Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Almost Living by Mo Watson
Almost Living
In the beginning of the 21st
century I was living -
barely living -
about 20 minutes away from
Cleveland,
Ohio
I will not reveal the name of the town
All I will say is that
it was like living in something
that Cleveland, Ohio had thrown up
after a long day and night working
a double shift in
in seedy bar.
I lived in an apartment complex at
the bottom of a freeway ramp.
Across the hall from my apartment there
lived a
friendly dwarf...
at least
I thought he was a
dwarf
and
friendly.
From Mo Watson's unpublished dream journal sometimes referred to as: I Know a Guy Who Had a Dream About a Tiger Taking a Shit on His Chest
My Slow Cousin Writes by Mo Watson
My Slow Cousin writes:
I like to draw
I have since I was 7
years of.
Ago
*
There is
nothing like
having fun
in the rain
*
Oscar (The Cat) is just looking at something
I no they can see things we don't see.
like a ghost.
No I hope its not that
From the unpublished book Missives From My Slow Cousin by Mo Watson.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
More Musings From Mo Watson
Cubicle Thoughts
For me, it is not a
Rat Race.
It's more like a ponderously dull
wander through a
Rat Maze.
Taken From Mo Watson's Book, I Have Seen the Enemy and He is That Guy Over There in the Stupid Tie. Published by Incorporated Crank Press...in 2011.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Painstakingly Made Surrealism: Le Nez (1963)
Here is a short, French film based upon a story ("The Nose") by Nikolai Gogol about a man's nose that suddenly decides to leave the man's face and find a new life in a nearby town. The animators used pinscreen animation to bring the surreal tale to life.
I can remember when Spencers Gifts sold small boards of pins. One could press their faces and hands and other body parts if one wished into one side of the board. The other side of the board would show the "impression in pins" of the pressed body part or whatever else one pressed against it. This novelty item was based on this animation technique.
The amount of time the animators spent making this short has got to be mind-boggling.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
I Like My Coffee Black...Like My Comedy.
I don't know about you but nothing brightens my day more than creating depressing (and perverse) greeting cards. Feel free to share!
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Søren Kierkegaard's Dark Alley
I've noticed that many quotations from Søren Kierkegaard sound like lines from some of the finer hard-boiled, pulp fiction published in the 1950s.
I see it all perfectly; there are two possible situations - one can either do this or that. My honest opinion and my friendly advice is this: do it or do not do it - you will regret both.
Listen to the cry of a woman in labor at the hour of giving birth - look at the dying man's struggle at his last extremity, and then tell me whether something that begins and ends thus could be intended for enjoyment.
The gods were bored; therefore they created human beings.
There are, as is known, insects that die in the moment of fertilization. So it is with all joy: life's highest, most splendid moment of enjoyment is accompanied by death.
I see it all perfectly; there are two possible situations - one can either do this or that. My honest opinion and my friendly advice is this: do it or do not do it - you will regret both.
Listen to the cry of a woman in labor at the hour of giving birth - look at the dying man's struggle at his last extremity, and then tell me whether something that begins and ends thus could be intended for enjoyment.
The gods were bored; therefore they created human beings.
There are, as is known, insects that die in the moment of fertilization. So it is with all joy: life's highest, most splendid moment of enjoyment is accompanied by death.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
The Music For The Freak Out
Here are two fine tunes from the Golden Age of Hippie Exploitation Cinema.
The Glass Bottle performs this track from the film, The People Next Door. The film presents a tripped out tale of young hippies freaking out and their suburban parents who must deal with the freaking.
A soundtrack record was released and it is not as hard to find as you might expect. I found one a few years ago and I barely leave the house.
The song used to highlight the moves of Meg Foster in the film Thumb Tripping has (as far as I know) never been released on LP or CD. The film like the preceding one remains unavailable on DVD. This film captures the youth of the late 60's at a little older age than The People Next Door. Two youths using their thumbs to meander across the USA...
