dry as if a capable agent had ingested the entire plant and animal life in this little circle and swallowed its animus whole. The ground beneath my feet, where there would have been a wet loam, was completely dry.  Perhaps this was the answer for coming to the dark of the world.

Da Vinci and his crew passed through here and may even be watching me.  He had done this in at least two known locations, although the prey was much different. One was the entire crew of an Oriental outrigger ship, the other a small bar on the shore of Venice.  ....

There was a trail leading from this last jungle copse and into the prairie: five to one odds he was heading out deeper into the wilds of Africa.

Continue to part 3...

...Ceyx and Alcyone...

Inseparable we, Alcyone. I must hasten to save man.
Take me, husband. As I would die than to have you from me.
No. The oracle's voyage may be the last.
Then I shall watch you until the horizon leaves no sign.

Alas! Not one night and we find ourselves covered in the frigid sheets of water: our ship falls. Alcyone!

I count the days, my husband, upon your return. This robe shall be your gift. Juno! Goddess! Find Ceyx and bid him to me.

Iris! Forth unto Somnus. Seek him at the Abode of Sleep.
Awake from thy slumber, stir from your bed, Somnus. Hear me apart from the beckoning Lethe and heed Juno's word. Send Alycone a sleep-turn sign of the fate of her love.Awake from thy blissful turn, son, my Morpheus and satisfy Juno's word.

Alcyone. As you slumber, see me as your drowned love. See my garments, my pale skin, my eyes are akin to the fish. Weep for me!
Oh, husband, then I, with you, will go.

The body of Ceyx was there in the ocean, washing to shore when she went to drown. The gods smiled kindly on the sight and Alycone became a bird, as did Ceyx - come to life and wing. Both sailed on along the waters. When mild peace settles the winter days, they are named for her, although halcyon.

...images abound and the nightly still of Poe...

...new photos include some tests with my new Toshiba H30 (jury's still out on whether I like it or not) at Sunset Beach on Saturday as well as a collection from my Sony DSC called Arcadia, in memory of lost arcades, soda and tokens.  The BEACH and ARCADIA - images are roughly 1440x1000 for desktops.  I'm particularly fond of the images I didn't have to retouch.  One photo in two hundred is the average.

And, in honor of Poe, being the witching time of year, here are a few poems to satiate one's sense of horror, particularly apart from the short stories.

- Ulalume (1847): tremendous 9, 10 metrical form follows the protagonist, in October, as an angel (perhaps) leads him to his lost love.  Reminiscent of The Raven.

- For Annie (1849): a decidedly blithe lyrical that is not fearsome as it is Poe happily appearing dead with love at his breast.  As much as I love the guy, you have to think it wouldn't be too much fun on Friday night (well, there is laudanum).

- Shadow - A Parable (1850): hard to find this appropriately arranged (unless you find a copy of the Penguin "Portable Poe"), but here it is if you can create the breaks in your mind (only copy I could find).  Think the Red Death and Tell Tale Heart but in ancient Greek.

- The Sleeper (1831): quick rhyme analogous of the grave.

- Annabel Lee (1849): and ends with a favorite of any fan of American poetry.  Here Poe allows less to do more - doing away with the baroque and allowing his mastery of meter and stress take rein.

These are best enjoyed in the company of the middle of the night, with coffee that has chilled by the damp weather outside.  The fire should be started and one could ponder the fears that assault us from within.

...the 7 List...worst applications of technology...

There's been much discussion on science and science fiction blogs about the role of fiction as it affects the shape of technology. There's little doubt that fiction stirs the imagination and, in turn, pushes the curious and the genius toward discovery. However, there's got to be a limit. This is what I came up with in five minutes, I'm sure there's about a thousand variants similar to these. In no particular order: 


i. anti-gravity/hoover-boards [BTTF] http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TkyLnWm1iCs
     If we were to find the silver bullet to create the dubious construct of anti-gravity, whereby we can simulate or repel the effects of gravity, would we then ask our toy manufacturers to exert energy (lots of energy in fact) into toys? As many physicists will cite: there are few practical ways to generate or repel gravity. There are tricks that you can apply to get an effect, but, unless you are able to manipulate spacial geometry and mass, we're simply not getting hoover-boards from Mattel. [Apologies to my favorite sci-fi movie, BTTF!]
     And why would we need this? It's an example of something wholly unnecessary in its application, where instead, we could apply science and funding towards mimicking gravity in either smaller capsules (gyroscope) or, if it must come to inter-solar travel, larger ships that can mimic gravity by their sheer density. It almost seems likely that a mass-producing element can then generate a localized spatial well.
     The next step is determining what amount of gravity is enough to survive indefinitely.


