Saturday, January 25, 2014
Thursday, January 23, 2014
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
I went to Amazon to check the price of the original 1979 edition of this marvelous study of H. P. Lovecraft, Esq., & found to my surprise a NEW EDITION of this outstanding book! It was publish'd IN PROVIDENCE last summer as part of the NecronomiCon Providence convention. I had no idea!!! The book was selected by Thomas Ligotti as serving as Introduction to the Centipede Press Lovecraft edition in their MASTERS OF THE WEIRD TALE series. (Please note that the edition of the Lovecraft Masters of the Weird Tale that I shew in the video below differs in some ways from the one being currently offer'd by Centipede Press.) The Amazon description describes this new edition as being a corrected text, so it may differ in some slight ways from its earlier version. I have just order'd it. Again, this is my all-time favourite single study of Lovecraft's weird fiction, and I highly recommend it! It
I'm trying to upload an actual video on YouTube with the book's author, but thus far this place ain't making it possible. I shall continue trying. The name of the video on YouTube is "WaterFire presents H. P. Lovecraft: New England Decadent" . . .
Sunday, January 19, 2014
S. T. sent an email to say that he hopes to begin a new journal devoted to weird poetry and prose-poems. I have long been wanting to get back to regular verse experimentation, but other projects keep me busy with other things; so this is nice, because it gives me a solid reason to write poetry for publication. I've been
Things here have been quiet and depressing--moftly because I am lost when it comes to knowing how to begin looking for a real job. I feel doom'd to failure, because so many others are out of work, and I feel that being over sixty and suffering from congestive heart failure makes it less likely that someone will want to give me a job when there are so many others, younger and in good health.
I hope this finds ye well, my darlings. Shalom.
Monday, January 6, 2014
Sunday, January 5, 2014
|illustration by Allen Koszowski|
Been in a very Oscar mood of late, which is good because thinking of Wilde often makes me want to write something influenc'd by his genius. Here is an old sonnet to his memory:
I entertained the evil things of life,
Those panther boys whose beauty I adored;
And for this crime I lost my sons, my wife,
And I became a thing grotesque, abhor'd.
And so what can I do but live in dream,
Where my fine name is not a thing of mud,
Where kissing handsome lads is not blaspheme,
Where--seven-veil'd--I dance in pool of blood?
Ah Dorian, the mirrors of your eyes
Shew unto me youth's golden little time.
Ah Sphinx! How wonderful you are, how wise!
Oh Bosie, teach me passion's poison'd clime.
I deign to dance in Dante's holy flames.
Judiciousness I leave to Henry James.
I shall be performing to-night at ye Baltic Room, at a Bohemian event in celebration of H. P. Lovecraft called Pentacles and Tentacles. I regret that ye image of tentacles is so associated with E'ch-Pi-El--he is far more than Cthulhu--but let that pass. It is rare, these days, for me to gather with ye Strange Young Ones of the Seattle punk and party scene, and I am curious to see what kind of beautiful freaks dwell within that milieu. I shall be reading some few of Lovecraft's sonnets from Fungi from Yuggoth, but I also want to read
something in memory of Wilde. I shall be wearing my Oscar Wilde jacket at to-night's event, with a green carnation in its lapel. Oscar, of course, has been as major an influence on my writing as has Lovecraft, and it was with great pleasure that I finally wrote an entire prose-poem sequence in honour of Wilde for my Centipede Press omnibus, The Tangled Muse, a sequence which was then reprinted in my second book from Hippocampus Press, Uncommon Places. I will be reading, to-night, an unpublish'd poem that I wrote in memory of Oscar Wilde, which I have just to-day revised. Here it is:
The moon arises, white and naked,
In its vaulted tomb -- the sky.
No angels accompany it.
It floats there like some pale, detached head,
And I want to reach for it, hold it,
Kiss it as I dance, seven-veil'd,
In a pool of hot spilled blood.
And I would let my own face ascend
To godless heaven,
And frown upon this play of mortal puppets.
The carnation in my lapel is green,
Like unto a slim glass of absinthe,
That drink of poison'd dreams and ecstasy.
One drop of wormwood beads upon my mouth.
Kiss it away, I beg you.
Saturday, January 4, 2014
I read this story again to-night, at the finest Lovecraft site in existence -- www.hplovecraft.com -- where they have the letter to Derleth in which the dream is told side by side with ye text of the story as it was publish'd by Miske and Derleth. This dream has inspir'd so many Lovecraftian writers! One of my all-time
It strikes me as curious that no one, to my knowledge, has completed a wee film adaptation of "The Thing in the Doorstep" for presentation at the H. P. Lovecraft Film Festival & CthulhuCon. Those weird images are so haunting and the situation
H. P. Lovecraft had many such dreams, and he experimented in writing down many, which he then discarded. I wonder how many other numerous vignettes we have lost because of this. I'm very thankful that we have, at least, this one vital recording of a dream by E'ch-Pi-El. His smallest tidbit nourishes our imaginations and haunts our brains. Thus is he ever-immortal.