(Meet Boo, picture provided by Tressa Bella Barrigar)
Snow Daze
The fine fellow in this image is Boo the Husky Artist as a Young Dog–who to this very instant remains a close associate and housemate of our friend, Dale Williams Barrigar. I think Boo exemplifies the Spirit of Snow Day as well as any living creature. Huskies can handle the chill. They will smile and play and chat gleefully at the Antarctic, and raise a quizzical brow as your blood freezes faster than the face of a strip club bouncer when you get all hands with his girl. (For what I hope are obvious reasons, I have never been inside a strip club, but my brother saw a guy get jacked-up something awful for engaging in the described stupid activity: “Dude gotta face full of fist…lost some teeth.”)
At the start of his career Hunter S. Thompson typed copies of famous novels in effort to gain a “muscle memory” of greatness–Gatsby for instance; the whole thing, seeking the inspiration; how it felt to write the powerful words. I have never gone that far, but I do surround myself with what I think are great words and images. These are pasted to my walls along with what I consider fine art. Visually, I have (among many others) Van Gough, Picasso, Dali and Giger prints as well as a large Shakespeare poster (whose accusatory eyes tend to follow me for some reason) on my walls. But it is not all highbrow, because I also have stuff like Elliott the Pigeon (of this wrap’s header), “Dogs Playing Poker” and a poster for Ed Wood’s Bride of the Monster on the same walls
First, before the Big Announcement, our thanks go to Doug Hawley for taking the helm last week. We look forward to extending further invitations to do so to our frequent writers and site friends!
Next week will feature our annual anniversary post. This year is special because it marks ten years for Literally Stories. There will be the many special features we add to our anniversary wraps plus an abundance of new ones. We have been working on this since summer and we hope to see one and all next week. As always, bring the kids, show up drunk, clothing is optional.
This week we are turning over the controls to another of our frequent contributors and friends, Doug Hawley. Doug has been a constant presence at LS for years as a writer, commentator and now as a Guest Weekend Wrapper. I have only awkward names for that position, because the hiphop industry has pretty much usurped the word rap and its homophone.
Regardless, Doug is an original, and we welcome you to his world.
Haunted
A Journey Through The Rodent Burrow
A few years ago, nearly as I can tell, I started to think about an isolated store that I used to pass going west in Portland before the West Hills. There was nothing special about it and I didn’t think about it for close to sixty years. For a while it obsessed me for no reason.
In 2021 after Clever Magazine had quickly rejected one story from me, the editor noticed I was from Portland. She was doing a wind-up issue and wanted a Portland story. I sent her something about the mystery store. She was originally from Portland, but lived in San Jose, and knew it was a Mode ‘O Day. As I dug deeper with her and other sources, I found that Mode O’ Day became a huge chain with affordable fashion, but then collapsed quickly. More surprising, the editor graduated from Grant High School in the same class as my now late sister. Neither of them knew the other.
An obsession about a building is weird. My others are more reasonable. Old girlfriends of course. A couple of years ago while reading obituaries (an old man thing) I noticed that the widow was my first serious girlfriend who lived seven miles from me (thank you internet). We ended on bad terms, but I called to offer condolences. She still hated me. There’s the one who had what could have been her last heterosexual act with me. Not a legacy I want. Prior to the attractive blonde wife and now editor, there was bright and beautiful one with whom there was a tumultuous relationship. Fifty years after she told me to leave her alone, I wrote her to ask what happened. She said it wasn’t me; she had some past trauma which caused her to change her life. Our difficulty was aided by my immaturity and insecurity.
Then there are our wonderful cat companions over the years, the last one of which, Kitzhaber, died in my arms. Despite our mouse invasion, no more cats to break out hearts. I thought Kitz might outlive me, but no luck.
Two days ago a cousin that I had been close to in the early years died. Several new friends have died since my return to Portland. The dead haunt me (covered in a story in Pure Slush), but the live ones as well. When we came back to Portland I tried to reconnect with no luck.
I largely live in my head, a condition that I would not wish on anyone with the exception of some politicians. What are your thoughts or obsessions before sleep and after waking? Serious question, I want to know. If possible, make me feel less weird. At least I’m less weird than a vice presidential candidate.
The Week That Was and Is
Hi There! We hope you are enjoying this glimpse into the mind of Doug Hawley. We shall hand this post back over to Doug after we extol the virtues of this week’s fine group of writers.