The music was written by Bob Thompson. He is known (well, to me at least) as the fellow who composed music that would be the soundtrack to some one wandering about on a giant marshmallow while zonked to the gills on painkillers and vodka cocktails:
The lyrics to the tune were written by Jerry Fuller. I'm guessing this is the same Jerry Fuller who wrote the song, Traveling Man, that Ricky Nelson took to the top of the charts. A quick look at Fuller's bio tells me it must be the same fellow. It looks like he is a person who likes to keep busy.
Beyond the tunes, though, there is Bruce Dern:
And that should sober you up real quick!
The Glass Bottle performs this track from the film, The People Next Door. The film presents a tripped out tale of young hippies freaking out and their suburban parents who must deal with the freaking.
A soundtrack record was released and it is not as hard to find as you might expect. I found one a few years ago and I barely leave the house.
The song used to highlight the moves of Meg Foster in the film Thumb Tripping has (as far as I know) never been released on LP or CD. The film like the preceding one remains unavailable on DVD. This film captures the youth of the late 60's at a little older age than The People Next Door. Two youths using their thumbs to meander across the USA...
The music was written by Bob Thompson. He is known (well, to me at least) as the fellow who composed music that would be the soundtrack to some one wandering about on a giant marshmallow while zonked to the gills on painkillers and vodka cocktails:
The lyrics to the tune were written by Jerry Fuller. I'm guessing this is the same Jerry Fuller who wrote the song, Traveling Man, that Ricky Nelson took to the top of the charts. A quick look at Fuller's bio tells me it must be the same fellow. It looks like he is a person who likes to keep busy.
Beyond the tunes, though, there is Bruce Dern:
And that should sober you up real quick!
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
In a World Without Hope...and Pants!
There are moments when just looking at this photo cheers me up.
Friday, April 27, 2012
A Few Poems From Mo Watson's Book, Martian Beer and Pizza.
Dieting
Ralph began the
awful task
of digging
the hole
he wondered
with
shovel in filthy
fat hand
with sweat pouring from
his massive brow
if there was a way to
figure exactly
how many calories he
was burning digging
this deep hole
for the body of
his
dead
best
friend
Condiments
I do not
relish
drama
I prefer
to put
mustard
on it.
Martian Beer and Pizza
When they
arrived
by the
thousands in
their cigar-shaped
ships
they beamed a terrible
message that
all of us could hear
and understand
they came
for the water and
something
awesome
that was contained
in the earth's
core
the voice said
we
must crack
the earth
like an egg to
get
it
so
sorry
humans
the earth
as you know it is
through
but
the voice went on
to say
there will be
free
beer and
pizza available to
all
until you are
blotted out
for all time
I
for one
was
cool
with
that.
From Mo Watson's book, Martian Beer and Pizza. Published in 2010 by Please Remove Your Hat Lady, I Can't See the Movie Press
Friday, February 17, 2012
Friday, February 10, 2012
Acid Jam...Again!
Word is this was a big underground hit in Germany at the time. I would have liked to have been at that underground party.
Saccharine Everythings, Part 48 or Maelstrom Shmaelstrom I'm Taking a Nap.
I long to screw up a snooty society party.
I forget where I snagged this photo. All I can say is that there is something about it that makes me depressed.
I began College in 1987. I was ready academically, but emotionally I was a wreck. My father died that year. The woman I was dating (who was ten years older than me) broke up with me the day before my first class. I felt (quoting the great Richard Brautigan here) "like a sewing machine that's just finished sewing a turd to a garbage can lid.”
The College's library had a copy of the book pictured above. I spent a lot of time in the library back then. More specifically, I spent time in the libraries smoking room. It's hard to imagine one could lite up a butt in a room in close proximity to microfilms and rare research texts, but it was the case back then...
