As I write this, Elam, a weird looking Housefly the color of motor oil, but mostly of a golden sheen, has been tormenting me for the past half hour. Lucky for Elam that I’ve progressed into a philosophy that everything above a bedbug (notice the lack of a capital B there) is holy. Flies just make the cut, above the way they are as infants, yet below your basic Aphid (seems strange I should kill Flies as babies but not as adults–something Herod in that). Elam had no name until he just happened to rest where I left my eyeglasses. Greatly enlarged by one of my lenses, I noticed that one of his many eyes was droopy. It gave him a sinister mein. I do not have much more to say about the vexation called Elam; I do suspect he will still be bothering my screen as I write further, or at least until one of the Cats pinch off something more to his liking, but for those curious about his name, please refer to the clip at the bottom of this post.
This week our friend The Stream of Consciousness (SOC) makes an unasked for return. Now, this time SOC will be edited. No Molly Bloom goingonandonaboutwhatandwho flibberjittishness, nor weirdo spelling will appear after this particular sentence. No, this SOC will involve the current crash and thud of my little life as it unfolds on a dreary September morning that already has a touch of autumn in it. But not the good touch of crimson and gold (well outside the gold sheen of Elam), but the slightly fluey nudge you get when you cannot clear a nascent sore throat or rid yourself of the constant observation of skies of mildew and the certainty another war will break out today even though you are not up to fake caring for such matters because they never involve you. That of course leads to an astonishingly empty self admonishment. What about the new orphans? And then you hear Al Pacino’s voice from And Justice For All… berate you: “Dontcha’ care-yuh, dontcha’ care-yuh?”
No, fucker. Not then, not now, not tomorrow.
And throughout it all a song plays in my head:
“…this is it, the end of the joke…
…and her lovers walk through in their coats…
…isn’t she…pretty in…”
Goddam Elam is back. I forgot my new personal grace and took a swing at him, a feeble backhand that he evaded with his insolent grace. Have you ever deliberately not used a word to keep your writing “fresh”? Like right there, just above, a line up and a little to the left, I used “evaded” instead of avoided because avoided seems oh so last century.
I wonder what Molly Bloom thought of Flies. I imagine they were pretty thick in Ireland over a century ago. Did she smear honey on herself to attract them? Ah, I must let that thought go, it smacks of a downfall that could slip into unwholesome territory.
I feel I have done enough to call this part one of this particular wrap. But, first, today I read Exodus 12 in the KJV. It was the one about the first Passover (maybe to gain more readers, Bibles should title books like episodes of Friends). Actually, in the literal sense, it was the only Passover. I found myself wondering if anyone just had to peek out from behind the safety of her marked door to catch a glimpse of The Destroyer. That would have been such a Mrs. Lot thing to do, maybe a Molly-drops-her-Bloomers too–but I did not read any prohibition pronounced by the Lord against taking a peek; perhaps that would have gotten a body changed into a giant pepper mill. I wonder. I now reap the wages of SOC holiness and move on.
The Week That Was
I happened to be up on Sunday with an Auld Authior piece, The Journal of Katherine Mansfield. Mansfield was a splendid writer in the era where splendid was not used in an ironic fashion. She also wrote in an era where TB thinned the population in a ghastly manner. Her journal gives one a first hand, unguarded look into a truly fascinating human being who lived only thirty-four years.
The Wrong Road by Cris Aboobaker is his second piece with us and it stands as proof as what will happen when one has talent for writing yet just keeps missing the mark. Dedication and keeping at it are the needs in that situation, and as Cris proves with this insightful bit of prose, he has the goods for the long run. This wonderful tale is about echoing loss and recovery and maybe redemption.
Pinocchio’s Puppet by site newcomer L.A. Fields is fresh and funny, plus it manages to say a lot about the human race without pontification. As it goes, one cannot say too much about a short for the benefit of those yet to read it–but I dare anyone to find something to compare it to. Witty, winning and original!