ii. capital ships/war [BSG] http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=APNRdANiZEQ
     No worse application of science is the idea that only war or corporations will hunger for interstellar travel. From this, the idea of ginormous capital ships caught up solely for the war or capitalization effort.  
     What?! So we would create massive scale ships so they could be potentially destroyed in seconds?            
     Wouldn't we, being wholly realistic, create smaller ships with maximum firepower and win by prize? I'm thinking of how the Golden Age of Sail operated. You wouldn't mindlessly destroy ships on a foolish whim - you would reasonably dispatch or press the crew and put the ship into service. I couldn't imagine a future where dystopia is what fuels the human condition.  History would not prove that out.


iii. uncontrollable automatons [I, Robot] http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tBtMq0QzIdQ
     We'll learn quickly that, other than military or industrial application, domesticated robots should never have the strength above that then the task that they are oriented for.  If an elderly person can only handle 30 psi of practical strength, the robot should be easily overpowered.  This is the only way to avoid abuse.
     It would be illegal to hack or create any automaton that can overpower or otherwise harm a human.  Military applications are already here, so good luck trying to stop that bus (or, be it as it were, drone).
     I would hope our future selves would easily see the fatal flaw in creating any construct in which no one, or simply one, has control.


iv. time travel [The Time Machine] http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oRWwI61so5Q
     Time does not move the way folks may think.  What has passed is gone folks, stop worrying about trying to go back to another date: it simply cannot happen.


v. self-importance/vanity in perpetuity [Superbia, Bruegel] http://crucialxtimes.com/xdx/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/Brueghel_-_Sieben_Laster_-_7-Superbia.jpg
     This will be somewhat of a didactic argument.  The idea that perpetuity can exist through ones work or art is, of course, fact.  There is a temporal element only applicable to those that care about it.  Already, in this past "information" age, history has forgotten more than the future will ever care to remember.  Do you think anyone, unless you are beyond brilliant, will want to here your hologram in a 1,000 years.  Statistically doubtful.  Enjoy MySpace, Facebook and Twitter now.
     If there are flash copies of minds, they will be how these synthetic minds learn, not so much upon whom they are based on.  There will be fashion statements of AI, for sure, but, literally, they will be as disparate and individualistic beyond any one person.  99% indeed - more like 99.9% will be forgotten with three generations.


vi. technological / organic implants [Halo] 
    I'm going to be wrong on this one, I know.  Once folks see the miracles of enhancement, or some other benign term, they will line up like monkeys at a banana picnic.  But, cautionary tale as it is, remember the old Twilight Zone when they were able to perform enhancement.  It won't be democratic and wholly capitalistic.  The 'have' and 'have nots' will be in constant struggle.
    Let's pretend they are free - why not evolution take its course and only bump it when critical?  That's what 's frustrating about (some) science without religion: there's something cold and precise and unfeeling toward the natural world as it exists.  The human organism is amazing, beyond all of our feeble reckoning.  Will we destroy our DNA at the expense to read or react faster?


vii. endless life [ancient fable of Caeneus] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caeneus
     Another cautionary tale that would probably get lost - immortality.  Man is not designed to 'live forever'.  We are temporal beings that are only meant to live and die (and pending your faith, as spirit or energy after).
     I suppose the idea is that we have a system that disallows the cell of the body to deteriorate or malign.  I hope this panacea also holds the key to avoiding accidents, famine, pestilence, war, jealousy, etc.  Seriously, the idea to live beyond one's natural span of life is egotistical to say anything.
     I could only imagine what monstrosities the future holds for those that try to stave off death.  Body grafts, impossible cosmetic surgeries to repair damage, litigiousness when those things fall short.  How about the horrors of Caeneus, where one is imprisoned for years underground unable to die?
    This possibility, not remote, is impractical and would hasten the need for strict, moral guidance.  The alternative is the bourgeoisie living forever, with the slaves feeding their insatiable desires. 