I spent much of the time with that book, a book that contained critical studies of Leonard Cohen's novels and poems, and a collection of English dirty limericks that dated back to the Victorian era.
Each one helped me out of a depression so thick and deep that I could actually cut slices of it and serve it as a party snack.
Depression (when served hot) tastes like French pastries.
I miss spending hours in libraries and smoking cigarettes.
Now - in 2012 - this is the sort of thing that washes the blues away
Friday, February 3, 2012
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Halloween Hangover.
I will not go gentle into the Christmas Season.
This post goes out to my late Grandma Murk.
She realized the young me was obsessed with horror films, so she exploited that love by spoiling me rotten with monster gifts:
A Lon Chaney Sr. as the Phantom of the Opera Puzzle, any horror-themed comic that she found in the aisles of Mungo's Knick Knack Hole in Suckwater Township, Monster models, weird books (from Edgar Allan Poe to this odd one from Edgar Rice Burroughs), novelty records (she turned me on to the Benny Bell classic, Shaving Cream) and old time horror-themed radio.
So in her honor here is Peter Lorre in The Black Cat which was part of the Mystery in the Air radio series. It originally aired on September 18, 1947.
Peter Lorre in The Black Cat by Hallandgorcey
The announcer is one Harry Morgan of Dragnet and MASH fame. As of this writing, Harry is still among us!
This post goes out to my late Grandma Murk.
She realized the young me was obsessed with horror films, so she exploited that love by spoiling me rotten with monster gifts:
A Lon Chaney Sr. as the Phantom of the Opera Puzzle, any horror-themed comic that she found in the aisles of Mungo's Knick Knack Hole in Suckwater Township, Monster models, weird books (from Edgar Allan Poe to this odd one from Edgar Rice Burroughs), novelty records (she turned me on to the Benny Bell classic, Shaving Cream) and old time horror-themed radio.
So in her honor here is Peter Lorre in The Black Cat which was part of the Mystery in the Air radio series. It originally aired on September 18, 1947.
Peter Lorre in The Black Cat by Hallandgorcey
The announcer is one Harry Morgan of Dragnet and MASH fame. As of this writing, Harry is still among us!
Monday, October 31, 2011
31 Uncanny Bits of Terror for October - Day Thirty One: The Bleeding Mirror...A Terror Brewed in Cleveland, OH.
Let us end on a dark, Cleveland-based Note...
I collect and love Halloween-themed records. I have obsessed over them. I have spent ridiculous amounts of money on them. I've wondered about how sitting by yourself, drinking beer and listening to Halloween sound effects records might not be healthy. I suppose it is a way to go back in time, capture a bit of lost youth, because they DO NOT make Halloween records like they used to...
If I did not suffer from untreated Adult Attention Deficit Disorder, I would love to write a whimsical book about how the records of Wade Denning helped shape me as a person, helped make me the person I am today...maybe one day...
Anyway.
I came across this mysterious, Cleveland-based (that is, recorded here in the best location in the nation) record a few years:
The Bleeding Mirror and other original tales of the supernatural.
I have yet to find any information about it - other than what the liner notes tell us:
The theme of the album is horror - sheer occult horror to ice your spine and tingle your nerve ends. These are stories for a stormy night, when the fire is low and the hour is late.
The author of these tales are uniquely fitted for the task. Evelyn Martin and William Wray were both born with a caul - that birth membrane sometimes called "a veil over the face." Those people are blessed - or cursed as the case may be - with a caul over the face of birth, are supposed to have second sight and be granted the power to see things supernatural.
Martin and Wray certainly kept the legend alive, both separately, and since their writing partnership began. Many of these experiences are chronicled in their book, DAMNED THINGS. Since then they have authored several books, including DEVIL'S ARCHWAY, BITTERWEED, and THE DAY THE ANIMALS LEFT.
The Bleeding Mirror is a true story, as is The Rocking Chair. Both Martin and Wray have seen the light at Maco. The authors have been repeated guests on the Alan Douglas Show, (NBC) discussing their supernatural experiences.