Wednesday brought back Harrison Kim with Searching For Samantha. As Harrison effortlessly speeds toward the seldom reached fiftieth story publication, he continues to remind us all of his endless talent as well as the people around us who live in even more mortal peril than we all do. The MC in this story is a brilliant creation and his reactions to the world via his fixation(s), and the world’s reactions to him, are presented with clarity and restraint. So often this sort of thing is overblown, but Harrison displays accurate taste and judgement.
One Stone by Robert Walton proves that there is still plenty of future for works about the past, provided that there is imagination, intelligence and a strong feeling of “ago” in the writer. It also reminds me of one of the finest short tales ever written, Ambrose Bierce’s Incident at Owl Creek Bridge. Not that it is modeled after the older work, for Walton’s is as fresh as you will want it, but, for me, this one remains a delightful kin to the older work.
Chris Klassen returned yesterday to close the door on another week with What is Offered. This gentle tale about the quieter moments of life and creativity stands out and is very much like a lovely painting. It is also like a flower whose bloom continues after you think it is done. The piece is the beauty in faith. Compassion, hope and sticktoitiveness. The message really is not a message as some would try to categorize it. Simple and lovely.
We thank one and all for performing, in my case, I will defer to Miss Mansfield on Sunday. The beat goes on as long as trees do not suddenly get in our ways on the ski slopes of the world (I will let you think about that).
Other Stuff
Bi-Word of the Week: Toschlusspanik (n) Fear that the time to act is running out
Bi-Word to Unmisspell: Refrigerator (for years, “fridge” caused me to add a d. Mentioned before, but call this a follow up)
Bi-Word People Must Stop Using, NOW!!! “Ginormous”
A List: Ten Things That Prove The Apocalypse is Running Late
- Nearly all world leaders are Raging Weirdos and Wimps who make one long for the even minded days of Pharaoh and Herod
- Compare the average salary of soldiers who die in action, teachers who wish they could die and CNAs to that of reserve professional athletes in the high leagues of all major sports.
- There are people who believe that the next Super Hero movie will have a different plot
- Dolly Parton died and yet Flavor Flave still lives
- Tofu
- The words of the prophets are still found on subway walls and tenement halls and still no one shares what the words are for people who do not go to such places (I do–EAT Yo MAMA and Fuck ICE appear to be the top, most commonly expressed thoughts of the prophets; their artwork is better)
- Charles’ est. take as King of England–God knows how many million pounds per year. Charles’ est. salary if there was no such thing as the monarchy: 12.71 pounds per hour. (then again he is at a pensioner age–so, even less)
- There are people, educated people, mind you, who believe that sitting at their desk, eating, getting fatter and fatter can be improved by spinning the pedals on a Snakeoil sort of machine, while they still sit at their desks still eating and getting ever fatter. I will take that back if anyone can show me one person that activity, as I have described it, has worked for.
- Full Grown Kiss fans–often in make up. (Granted, Gene Simmons needs something to ease/hide his look, but, really, why are some people so impossibly numbskulled? I was sixteen when Kiss came out and I thought (correctly) that they were a kid’s band, like the Archies or Banana Splits Club. For me they were something the thirteen-year-old dumbfucks (all boys) would outgrow. Wrong again. Jayzus help us–Peter Pan in a cod piece)
- All Yours
Jack Elam and about a ten million generations earlier version of my Elam
And a song by a guy who did not let polio ruin him…
Leila
That “simple” image of the fly’s droopy eye reflected and enlarged through the lens is a fine example of the kind of thing a REAL (and human) writer will notice, and be able to describe with (seeming) ease.
The other day, I asked AI what the number one quality of truly great writing is, just as an experiment, and it gave me two answers: One: it LOOKS easy to do; and Two: it breaks all the normal writing rules (successfully). This proves that AI is not always wrong about everything!
If I remember correctly, Gustave Dore imagined the Destroyer as a beautiful androgynous angel with flowing hair, huge, glowing wings and a long, beautiful sword dripping blood.