...Ono no Komachi...12th Century...

Kokin Wakashu, No. 658, Ono no Komachi:

Though I visit him
Ceaselessly
In my dreams,
The sum of all those meetings
Is less than a single waking glimpse.                (as translated by Helen Craig McCullough)

The town of Ogachi (in Akita) still celebrate the legendary poetess, Komachi.  All that is extant is about 22 poems that can be attributed to her brush.

On such a night as this
When no moon lights your way to me,
I wake, my passion blazing,
My breast a fire raging, exploding flame
While within me my heart chars.                     (as translated by Earl Miner)

That's just hot.  http://youtu.be/UcfcfHrA-3Q

..."Bing Crosby: Killer of the Interminable Da Vinci" Full Chapter 1...

...this is available as an ebook here http://www.lulu.com/shop/jon-edwards/bing-crosby-and-the-interminable-da-vinci/ebook/product-20037854.html.  The following is the abridged version, but newer iteration of "Bing":

...this story, Bing Crosby and the Interminable Da Vinci, follows the fearless adventurer in 1921.  Bing searches for a quarry that he had long wanted dead, that of a fifteenth century inventor who seemed to have found a way to stay alive for almost 500 years...

1: Africa, 1921

The twenty-odd tips in Morocco led me here, and to what may have been the very end of the Earth. On the coast of Gabon, in the city of Mayonami, the ghostly footprint of my prey was said to have only recently arrived. The appellation they used was unimportant (and unnecessarily superstitious), as it changed with each port, each ruddy steamboat or putrid back wood stream.  I know him as one name.  It will be the one I use when I kill the abomination.

You see (as time permits only bluntness), he was born in Florence five centuries earlier and should not be alive.  And, being there are few in authority with the knowledge to do something about it, I seemed to be the only one with enough gumption to do what had to be done.  (Untied to any authoritative locality had its advantages in these matters.)

Having only a pocketful of lira to my name and Mayonami not a tourist destination, I pieced together accommodations as I could: spending my first night in the bosom of a small fishing boat.  It was no bigger abreast than my shoulder’s width and I could only find comfort in the wet chine.  My hunger was to be satisfied by small local fish that were simply salted and fried - harder than potato crisps and scraped the top of my mouth something fierce. The village was well asleep by the time the sun ducked below the nearby wall of jungle.  I slept fitfully, making sure I woke up with first light.

…

The village was up even before me (and I before the sun even tinted the sky): their sustenance was based on fishing and export from their local farms.  My “bed”, was, by my nude concierge, brusquely shaken and pulled to the river.  I rose from the boat like a ghost, and feeling much like one, freeing the small knotted net that I had used as a blanket.  I tipped my host with what loose change I could.  He looked dubiously at the contents of his hand as I walked away.

I sauntered over to what amounted as a general store.  The thatched hut had opened its wide window and a dark fellow scowled as I approached.  He probably had enough of strange visitors.

He was helpful with information on an 'ancient spirit of a man' almost 'a ghost' that had blown through here yesterday afternoon (this was done in pantomime as we had no way of communicating otherwise).  The old man was unaccompanied but for a 'workless cart' that pulled a 'small mountain of boxes'. He had given up some of his tooling for food (could this be a desperate measure?) before leaving into the thick brush of the east.  The shopkeeper reluctantly let me examine the tools, which I pored over carefully for any sign.  Not much was there, but enough to let me know I was on the right trail.

I needed pack and food for my trek into the wilds.  Looking behind the store-keep I could tell he was a music buff.  There sat, in pristine condition, an old Edison Cylinder with a single Jolson record to his name.  (I’ll have to ask Al what he had on cylinder.)  So, I requested goods solely based on a performance of an early draft of my good friend's play, Bombo.  That songbook has many a song that would put the old Pharaoh himself in a good mood.  Well friends, if my mood and the twenty or so villagers weren't changed in three tunes...I had my gear and three guides post-haste.

