Week 609- Night Thinking

Night thinking can be a very good thing–creative ideas tend to pop up from that mysterious undistracted place, and if they stick they are subjects for further imaginings. But night decisions, those not open for further thought are dangerous. They lead to stuff like carpet bombings and school shootings. They are evil seeds that often take a shape in the physical world and wait when the decision is frustrated by the actions of a random do-gooder. Some times an evil night decision can be thwarted by a sudden action by a do-gooder, or even an action that looks like nothing but has put an end to a random evil.

Therefore (though it is hard to type it) there come times when gentrification is a positive action. Then again gentrification does not always properly accomplish the cleansing of the evil places that take shape from the eldritch visions of would-be evil doers foiled by random dogooders (you see, when created, evil must do before it goes). The film Poltergeist is proof of that. “Oh, no, we didn’t turn a haunted Native graveyard loaded with Wendigos into suburbia, not this corporation.” Nothing uncleans faster than dirty money. Regardless, I was comforted when a structure that was created by frustrated evil decisions and later caused me anxiety every time I walked past it was replaced by a cookie cutter townhouse in a tepid act of gentrification. The previous building was evil. It was a two level faux adobe house, whose kind, along with palm trees were brought to the relentlessly ugly town of Bremerton, Washington during the 1950s and 60s. There are still a dozen palms in town. Each one is not exactly thriving in a climate as far north as Minnesota or southern Ireland. They are twisted and forlorn shrubs and I’m surprised that the green do-goods have not returned them to California.

I digress–faux adobe was another fad that did not mix well with the northwestern American climate. There’s a strain of black mildew that is extremely attracted to faux adobe. And a virulent Legion of the stuff went after the previously mentioned abandoned faux adobe house, which stood a quarter of a mile from where I lived, circa 1990-1995, and I’m glad I was still young at the time because I discovered that my feet wanted to move faster whenever I saw what the mildew did to the place. It ate a hole in the wall of the bottom floor. Through a four foot circle surrounded by ebon ick you could see the lower floor, and within the opening there were old appliances and a sofa which was smeared with secondary and thirdary, green algae-slime. The place was something that Ed Gein would have partied in. I eventually moved to the other side of town for about three years and upon my return to the neighborhood the house was gone and replaced by the cookie cutter townhouse. Hence a random act of do-goodery by an unlikely source.

It was a strange neighborhood, eerie and creepy. Tiny houses and windowless cottages dotted it and everyone there existed only at night and suffered from a highly localized form of leprosy, facial holes surrounded by ebon ick . For years the neighborhood begat strange dreams in my uneasy drowse. I remember one keenly. It happened at least three times and I’m glad it finished with me. For some reason I had to make a delivery to a warehouse that was the property of Hell but connected to the real world for deliveries. I brought a load of books (dunno the titles, even in a dream, unless forced, I do not peek in boxes). And for some reason it was all plain to me, just another day. The warehouse had an opening eaten into an adobe wall of course, which I actually, willingly, passed through. And I was able to get out again, which must have been a detail added by what limited good there must be in my soul (it would be so me to waste whatever accumulated good in my being on editing a dream). In between a dirty anteroom and an ebon abyss that reeked of a charnel wind, was a heavy table where I was to leave the order, ring a bell then get the fuck out. Beyond the table I heard heavy digging machinery coming from the vast ebon darkness. And voices, whose words I blocked myself from allowing to take shape in my mind. And as I got out I glanced back and saw where I had been standing a herd of faceless Pigs attacking a legion of long long dead Rats (as dead as the ones you see on streets, ones that were run over six months ago) that swarmed out of the darkness, as the hole slowly oozed shut. The dream ended with the voice of a Hell Crow speaking to my mind (and I quoth verbatim, I do not want to misquote or in any fashion misrepresent a Hell Crow) “And the fuckers say I’m schizophrenic.” I awoke and stayed that way, all lights on, until I convinced myself that no Crow in my world could say a word that I cannot pronounce.

Words, “charnel”, “ebon”, “eldritch” and “quoth” are the property of Hell and are used with permission of His Excellency, and thirteenth in line to the English Crown and papacy (simultaneously), The Dark Lord Sterculious (formerly the Roman God of Shit).

The Week That Was

I was up on Sunday, with my endorsement of Mother Tongue by Bill Bryson. This is an excellent look at the English Language by a fellow who has made a big pile of money, and I don’t spite him a cent of it. Bryson is someone to read for those of us who fall asleep when presented with an educational something by Wallace Percy or other learned pens who take too fucking long to get to the point.

The Ministry of Other People’s Sons by Susmita Mukherjee opened the scrum of the week. Looking into the typically evil machinations of government and politics has always been a ripe harvest writers. Unfortunately, most writers who go there return unenlightened and cause you to read a lot of the same old same old. But here, Susmita presents the futility of it all with wit and elan. Why fools and devils lead is obvious, but why we let them do it speaks of laziness, because I cannot think of an acceptable excuse. but since this appeared the day before a good election day (for most of us), maybe it foretells of better times. “Prosperity is around the corner” said FDR. He was right, but it took a world war and was an awfully big corner.

Sunday Lunch by Samyuktha Kannan appeared on Tuesday (please forgo tired observations about the days). This one shows how we are deliberately driving each other insane due to our often unbendable ways. There’s a lot of big talk about diversity, but those are canned words, opened on platforms and they do not extend into reality. This author subtly and clearly shows what really happens in the world.