Too many people are too worried about “THE” Apocalypse, and too little worried about (or even aware of) THEIR OWN upcoming apocalypse. (They forget that everyone dies, and don’t act accordingly.)
The world has ended so many times before in the past that no one even knows how often. And that is not a metaphor, because every time a society, village, family, etc., has been destroyed, it has been the apocalyptic ending for that society, village or family.
Truly, as the Preacher says in Ecclesiastes, there is nothing new under the sun.
Great clip from a truly great movie and an intriguing song from a guy I’d never heard of before until now!
DB
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Thank you Dale
Both clip stars have their physical slights. But singer Ian Drury had polio as a child and wore a leg brace. I keep hearing all the hype about making thing fairer in entertainment, but it was fairer ago when someone with that disability could get over. Most new performers must be extremely attractive or in social uniform or a clone produced by the K pop machine.
So many great bits of wisdom in the Bible, including the race not going to the swiftest mainly because of a turning away from God.
I like the Destroyer you describe, better than something out of “Gwar.”
Thank you as always and I hope readers will check out Dale the Drifter tomorrow at Saragun Springs.
Leila
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LA
Yes, the mainstream of almost everything (not almost everything, everything) these days is a dismal, disturbing stream of shallow, shiny, overproduced monstrosities.
From politics to movies to books to tv to music to sports to social media and “the news” (so-called), and everything in between, “the mainstream” will dull the senses and blunt the personalities of ALL who consume TOO MUCH of it.
In that sense, we really are living in apocalyptic end times, I do believe! (No wonder folks are so fascinated with zombie movies even when they don’t know why.)
But the good news is that all of the above also have so-called UNDERGROUND (or alternative) sources one can turn to!
I think Cobain was (very) honest when he said he wanted to be a do-it-yourself, “underground” artist, not a mainstream “star.”
DB
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Hi DB
I didn’t see your second comment until now. I agree completely. If Cobain had enough money to get by and could still do his thing I bet he would still be with us–if he got the same level of fandom that someone like Ian Drury had. Enough to be respected but not to the crazy point like The Beatles and Taylor Swift. I used to be like everyone else thinking fame would be cool, but most of it looks like it would suck to me. I would hate having to wear a disguise just to go to the post office. Then again some people thrive on it, but it appears to drive them crazy. Elvis was a nice southern, perhaps mama’s boy and all the Yes, Elvis and pills drove him if not quite mad, not far from.
Then you have the weirdness of the people who live their lives through stupid shit like Kiss and the Boston Red Sox. I understand why it happens and it is horribly sad to think that one could care more about a team than their own family.
Leila
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Good post. I think I saw a Simon and Garfunkel Easter egg. (The singing duo S & G not to be confused with the Simon and Garfunkel from the excellent TV show The Dectorists.) RIP Sonny. To the list I’d add the continuation of celebrity award shows, although maybe their popularity is declining.
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Hi David
Thank you and that’s a good pick up on the Tree v. Congressman! As far as award shows, I wish they would either do away with the Oscars or just wildly overhype it like in the old days. For some reason the producers thought it was too succesful. Then they blame Netflix for low ratings, but that certainly hasn’t shot down the Super Bowl.
Go Cubs
(Go AWAY Mariners)
Leila
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Entertaining and thought provoking as always. I had my own Elam moment yesterday. I touch type with just occassional glances at my keyboard and the glance revealed a tiny fire bug just about to be inadvertently squashed on the letter D. Whew – took him gently and popped him on the windowsill. I think he sent his best mate back today be almost hit with a jet from the steam cleaner while I was doing the window. What is it with these guys. Just being really cute and colourful will not make you immune to sudden death. ha. Oh well all’s well that ended well but now it is coming up to shield bug hibernation season and that’s another pain in the btm with contant ejections.
sigh – dd
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Thank you Diane
More grace on your soul for saving the Bug’s life! A pretty Bug too. The two types I attract most (due to my nocturnal hours) are Moths and Aphids. I never knew Aphids were up all hours types, but I sure see a bunch in the spring. Moths year round. And a couple weeks ago I caught glimpse of a tiny spider winding down from my desk lamp. I escorted s/he to the deck and I’m certain s/he is much larger today.