Martin and Wray together with Ilene Latter who enacts the female voices on this album, are founders of the Physical Research Society of Northeastern Ohio.
Miss Latter is equally well known in the world of the theatre and the world of radio and television commercials. She is featured on the album together with William Wray and Carl Reese, actor and personality with Storer Broadcasting.
The album is produced by Evelyn Martin. Recording and production engineer is Bob Nowac. The album was recorded at Alcon Recording Studios, Inc., Cleveland, Ohio.
Obviously, these folks are not out to snag the "monster kid" market of the 1970s - this is some serious stuff here. The fact they founded something called the Physical Research Society of Northeastern Ohio, which, I will assume, must have been some sort of organization that did paranormal research tells us that these folks are not out to just give sugared-up kids the creeps.
And the early 1970s is my guess as to when this record hit the shelves or was part of some weird mailorder catalog or was featured as an item for sale in one the illusive books written by Martin and Wray - who knows! It was released on the Macabre record label. The labels logo was just a black circle enclosed in a box - you can see it in the bottom right corner of my shoddy photo.
There was a record label associated with the studio in which the record was recorded. The releases on the label look like they fetch a pretty penny from the hardcore collectors of Northern Soul.
The Halloween records of the 60s/70s were fairly graphic. When I played the classic, Famous Monsters Speak, record for my children, I was taken aback a little by the grotesque descriptions of murder described by Frankenstien's Monster.
Of course, my kids loved it...
But...
Wow...the description of bones cracking in a monster's horrid hands is nothing compared to the much darker regions explored on The Bleeding Mirror and other original tales of the supernatural.
Leave it to a couple of mystics from Cleveland to present us with a tale about the end of the world and the death of...well...listen to "The Answer":
The Answer by Hallandgorcey
Admitedly, some of the performances on the record border on the hysterical. "Don't Bury Me!" for one is a doozy. And, yes, the word "original" in the title of the record might be stretching things more than a bit considering every one of these tales has a classic tale of terror that influenced it. "Don't Bury Me!" is an obvious ode to Edgar Allan Poe's tale, The Premature Burial. "Maco Light" was surely influenced by Charles Dicken's wondrous fright tale, The Signal-Man.
And so on.
But.
For homegrown, obscure "horror-themed" records, Evelyn Martin / William Wray / Ilene Latter / Carl Reese's presentation of The Bleeding Mirror and other original tales of the supernatural is quite fine for this and many other Halloween's to come. Especially the last track of the record...Sheesh!
side 1 - The Bleeding Mirror / Don't Bury Me! / Reincarnation / Maco Light / The Spider
side 2 - Baby Doll / The Rocking Chair / The Ivy Plant / The Answer
Get scared Here!
For more info on Halloween records the ONLY place to go is here. When I discovered Jason Willis and his amazing site six years ago I felt, well, less alone in the dark. HAhahahhahahHAahahaha!
I collect and love Halloween-themed records. I have obsessed over them. I have spent ridiculous amounts of money on them. I've wondered about how sitting by yourself, drinking beer and listening to Halloween sound effects records might not be healthy. I suppose it is a way to go back in time, capture a bit of lost youth, because they DO NOT make Halloween records like they used to...
If I did not suffer from untreated Adult Attention Deficit Disorder, I would love to write a whimsical book about how the records of Wade Denning helped shape me as a person, helped make me the person I am today...maybe one day...
Anyway.
I came across this mysterious, Cleveland-based (that is, recorded here in the best location in the nation) record a few years:
The Bleeding Mirror and other original tales of the supernatural.
I have yet to find any information about it - other than what the liner notes tell us:
The theme of the album is horror - sheer occult horror to ice your spine and tingle your nerve ends. These are stories for a stormy night, when the fire is low and the hour is late.
