Change of Scenery

Today I move into the new digs. Sometime after 7 PM, I shall once again be a dweller on the North Shore of Long Island. I'm looking forward to the change of address despite the accompanying headaches that any move conjures up.

I'd like to once again give thanks to Vanadorn and Mister Scratch for putting me up in their various dungeons, haylofts, wigwams, cryotubes, etc. during my week and a half of nomadic existence.

The new contact information has gone out via "electro-telegram" this morning.

That is all.

-AM

Bibliomancy

For those of you who are afflicted with "the gentle madness," you may wish to consider examining the possible uses of LibraryThing.

LibraryThing is a personal online database that can be used to organize your personal library. That's just one function of it though. If you're a bibliomaniac, this might be the site for you. $25 dollars provides a lifetime membership.

If you really want to get crazy, look into buy a CueCat to easily scan your books' barcodes and ISBNs. It'll speed up the time required to build your personal LibraryThing database.

Once things settle down a bit, I'm seriously looking into this.

BTJM

-AM

I've Been Cross-Referenced

Sometimes you've got to take your joy where you can find it.

Some of you gentle readers may have been a part of the whacky fun of Revelations a long time back.

Today, while stumbling through the Intertubes, I discovered a page about John Shirley's novel Transmaniacon. Firstly, I never even knew that this novel existed. Secondly, the trivia blurb at the bottom of the page reads:

"Revelations, a Live Action Role-Playing Game (LARP) set in White Wolf's World of Darkness, concerns the events and existence of supernatural creatures living in and around New York City. Players take on the roles of vampires, werewolves, ghosts, etc. One "resource" for the game mentions: "There is also rumors of an ancient text called The Transmaniacon ('The Book Beyond Madness'), which was written by a mortal scholar who was able to enter the Underworld and return to the lands of the Living. The Transmaniacon recently surfaced in New York City. It slipped through the hands of the Tremere and is now believed to be in the possession of the Garou." (The Tremere and the Garou are clans.) It is not known if the book or the song inspired this title."

That's from the Revelations website. Pretty nifty. I'm now four degrees of seperation from Blue Oyster Cult.

-AM

Zippity Do Don't!

Disney gone blue?

Score: 100% (10 out of 10)

Shovel

As darkness dives
Shovel leans on pine wood.
I stare at oak wood and steel,
Your talent recognized.
In human hands you could
Dig canyons, shovel
Dig cesspits, shovel
Dig canals, shovel
Dig war trenches.
But the sun sets
The dog plays
And your uses are limited, shovel.
I can't use you to open my beer.


That's Jim's favorite poem of mine. I still have the bar napkin it was written on.

The Suicide Bridge

The Sun slipped beneath the brackish waves
As the merry beach children played amongst
The shoreline waste.
Night fell with the heavy crash of colliding
Metal and the evening winds whipped the
Trees against the window.
The television burbled, casting its faerie fire
Of blue across the unliving living room.
Two angry brothers bickered and bemoaned in
The thin hallway outside the door.
Colorless clarity reigned supreme as the harsh
Opiate incense burned and sputtered in the wood
Stand. Thin wisps of smoke, which breached the nose
With tearing shyness.
The Young Traveler packed his things as the
Clashing chaos echoed about him.
Small sounds burrowed through the floorboards
From the people below.
A car roared by outside, the heavy wash of
A helicopter beat the darkness in a frantic,
Insect attempt to stay aloft.
In the Vault of Heaven Gods and Goddesses
Turned a blind eye to the sufferings and
Humanity continued on alone.
I hope to see you soon, my love.
If only I can make the journey and someway,
Somehow,
Avoid the bridge at the end.

Iguana Pudding

Orange peels, scattered scraps
Turn on the night winds as the
Lonely car pulls to a stop at the
Gas station.
Kung-Fu catfish sleep beneath the river
Mud of the Ages.
Loaded dice clatter horizontally across
A concrete floor as the warehouse lights
Turn their angry glare on two young lovers,
Caressing + killing.
Passion burns, Love smolders and somewhere
A dream dies crushed, mauled and engulfed
By a harsh blast of Reality winds.
Tom was dead of spirit yet full of life.
Christ kicked back and sang bar room songs,
Satire of the Queen, bawdy ballads of
Scotsmen.
The dry rot netting strung upon the pier planks,
The crumbled husks of tiny sea animals
Pulled from their home to an alien landscape.
The Scream echoed in the conscience of
The Mob as the body hit the street,
Spraying the god-king with its blood.
In the back room, my daughter
Sleeps
Soundly.

Venice

In the dry obscenity of things
I suppose it's not important.
Black velvet and mended pants,
Streetlights flicker, then die
Much like the focus of humanity.
It struggles blindly, mercilessly
Toward a better place, but not this place.
Black cups of coffee and nicotine are
The new driving force of a generation,
Leaving little to be desired by
Huddled masses.
Snowcone sweetness, crossed with
Electric bitterness that twists + turns,
Slash + burns, kill the tongue
And the body dies.
The sweet haze of smoke that
Covers the residue of the American Dream.
Copycat lasers sneak a peek at the
Crumbling foundations of the common
Housecat.
The creatures crawl from the sewers to
Kiss the virgin schoolyard girls;
To take the tophat of racism and fold
It into the origami dove of peace.

You, Me, Oblivion & the Abyss

I'm going to go on a jazz free-association for a bit.

Am I in a "good place"? No.

Am I in my own private Hell? No.

Just going to run with the wolves for a while.

-AM