With only a dark finger stabbed towards the east did I set out.  I should have felt worse, had I not, by luck, obtained a capable Berthier in Morocco.  I kept the rifle clean enough – to the amusement of the guides – who felt that it was cleaner than their own children!

As I tipped the pith hat forward and prayed to my God, I headed into the jungle knowing that either one of us were not coming out alive. And, if my God were good, this walking phantom will see his rightful place below ground.

And it was not like this case did not have its own pale of treachery: he had managed to survive this long without seeing the losing side of a duel. He was a ruthless man and I'm sure he'd strike me dead as a common fly...ba ba ba bum.

Continue to part 2...

...shout out to the Greeks...

...the world should turn again to logic as the basis of life.  I would only say the limit of such a cultural shift would mean that we take on Aristotle's ideal of a well-rounded structure of logic and aggressiveness - in the classical sense of course.  When you examine the Organon, you have to imagine a savage world all around Greece, with the epicenter of humankind's extension into strengthening the mind as tool, developing in the genius of one man.

In Prior Analytics http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/a/aristotle/a8pra/, the concept of syllogisms - where an argument can be structured with its conclusion being found sound/valid - puts the foundation of science, philosophy and politics upon solid ground.  It is pure genius on a scale that would probably be found again 2200 years later in Einstein.  Where the germination of an idea, so wildly off base, could even generate a ground breaking affectation today...it puts to shame the struggle for feeble minds to express something even close on that scale.

Yet, that is what we have now.  Empty thoughts blasted without either the inherent genius of a Greek philosopher, or the struggle of truly taking a thought and fully meting out its implication.  Longstanding influence of such thoughts are mere fashion.  Cultural basket cases are deemed newsworthy - we don't hear from the top minds any more.  That's where fashion fails and the lemmings follow suit.

Take Socialism, not as a philosophical argument, but as a logic argument.  It has failed so many times, in so many corners of the world, with the consistency of an atomic clock - yet, you'll find the philosophical mindset extant.  It's a blatant disregard to the uses of history, all to the tune of millions upon millions of lives that socialism has taken.  It's inevitable outcome creates disharmony, dictatorship and death.

The ideas behind it are groundbreaking, but they lack the truth of human nature.  Pope John Paul, who is neutral to economic affairs, even remarked that, as imperfect as capitalism is, it, at least, embraces and excels the human condition.  It's a generalization of a general statement, but, if you look around you in the Western World, the conditions of health, science, education and technology prove that an imperfect system can be used to the overall good - although, yes, we need to ensure that it provides for those that will fall inevitably short.

But we argue.  We ignore the blatant facts of history and shoehorn our ego into the argument.  But there are only very few men that will make it 2000 years into the future and be recognized for going beyond themselves and reaching closer to truth.

...little did I know about Frank Yerby...

I have been a fan of the book The Golden Hawk (1948) since I started taking a real liking to reading when I had just turned 11.  The story is thrilling - following the exploits of a privateer, Kit Gerado and his father figure, Bernardo, as they fight aristocracy, lust for riches and falling for women from Cartagena to Spain.  My copy is one of the old originals from Dial Press, NY.  It has a wonderful map in the front endpaper, with a cacophony of almost unrelated graphics, probably culled from other sources by the binder.  It's yellowing more today, with a large bite at the bottom of its the spine.  (It twas not I.)

The tale is heavily reminiscent of the swashbuckling genre from Hollywood in the late thirties/early forties.  The style relies upon the baroque language of a Reader's Digest, but in a fashion that, for me, at 11, was full of overabundance of breathy bosoms and swordplay.  Even today, I enjoy the exuberance of Yerby's early work.  It will remind you of the romance stories you'll find in Wal Mart today: torn dresses, musculature that is described in painstaking detail...

"The dress was caught about her waist and clung like the clasp of a lover; at one and the same time it shielded and flaunted the proud upflare of her full, young breasts; from her waist it arched down like the inverted bell of a black orchid plucked in a dream garden in a season of fevers and delirium." [92]

That's just a random sample.  The language is best taken in spurts, but, overall, it is a raucous tale.  For a young one, it was an early form of acceptable pr0n. :)  (Although I had access to a copy of Coffee, Tea or Me? http://www.amazon.com/Coffee-Uninhibited-Memoirs-Airline-Stewardesses/dp/0142003514.  Man, was I a naughty kid - only knowing half of what was going on in that book.)