The author of these tales are uniquely fitted for the task. Evelyn Martin and William Wray were both born with a caul - that birth membrane sometimes called "a veil over the face." Those people are blessed - or cursed as the case may be - with a caul over the face of birth, are supposed to have second sight and be granted the power to see things supernatural.
Martin and Wray certainly kept the legend alive, both separately, and since their writing partnership began. Many of these experiences are chronicled in their book, DAMNED THINGS. Since then they have authored several books, including DEVIL'S ARCHWAY, BITTERWEED, and THE DAY THE ANIMALS LEFT.
The Bleeding Mirror is a true story, as is The Rocking Chair. Both Martin and Wray have seen the light at Maco. The authors have been repeated guests on the Alan Douglas Show, (NBC) discussing their supernatural experiences.
Martin and Wray together with Ilene Latter who enacts the female voices on this album, are founders of the Physical Research Society of Northeastern Ohio.
Miss Latter is equally well known in the world of the theatre and the world of radio and television commercials. She is featured on the album together with William Wray and Carl Reese, actor and personality with Storer Broadcasting.
The album is produced by Evelyn Martin. Recording and production engineer is Bob Nowac. The album was recorded at Alcon Recording Studios, Inc., Cleveland, Ohio.
Obviously, these folks are not out to snag the "monster kid" market of the 1970s - this is some serious stuff here. The fact they founded something called the Physical Research Society of Northeastern Ohio, which, I will assume, must have been some sort of organization that did paranormal research tells us that these folks are not out to just give sugared-up kids the creeps.
And the early 1970s is my guess as to when this record hit the shelves or was part of some weird mailorder catalog or was featured as an item for sale in one the illusive books written by Martin and Wray - who knows! It was released on the Macabre record label. The labels logo was just a black circle enclosed in a box - you can see it in the bottom right corner of my shoddy photo.
There was a record label associated with the studio in which the record was recorded. The releases on the label look like they fetch a pretty penny from the hardcore collectors of Northern Soul.
The Halloween records of the 60s/70s were fairly graphic. When I played the classic, Famous Monsters Speak, record for my children, I was taken aback a little by the grotesque descriptions of murder described by Frankenstien's Monster.
Of course, my kids loved it...
But...
Wow...the description of bones cracking in a monster's horrid hands is nothing compared to the much darker regions explored on The Bleeding Mirror and other original tales of the supernatural.
Leave it to a couple of mystics from Cleveland to present us with a tale about the end of the world and the death of...well...listen to "The Answer":
The Answer by Hallandgorcey
Admitedly, some of the performances on the record border on the hysterical. "Don't Bury Me!" for one is a doozy. And, yes, the word "original" in the title of the record might be stretching things more than a bit considering every one of these tales has a classic tale of terror that influenced it. "Don't Bury Me!" is an obvious ode to Edgar Allan Poe's tale, The Premature Burial. "Maco Light" was surely influenced by Charles Dicken's wondrous fright tale, The Signal-Man.
And so on.
But.
For homegrown, obscure "horror-themed" records, Evelyn Martin / William Wray / Ilene Latter / Carl Reese's presentation of The Bleeding Mirror and other original tales of the supernatural is quite fine for this and many other Halloween's to come. Especially the last track of the record...Sheesh!
side 1 - The Bleeding Mirror / Don't Bury Me! / Reincarnation / Maco Light / The Spider
side 2 - Baby Doll / The Rocking Chair / The Ivy Plant / The Answer
Get scared Here!
For more info on Halloween records the ONLY place to go is here. When I discovered Jason Willis and his amazing site six years ago I felt, well, less alone in the dark. HAhahahhahahHAahahaha!
Sunday, October 30, 2011
31 Uncanny Bits of Terror for October - Day Thirty: A William Conrad Halloween.
I admire William Conrad. What a career the man had!
He was a radio personality.
A welcome heavy in any film noir.