Thanks again!
Leila
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Hi Leila
I hear what you are saying about changing up the words. I like evade that does sound somehow, now.
The motor oil, golden sheen of Elam is such a vivid description of your fly-by fly. Motor oil has a golden sheen too, depending on the viscosity and the dirt. A drooping eye that’s something the reader can lunch on, too. It’s funny what a person will focus on in a piece of writing. Their own stream of consciousness…
I imagine a mind laid out in a trance by a silver swinging pocket watch. And the pen making it’s long continuous scrawl
Excellent!
CJA
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Hi Christopher
Yes, I agree wholly on changing words. So often one word or little group cliches will fly in on me like autofill, mainly at the open of a sentence “Fortunately,” “At that time..” and so forth. Then I find myself needing to clobber superfluous add on at the end–like needless “that sort of thing” or others. Lots of people hinder themselves (as I often do) by using too many words, caused by the fact that they either do not edit or try to do it way too soon (S. King in his writing book suggests something like putting six weeks between yourself and a novel before editing–I agree with that concept 100% but I think maybe six days would be enough).
Thanks again, I love your swinging pocket watch conception. I can relate to that!
Leila
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Hi Leila,
I have no tolerance for flies. If they leave me alone I’m fine but if they land on me or my food I get pissed off.
I also hate bluebottles. I was attacked by hundreds of them when they took a liking to a dead bird that was in the chimney. That still makes me shudder. But what finished them with me was when I cooked the best gravy I have ever made. I’d used lamb bones and duck carcass. I had it perfect, it was silky smooth and shone. I was looking for a container and when I came back to the cooker there was a fucking bluebottle doing the breast stroke in it. I couped the lot onto the grass and beat up the bluebottle with the pot. That maybe a bit harsh but I’ve never got that gravy as good ever again!!
I agree that the Apocalypse is running late. It should have finished us off in 1986!
Brilliant clip with some stellar eye acting. Although Mr Caan wins that hands down in ‘Misery.’
I’ve been meaning to watch the biography film about Ian Dury – I’m sure it’s Andy Serkis who plays him.
Excellent as always!!!!
Hugh
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Hello Hugh
Oh no no no! Bugs in food ruins it for me. Found some type of buggy winged creature in a store bought salad once and that finished me with those I examjne every inch when I make one.
Yes Caan was great in that “Um, whatever you are thinking of doin” that scene with the sledge was unbearable.
As far as qualifying for End of Days I would have to say after slavery then the Nazis not a hundred years later we should be very nervous!
Thanks as always!
Leila
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Leila,
Here is my proof of the approach of the apocalypse.
I researched, using Copilot [some sort of Microsoft AI bot], the 10 richest people and what they did for a living. No women, naturally. But they all did the same thing.
They all “Underpinned Digital Substructures!”
All of them! What? I’m sure that will save the earth from immanent destruction. — Gerry
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Hi Gerry
Ha! Now if the Digital substructures would be good nuff to pin these demons maybe we can be saved! (I had great hope for that comment but it sort of fizzled).
Still, thank you again for stopping by!
Leila
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Thanks Leila,
Jack Elam as a fly. Cool. The opening five minutes of “Once Upon a Time in the West” is, for me, one of the greatest opening scenes in the history of cinema, or at least in the Western genre. Absolute brilliance and without a single word spoken.
I don’t begrudge you autumn in the GreyNorWet. It’s a soggy affair, and I don’t miss it.
Best,
Marco
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Hi Marco
Yes, that opening of the film (one of my father’s favorites, so I have seen it plenty)–all the way from Jack v. Fly through to Fonda plugging the little boy might have had a half sheet of dialogue. Leone could tell a story!
Oh yes, just as 1979 out as ever around here. Gray, like Lovecraft’s Colour Out of Space and the damn Slugs creeping in from everywhere.
Thanks again!
Leila
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