Christopher J. Ananias returned this week with his heart rending Where Everything Got Broken. Our lives can be ruined in seconds, and the echoes of the disaster may call until the last beat of our hearts…to those final thoughts in the dark. Truly powerful stuff.
Newcomer Landon Galliott completely changed the tone (save for quality) on Tuesday in his site debut Garf and the Purple Pickles. “Off-beat” is a term perhaps applied too often, but it truly fits here. And despite the quirkiness, there’s a sadness to be found in this–one that speaks to the random absurdity of just being.
Emergence Deliriumby our second site debut author, DanielleAltman is about thriving in the wild experience of youth, courting “death by misadventure,” always having something to talk about the next day. The reckless freedom is vivid in this one, as is wit and a bit of lament in this reader’s mind of times gone by.
Sarp Sozdinler was the third of three first time contributors. His tense and highly clever Marchkeeps you guessing. Sometimes the end of a story should mess with you. Sometimes impossible things must happen to keep the reader honest. Sometimes you want to corner the author and not let him go until he tells you what it means. Well done on all accounts.
On Friday we had the pleasure of meeting Ed N White, whoseThe Narrow Gauge is the first of three stories he has already had accepted. Like Tom Sheehan, Ed is a master of beautiful descriptions and restrained prose. Ed is also a fine gentleman and we are overjoyed to introduce him to our readers.
Well that’s the cast and we entreat you to give them a read if you haven’t already done so.
Now we will do the return of our guest wrapper like they do on the TV news:
“Back to you Doug…Hey how about closing with a list of your personal favorite horror films in keeping with the season?”
Big Finale: Doug’s Top Horror Films (each one is the original version)
Frankenstein – Obvious choice. I may have first seen it when it was rerun in the early 1950s.
The Thing From Another World – Notable in that technology at that time ensured the original shape shifter story was modified, but the old tech monster electrocution was good.
Halloween – Monster in a William Shatner mask. How horrifying is that?
Dracula – The Bram Stoker story that endures. Nosferatu good, but sued for copying the original too closely.
Night Of The Living Dead – They are ghouls, not zombies, but still.
Doug’s Bonus Music List
TheWreck of The Edmund Fitzgerald —Gordon Lightfoot – (Hypnotic and historic)
Roll With It —Steve Winwood – (See the video if you get a chance)
The Fat Man and Natural Born Lover – Fats Domino – (An early hit and a late hit)
I Wish and Superstition –Stevie Wonder – (Peak wonderful Steven)
Let It Rock –Chuck Berry – (I think this one was sent into space so aliens would know we rock)
Going Home Tomorrow –Little Richard – (Slows it down and grooves)
Reconsider Baby–Elvis Presley – (Means business in this cover)
You Win Again -Jerry Lee Lewis – (He covers a Hank William number and The Killer kills it)
I have either finished turning invisible or the local wildlife considers me as threatening as Jane Jetson. The wild things are taking advantage of our slipping sense of surrounding and are slowly, yet steadily organizing. I present three instances for your examination. (And although some of you will not detect acts of duplicity in these seemingly random events, I say that is what they want us to believe.)
But before I explode, I want to thank David Henson for his post last week (and I think he should return with more in the future). Guest posting is not going to be a one off, so who knows, maybe you will be invited to do the same. Now on with the show, as it is.
*****
Everyday I count my blessings then give Heaven the Finger. I took accounting in school (for one semester) and learned the credit/debit system, which I use to total my physical blessings versus the “other stuff” in my existence. The other stuff is made up mostly of new conditions/diseases they give you and charge your insurance for at doctors, ophthalmologists, dentists and Medieval Barbers.
In 1968, at the age of nine, I allowed a classmate we will call “Louise Haas” (not her real name, but close) to get a lecture for something I did. The offense was cussing. It was recess and I had told someone to “eat shit” or something of that third-gradely nature, unaware that the playground monitor was in earshot.
Walter Orthmann died at age one-hundred-two this month. He holds the knownworld record for most years working for one employer. Mr. Orthmann labored at a Brazilian textile plant from 1938 to 2022; from age sixteen to an even hundred. Eighty four years.
Ostriches do not stick their heads in the sand to avoid the Awful Truth. That mendacity has been around since Roman times and should be purged from the metaphor store. Only people behave that way, and when an animal does the same, you can rest assured that she/he is only mocking you.
There’s one bit of advice that my late father gave me when I was too young to scrutinize advice, yet it remains something I’ve neither forgotten nor defied: “Don’t eat canned stewed tomatoes.”
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