The narrator of one of the best cartoon series known to man or moose!
A TV star.
And a director.
It is this field that William Conrad seemed to find a quirky, sinister voice that deserves a cult following. He did a lot of directing of TV shows throughout the 50s and 60s, but it is his five full-length features that deserve a look by any viewer who digs a bit of darkness. His first, The Man from Galveston (1963), is a fast paced courtroom drama dressed in cowboy duds. It is in the four films that came after that Conrad chose to wander down darker alleys. It is these that we will concern ourselves with during this scary time of year.
He was also the producer of the earliest three, so we can assume he had more control.
Two on a Guillotine (1965)
Based on a story by Henry Slesar, Two on a Guillotine is a spooky ride! Coffins, Morgues, Lunatic Magicians, Cemeteries. What more can you ask for? It is Halloween after all.
My Blood Runs Cold (1965)
More insanity here as Troy Donahue thinks Joey Heatherton is a long dead ancestor....
Brainstorm (1965)
Mr. Conrad seems to really love using insanity as a plot device. Jeffrey Hunter fakes insanity to get out of a murder charge in this excellent film noir which is probably the best of the three films he made in the 1960s.
All four of the films he directed in the 60s are available on DVD via the Warner Brothers Archive Collection.
The most obscure (meaning you can only find it on VHS) of the William Conrad directed oddities is the film Side Show (1981). It was produced by Sid and Marty Krofft (?) and it is probably the weirdest of all his full-length films. I own it, but it has been years since I have viewed it. I hesitated to comment much on any of the films listed here, because I have not seen them in a LONG time. They all sit upon my shelf, so I will get to it one of these days!!
You see...I was too busy ripping a copy of William Conrad's Halloween Record for all of you to enjoy.
Spirits and Spooks For Halloween summoned up by William Conrad (1973 - Caedmon Records)
Side one - The Merry Night of Halloween / The Ghost's Song / Fereyel and Debbo Engal the Witch
Side two - The Hag / The Secret Commonwealth / The Horny-goloch / How a Witch Tried to Kill a King / Suppose You Met a Witch / The Strange Visitor
Get it HERE!!
He was a radio personality.
A welcome heavy in any film noir.
The narrator of one of the best cartoon series known to man or moose!
A TV star.
And a director.
It is this field that William Conrad seemed to find a quirky, sinister voice that deserves a cult following. He did a lot of directing of TV shows throughout the 50s and 60s, but it is his five full-length features that deserve a look by any viewer who digs a bit of darkness. His first, The Man from Galveston (1963), is a fast paced courtroom drama dressed in cowboy duds. It is in the four films that came after that Conrad chose to wander down darker alleys. It is these that we will concern ourselves with during this scary time of year.
He was also the producer of the earliest three, so we can assume he had more control.
Two on a Guillotine (1965)
Based on a story by Henry Slesar, Two on a Guillotine is a spooky ride! Coffins, Morgues, Lunatic Magicians, Cemeteries. What more can you ask for? It is Halloween after all.
My Blood Runs Cold (1965)
More insanity here as Troy Donahue thinks Joey Heatherton is a long dead ancestor....
Brainstorm (1965)
Mr. Conrad seems to really love using insanity as a plot device. Jeffrey Hunter fakes insanity to get out of a murder charge in this excellent film noir which is probably the best of the three films he made in the 1960s.
All four of the films he directed in the 60s are available on DVD via the Warner Brothers Archive Collection.
The most obscure (meaning you can only find it on VHS) of the William Conrad directed oddities is the film Side Show (1981). It was produced by Sid and Marty Krofft (?) and it is probably the weirdest of all his full-length films. I own it, but it has been years since I have viewed it. I hesitated to comment much on any of the films listed here, because I have not seen them in a LONG time. They all sit upon my shelf, so I will get to it one of these days!!
You see...I was too busy ripping a copy of William Conrad's Halloween Record for all of you to enjoy.