What struck me today, having never looked up the author - I assumed that, by the style and its exhaustive descriptions of fair-skinned women - Frank Yerby is a black author [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frank_Yerby].  My surprise was that, being it was written in '48, and my experience with black literature was a much different experience than something that I had read as a child.  Baldwin, Ellison, Hughes, Walker were my primary relationship.  Tooling around wikipedia, I found that Yerby was the first African-American author to become a millionaire from the pen, and the first to sell a book to Hollywood (Foxes).  He was at odds with the segregationist culture of the US and finally moved on to Spain.  He would eventually die there.  (It must have been his passion to be there.  In the Hawk, he describes Spain with such vivid asides, he must have found a place that resolved his passion.)

The anachronism is what threw me off tonight - he wrote such splendid 'costume' pieces.  He even stated this was the sole purpose of entertainment.  Considering the time period in which Yerby lived, that was a fascinating  act.

You could pick a copy up for a few bucks at Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Golden-Hawk-Frank-Yerby/dp/B001KUVJA4/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1314949393&sr=1-1.

...the summer comes to an end, soon...

...punched out the second part of a chapter for Miss Kitty...http://ohmisskitty.blogspot.com/2011/08/miss-kitty-chapter-2-part-2.html...if you want to read it so far, from the beginning...http://ohmisskitty.blogspot.com/2009/02/explanation05feb09.html...

...anthology number two is resolving itself...also going to go back and edit a bit of "Powder Blue" for a re-release (with corrections - performing edits oneself is like trying to vacuum during dodge ball).

...Pace, the comic is next up, along with a short novel, "Filipino Cookbook"...hopefully all done by the end of the year...

Thanks for visiting, and I'll intersperse with some meaningful sundries in the meantime...

...night sound mix tape one...

Hard to define, but the "night sound", to me, is the music that defines the quieter pop melodies for those of the nocturnal persuasion. It's music of introspection while driving around in the dead of night. Local stations in the late seventies/early eighties, like KBIG or KOST, would just stack them up. Nicely, the DJs didn't interrupt too often. The music, windows down, late summer breezes mingled with ocean and dry brush so well.

The song that I identify most is Paul Simon's "Slip Sliding Away". It clearly typifies all of my criteria above. It is a song of introspection. It just stops short of being melancholy, and more about the way things are.

I drove all around Orange County in the family's yellow Dodge Horizon. It had a working cassette player and radio - which is all that was needed. The seats were flat - and you would get shin splits from the unresponsive gas and over-done brakes. The smell of my mom's coffee, all over that car, would constantly push out the vents. There was still residual odor from the days she used to chain smoke.

As long as I had the music, it didn't matter much. There are great places to drive through Sunny Hills, Anaheim Hills, Huntington and Newport. Gas was cheap - cheaper than food. It was easily the one thing you could rely on getting in the late eighties without issue.

Here's a sampling of songs that still make great mix CDs today for me:

PENULTIMATE NIGHT SOUND:

- "Walking After Midnight" - Patsy Cline

- "Overkill" - Men at Work

- "In Your Eyes" - Peter Gabriel (also "Don't Give Up")

- "Walking in Memphis" - Marc Cohn - but he doesn't have an official/allowable version on yT

- "In the Air Tonight" - Phil Collins (also "One More Night")

- "Don't Stop Believin'" - Journey

- "Free Bird" - Lynyrd Skynyrd

- "Easy" - Commodores

- "Oh, What a Night" - The Dells

OTHERS:

