Tuesday, January 21, 2014

queer obsession

sometimes I just can't help myself & gotta be totally gay.............................

new stuff

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
pre-occupy'd, these past few years, with the writing of prose poetry, the huge result of which was an entire book of prose-poems inspir'd directly by the entire sonnet cycle, Fungi from Yuggoth, by H. P. Lovecraft, my book being Some Unknown Gulf of Night, whut I consider ye finest book I have yet compos'd.  So I am dipping once again into the brilliant poetry with which our weird phantasy genre has been graced, by artists such as Donald Wandrei, Clark Ashton Smith, and Donald Sidney-Fryer.  How exciting, to think that in March we will have an edition of Clark Ashton Smith from Penguin Modern Classics, in which will be found some of the verse and prose-poems!  Hippocampus Press, last year, publish'd a new, revis'd edition of H. P. Lovecraft's poetry.  And now, with luck, we will have an actual journal, publish'd twice a year, devoted to weird verse.

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.

But I have been keeping busy with writing projects.  I have written two new things that I have submitted to ye Lovecraft eZine.  The short novel, The Revenant of Rebecca Pascal, that I wrote with David Barker for our forthcoming book, Spectres of Lovecraftian Horror, is now going to be publish'd separately as its own book by Dark Renaissance Books, probably in March or April.  David and I will now work on four or five new Lovecraftian collaborations, and Spectres will then be publish'd next year with far more original work that was planned.  I've been invited by Weird Tales to submit fiction to the magazine, and I have sent them a wee tale for their forthcoming Ice-themed issue ~~ and how thrilling it will be for me if they accept it!  And I've promis'd tales to three or four forthcoming anthologies.  Thus, I have not been idle.

I hope this finds ye well, my darlings.  Shalom.

Wednesday, January 8, 2014

Monday, January 6, 2014

Beat it! Beat it!

me lurking about Copp's Hill Burying Ground

Sunday, January 5, 2014

A Sonnet, & One Unpublish'd Poem

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

some thing in moonlight

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
TROLLEY NO. 1852 by Edward Lee--a Lovecraftian porn novel that is excellent, with an authentic and effective Lovecraftian cosmicism that really got to me and thrill'd my sense of wonder.  There are two images from Lovecraft's dream that powerfully effect the weird artist's imagination:  the abandoned haunted derelict trolley itself, and the bestial conductors with their blood-tipped cones.  I used the images from this story myself, in section XXXIV of Some Unknown Gulf of Night.  The story, or fragment as it is sometimes referred to, has been dropped in all of the editions of Lovecraft's tales edited by S. T. Joshi, who insists that the story, as it stands, is not by Lovecraft.  And yet, the images from Lovecraft's dream are so potent and deliciously horrifying that I am always happy when the wee tale is publish'd, as it was in Eldritch Tales: A Miscellany of the Macabre in England (Gollancz 2011, edited by Stephen Jones).

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
of the dream so dramatic that it cou'd make a sensational short film.  The power of the vignette lies in its utter weirdness and in its horrific power--it is a really scary tale, full of sinister mystery which explodes as riveting nightmare.  It is its horrific potency that makes other Lovecraftians want to play with the theme and imagery of Lovecraft's original dream.

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.