In a Place Far Away by return author Dianne Willems is first rate. At first you think it is about writing, but as you get into it you understand that the situation a far far far more serious. And the MC is right–it is a great opening sentence! The literary connections are top of the shelf, and it is always great when little Owen Meany gets a mention.

On Thursday we welcomed back Todd Mercer with Absolutely, Positively, Have to Be There Overnight. Talk about a special delivery. I never thought that “widgets” could be a part of a tense little tale, but Todd proved me wrong. This one has all the elements of a Cohen brothers film, maybe Tarantino. I cannot spill too much for I do not want to give anything away. But I do strongly recommend this one for those who like their CMT a bit off centered.

We closed another fine Week that was with My Father’s House by Hannah Braithwaite. The tone of this piece changes throughout yet it retains an aura of mystery. And there is tension mixed with poignant memories. I had to read it twice before I found a way to completely appreciate Hannah’s complex work. There is never a moment of peace or “let off” in this one. Truly remarkable.

And there they are. Please take a look if you haven’t already and please leave a comment when you can–even when you do not know what to say. It all works out by and by. Doing nothing never helps anyone. Writing isn’t like the Hippocratic oath–only the author can do further harm

Bi-Week Curios

Bi-Word Quisquous (adj) Hard to deal with; dubious. Having a character hard to assess (Hmmm, sound like me and every interesting person I’ve ever met–yes, I just said I am interesting. But so is the maw of a Great White Shark.)

Bonus Bi-Word: Emblematize (verb) To represent with an emblem (There are way too many useless words, like this dumb fucker)

Two–No Three, Recommended Cliche-ectomys of the Bi-Week: “Milking it”; “Mailing it in”; “Fake it till You Make It.” All three are very tuckered.

Classic misquotation of the Bi-Week : In Hamlet Gertrude says “The lady doth protest too much, me thinks.” I’ve heard is a dozen ways but seldom correctly.

A second classic misquotation of the Bi-Week: Dorothy Parker wrote “Gentleman seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses.” Never did she say never.

A late addition: This is being added an hour before post time. We have been receiving submissions sent by AI agents this week. Anyone who does that will see an email of the following flavor (of course no one who will read this will do such, but we will share anyway):

Hi (name withheld, but it rhymes with Blythe)

We refuse to work with an AI and “you” may consider yourself blocked. Moreover, if you were human you would be auto-rejected for ignoring the guidelines.

We will not tolerate this. Using AI is lazy. Writing is a human activity and if the writer is not willing to do that then that writer is not worth considering. And if anyone says we are ignoring a “new big thing”, I will tell them there was a time when National Socialism was a new big thing.

The human Editors at Literally Stories

Bi-Week

This week, to honor last week’s Halloween I present a straight forward list of ten of my favorite scariest characters (as always suggestions are more than welcomed–by scary I do not mean menacing as much as they are unpredicatable)

• Alan Richtman, Robin Hood (He should have won the Oscar because he was the only good thing in that Turkey; in fact that is true about a lot of the films he was in).
• Griffin Dunne as the ever ripening ghost friend in An American Werewolf in London.
• The hell weird looking guy played by hell weird looking Michael Berryman in The Hill Have Eyes.
• Michael Madsen as “Mr. Blonde” Reservoir Dogs.
• Ernest Thesiger as “Doctor Protorious” The Bride of Frankenstein.
• Elsa Lancester as The Bride of Frankenstein. (She could let out a hisssssss)
• Brad Pitt as “Cliff Booth” in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (a hero, but a damned dangerous one–and his wonderful Dog–A fantastic creation by Pitt and Tarantino).
• David Patrick Kelly as leader of the Rogues in The Warriors (“Warriors, come out and play…war-EEE-urs come out and play-ay”)
• Peter Boyle, Young Frankenstein (I do not believe the film could have been as good if anyone else took the role).
• Henry Fonda as “Frank” Once Upon a Time in the West. All American Hank committed at least twenty A-Class felonies in under three hours

A Personal Note

My friend Izzy died last week. I knew it was coming and I hoped she would die at home because she had never left this apartment since I found her abandoned in 2010. In the greater sense she did pass at home because she was insensate when we left for the Vet for the final act. She had been by my side, complaining constantly and driving me crazy for sixteen years. She could not have been younger than seventeen, most likely was eighteen–possibly more; save for her last week she had remarkable health and never needed to see the Vet once in the time she was with me.

It is a tragedy that the friends we love most live long enough to leave a mark, yet have tragically short spans, and it has been long observed that if we treated our brothers and sisters the same as most of us treat our pets, the world would not need much more improvement. Still, the internet, though essentially a lonesome and soulless desert, is eternal, therefore Izzy will remain as my WP “picture.” We had a private joke that I will not share because it was between us, but it lies in her title of “The Queen of One For Two Wednesday”. Many of our readers have suffered similar pains over the years, and I suppose nearly everyone who reads this can relate–moreover, I feel great pity for those few people incapable of experiencing an emotional response to loss. Anyway, here’s to all of us. And although it is cold comfort, I, for one, will try to remember that death is a blessing that ends pain. I dedicate this not only to Izzy, but to the many friends lost by the readers.

Leila