- "I Drove All Night" - Cyndi Lauper

- "Tempted" - Squeeze

- "Nothing Compares 2 u" - Sinead O'Connor

- "It Keeps You Runnin'" - Doobie Brothers

- "Father Figure" - George Michael

- "Don't Fear the Reaper" - Blue Oyster Cult

- "Could've Been" - Tiffany

- "Moondance" - Van Morrison

- "These Eyes" - Guess Who

- "Wonderful Tonight" - Eric Clapton

- "Hello Again" - Neil Diamond

- "Just When I Needed You Most" - Randy Vanwarmer

- "Rosalinda's Eyes" - Billy Joel

- "Vincent" - Don McLean

- "Lonely Town" - Freddie Hubbard

- "Twilight" - The Band

- "Take the Long Way Home" - Supertramp

- "We're All Alone" - Rita Coolidge

- "Groovy Kind of Love" - The Mindbenders

- "She's Gonna Let You Down" - America

- "Bookends Theme" - Simon and Garfunkel

- "Ride Like the Wind" - Christopher Cross

- "Hey Tonight" - Creedence Clearwater Revival

- "It's Only Make Believe" - Conway Twitty

- "Give It All You Got" - Chuck Magione

- "Woman Tonight" - America

- "Running with the Night" - Lionel Richie

- "Somebody's Baby" - Jackson Browne (also "The Load Out")

- "Don't Lose My Number" - Phil Collins

- "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" - Elton John

- "Love's Lines, Angles, and Rhymes" - The 5th Dimension

- "Do You Believe in Love" - Huey Lewis and the News

- "Died in Your Arms Tonight" - Cutting Crew

- "Africa" - TOTO

- "I Ran" - A Flock of Seagulls

- "America" - Simon and Garfunkel

What's it for the next mix?

...strange goings on kind of sneaking up behind you...

Meandering through Facebook and Twitter, the sense I get is that the turmoil and morass that's seeping into everyone's life isn't hitting home, I guess. Perhaps it isn't - then we are lucky for it. The world is (and has been) on the edge for a few years and we're only hoping a panacea is found that cures it. Problem is, these issues are to the core - it will take some serious self-reflection on everyone's part to turn it around. Hard decisions are going to have to be made or anarchy is a possibility. Scary, but either we change the system or the inevitability is going to stare us in the face - and I'm going to guess it isn't going to assume the form of the Stay Pufft Marshmallow Man. Something scarier - like ABBA.

In other 'end of world' chatter, two stories, a month apart, caught my eye. The first is that Philip K Dick's personal bible is up on ebay: http://io9.com/5828459/philip-k-dicks-bible-is-on-ebay-for-6500?comment=41637724#comments and http://cgi.ebay.com/PHILIP-K-DICKS-BIBLE-HOLOGRAPH-NOTES-/230653765080?pt=Antiquarian_Collectible&hash=item35b40925d8 . The comments on io9 are interesting in that it's seems far-fetched that a sane, science fiction writer can become Christian. Many of the great works of fantasy and sci-fi come from self-avowed lovers of Christ. Great Scott!

The real question is why do secularists find it so ponderous; that genre writing somehow has to be written by pure agnostics? Are PKD's novels less worthy because he found God?

For me, who has a haphazard Faith at best (I try) and only recently 'religious', even when I was not a believer, it never entered my worldview not to read C.S. Lewis, Dick, Tolkein, Stevenson, Shakespeare, Einstein, Burgess, et. al. Nor did I feel the need to put away Twain or Heller or stop listening to George Carlin. If my worldview were to change simply because I read or heard a diatribe in either direction, then my self-knowledge is deeply and irrevocably harmed. I hope that my opinion is based on a handsome experience of introspection and hate of fashion.

Before the PKD Bible, this article was early from last month: http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2011/07/110714103828.htm. A scientific study that determined we are predisposed to faith and a belief in god. I'll not dive into my own theories, but remark on my mind's first blush upon reading it: "we believe we know so much now, and, perhaps, we really don't know everything yet." A more recent article found that 20% of atheists have spiritual leanings.

Either way, as the world seems to burn around us, let's be humble, either for God or for Science and eat a bit of dust, tear at our clothes and remember that we don't know shit. Maybe a little humility is in order, all of ye. The other poem stuck in my head the last couple of days is from Shelley:

'Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away".'

...waxing nostalgic about the 70s...

Running through the best capitalism has to offer, the late 70s and early 80s were the height of guilt-free luxury - so suck it 2000s, you kinda suck so far (thanks, terrorism).

I remember riding my Huffy off-road bike through Tara Hills off of Brookhurst and Crescent, just across the street of Brookhurst Junior High. It used to be a dirt lot, now a combination of crap mini-malls that don't keep a business for more than 2 years at a time. The neighborhood kids and I would get up early and develop the lot a little at a time - the apex of which was the giant hill in the center where you could get some decent air. The guys with the light bicycles could get up 6-7 feet and end up in a heap below. It was decent.

Down the street and to the right on Lincoln was the primary strip back then. You had your cloth store next to Gemco. You had your Jack in the Box (now gone), but one of the only ones in Anaheim at the time. Ole's was down the way from Top's Auto, which is across the street from Linbrook Bowl. Used to ride the bike up to the corner of Lincoln and Brookhurst, but never had an interest in crossing the street. That was about 3/4 of a mile away from home and I must have instinctively knew my limit.

Down the other way, where I would go constantly, another bowling alley just off Lincoln next door to Fedmart. The Fedmart center at the time had a pizza joint (the best), a Big and Small and some other small brick and mortar shops (I think one was a vacuum shop). Across from there, where Crescent turned back into Lincoln, there was a Computer Store (only recently closed), a model train store and I think an ice cream joint. It would eventually become the Lincoln Antique mall until that bubble burst a decade ago. Now it's a mash-up of forgettable little 99 cent stores and nothing.

The pizza was under a buck a slice and a great big drink, those clear red plastic buckets filled to the brim with Coke, had to be under .50. If you had two bucks, you ate, drank and had enough to hit a greasily handled video game. Two bucks wasn't the easiest to come by, but once a month you could get away with it. The place was dark, with wood accents, no windows and only the fluorescent signs to light it. It was a good place to hang out for an hour with my foul-mouthed friends - who always a few years older than me and getting into trouble. Bastards.

Fedmart became Target, which closed four years ago or so, to move down the street on Euclid. That location used to be a used car lot, an Arby's, and, at one time, a Bob's Big Boy. The only thing left on that street is a shoe store, car wash, Denny's and a bar further south. Oh, and El Taco is down that way too.

Just logging it, since I remember riding on my dependable black Huffy. Thing never got stolen, probably because it weighed like a tank. Couldn't break the damn thing - good old bike.

7. Gemco commercial

6. Federated Group commercial

5. Tops Auto Supply link

4. Fedmart commercial

3. Ole's Home Center commercial

2. Anaheim Plaza - hardly knew ye

1. Linbrook Bowl - a taste of Anaheim kitsch

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...people in the summertime want sonnets...

Had to renew the library card, since they won't leave it active if you don't show up for a year. Snagged anything interesting in the New Books section near the check out counter so I didn't have to make a circuit through the tenseness of the place. For some reason the adult floor has this almost stunning expectancy in the air. It's not an inviting place and I don't think it's the decor. It has the periodicals, so the guys come out and park there - I'm sure saving a hundred bucks going that route.

Grabbed "The Art of the Sonnet" (2010) by Stephan Burt and David Mikics. I was just happy to see something that was worlds apart from the intellectually anemic book sections of Walmart or Target (I know who buys those books, so they are surely filling its intended need). "Sonnet" is a survey of the poetic form from 1557 to 2009 taking examples and lightly explaining their essence and place historically. The sections are only a few pages per each sonnet, like little petit'fours, always done with a great appreciation of this specially appointment closet of writing.

Of particular interest to me was the Petrarch tradition and how much like a song in its native Italian:

"Nessun mi tocchi," al bel collo d'intorno

scritto avea di diamanti et di topazi.

"Libera farmi al mio Cesare parve." - Poem 190"A pure white hind..." 'The Canzoniere'

["No one touch me": around her beautiful neck

this was written in diamond and topaz.

"It pleased my Caesar to set me free."]

Then, to my poetry stand-by book ("Poetic Meter and Poetic Form" (1965), Paul Fussell, Jr.). This was found in the old Book Baron in Anaheim (now gone to make way for another Latin grocery store, can't have enough apparently). "Writing a good Petrarchan sonnet is difficult; writing a superb one is all but impossible."

Having put myself through the ringer to pound one of these out, and acknowledging how they easily fall short, sonnets are a pain in the ass. But, in their way, extremely addictive to wrangle with. Arranging words in one way, putting the stressed notes here, less forced quatrain development (or at least, attempting to make it look less forced) - how many frustrating moments spent seeing that desired thought in one's mind, only to fail miserably in describing it well.

I recommend "The Art of the Sonnet", with a bit of rich chocolate, and equally rich Andy Williams. Now back to assuming I know what I'm doing over here.

...cliche: 1890s term as either stereotype or stencil...

"A usually pejorative general term for a word or phrase regarded as having lost its vigour through overuse." - Oxford Companion...English Language

Can't help but think of the cliche that comes in the form of a person, or worse, a series of tired ideas. After evolution and the tread of decades, we still engage in tired intercourse with meaningless egomaniacs. The only audacity is a few weekly lottery tickets...even though I can't cling but to ex machina deus.

New picture site of Knotts. Viewpoints in my eye when I look at the place. Also new Deviant Artwork. My goal is to post interesting colors that make great fridge magnets.

The next anthology is coming by end of the month. If you're interested the first is still available here.

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..sasom i en spegel...von Sydow...

If one wanted to add a degree of stilted gravitas to a picture, then one would seek Max von Sydow. As witnessed by the grind of B and C level dregs at the bottom of the Netflix barrel, there's not many with the singular talent of actually adding to a film. I have yet had the time to watch every von Sydow film, but of the ones I have seen, these are some. Note I'm not saying they're the absolute best of his repertoire, but are somewhat important (I actually left off Ghostbusters II):

1. "Through a Glass Darkly" (1961) - von Sydow plays the father, Martin, in a family drama by Ingmar Bergman. As we head down the list of films, not owing to von Sydow's obvious talent, you'll see a wide drop-off from such watershed films as this. The film must be watched quietly and as intensely as it was created. The acting is technically perfect - the subject matter is rough: a family works out the years of callous issues in a 24 hour period as their mother succumbs to an illness.

2. "The Exorcist" (1973) - as Father Merrin, von Sydow's performance (along with Jason Miller and Ellen Burstyn) create the pitch perfect movie that few have been able to touch in the bottom of the dregs, horror movies. If anything, Exorcist transcends the genre to this day - as it was handled by the sober Williams, Friedkin and Blatty.

3. "Three Days of the Condor" (1975) - what's better than von Sydow as a villain, especially as he hunts down CIA agent, Joe Turner (Robert Redford) in another watershed film that puts the suspense genre in highest form. I think in this case, a subdued De Laurentiis, with director Sydney Pollack, hits all of the right notes and handles the source material with some regard (whereas the recent suspense genres seem to hate the whole game, I'm thinking The Saint and the Bourne series).

4. "Conan the Barbarian" (1982) - the genre could have been cast the same way, had it remained true to this film and Dune. But, the business decided to create a slew of trash that really watered down and pretty much destroyed it, up until Lord of the Rings was re-handled by someone passionate about the best of the genre. Blink in this movie and you may miss von Sydow, who plays King Orsic. Set aside your preconceived notions (about director Milius and the genre) and Conan is actually a pretty decent film.

5. "Strange Brew" (1983) - anyone that is a fan of this movie, probably had to have known and enjoyed the SCTV sketches. If not, it may not make as much sense about these jingoistic Canadian brothers who really love beer. von Sydow plays the evil Brewmeister who attempts to take over the world with a titular blend of beer. Only funny if you watched local television in the 80s in the middle of the night.

6. "Minority Report" (2002) - only interesting piece is von Sydow's character, but in a heavy-fisted story that can never step up to the concept. With this an A.I., I feel is the decline of Speilberg and the summer audacity. I wonder if the movie were extended to really concentrate on the rings of the plot and more von Sydow, how much better it would have been. Not a watch that'll necessarily waste your time...

7. "Shutter Island" (2010) - only interesting in that von Sydow is still working. Born in 1929, the man has worked for so long. Unfortunately, this is another film with a high concept, a convoluted script and one that Scorsese did his best with. DiCaprio is a very capable actor, but this bit was rough. The hardest part for me to suspend was that any institution would honestly put its entire staff at risk, much less the patient, in an elaborate game to heal him. Must have been a much better book - but now that I know the ending...

Hopefully, Christopher Nolan can snag von Sydow in something quiet and dark and one that has as much power as Bergman did so many years ago. I think the audience deserves it, no? And, no, I don't mean Batman 3.