Spirits and Spooks For Halloween summoned up by William Conrad (1973 - Caedmon Records)
Side one - The Merry Night of Halloween / The Ghost's Song / Fereyel and Debbo Engal the Witch
Side two - The Hag / The Secret Commonwealth / The Horny-goloch / How a Witch Tried to Kill a King / Suppose You Met a Witch / The Strange Visitor
Get it HERE!!
Saturday, October 29, 2011
31 Uncanny Bits of Terror for October - Day Twenty Nine: Five Essential Films for Halloween...or Any Time of Year
Here are five films that I do not always watch around Halloween, but I do watch at least once a year. I usually watch them after Halloween just to get a hint of the chill of Fall or a memory of the smells that once wafted from whatever ghastly thing once brewed in the cauldron....
1. HALLOWEEN (1978)
2. HORROR OF DRACULA (1958)
3. THE BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN (1935)
4. WEREWOLF OF LONDON (1935)
5. SPIDER BABY OR, THE MADDEST STORY EVER TOLD (1968)
1. HALLOWEEN (1978)
2. HORROR OF DRACULA (1958)
3. THE BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN (1935)
4. WEREWOLF OF LONDON (1935)
5. SPIDER BABY OR, THE MADDEST STORY EVER TOLD (1968)
Friday, October 28, 2011
31 Uncanny Bits of Terror for October - Day Twenty Eight: Christian Morgenstern's Weird Nonsense Verse.
Christian Morgenstern's collection of poems, Songs from the Gallows: Galgenlieder, is actually more fun, delightful nonsense than weird, spooky, Halloweeny, but there are a couple pieces that give me the creeps. The Moonsheep is an stuffed with images that confound, delight and freak me out.
The Moonsheep
The moonsheep stands upon the clearing.
He waits and waits to get his shearing.
The moonsheep.
The moonsheep plucks himself a blade
returning to his alpine glade.
The moonsheep.
The moonsheep murmurs in his dream:
'I am the cosmos' gloomy scheme.'
The moonsheep.
The moonsheep, in the morn, lies dead.
His flesh is white, the sun is red.
The moonsheep.
For me, the poem has the same aura, the same uneasy vibe as many of the early tunes by Current 93:
Morgenstern also takes us to a planet of flies:
At the Housefly Planet
Upon the housefly planet
the fate of the human is grim:
for what he does here to the housefly,
the fly does there unto him.
To paper with honey cover
the humans there adhere,
while others are doomed to hover
near death in vapid beer.
However, one practice of humans
the flies will not undertake:
they will not bake us in muffins
nor swallow us by mistake.
Happy Halloween!
The Moonsheep
The moonsheep stands upon the clearing.
He waits and waits to get his shearing.
The moonsheep.
The moonsheep plucks himself a blade
returning to his alpine glade.
The moonsheep.
The moonsheep murmurs in his dream:
'I am the cosmos' gloomy scheme.'
The moonsheep.
The moonsheep, in the morn, lies dead.
His flesh is white, the sun is red.
The moonsheep.
For me, the poem has the same aura, the same uneasy vibe as many of the early tunes by Current 93:
Morgenstern also takes us to a planet of flies:
At the Housefly Planet
Upon the housefly planet
the fate of the human is grim:
for what he does here to the housefly,
the fly does there unto him.
To paper with honey cover
the humans there adhere,
while others are doomed to hover
near death in vapid beer.
However, one practice of humans
the flies will not undertake:
they will not bake us in muffins
nor swallow us by mistake.
Happy Halloween!
Thursday, October 27, 2011
31 Uncanny Bits of Terror for October - Day Twenty Seven: Gore and Aged Swingers
Of H.G. Lewis and Parents Who Swing
I grew up in a small town. One had to do a bit of work to find the glorious goods when it came to movies and music and books. I used the the two Ms, Magazines and Mailorder, to help me reach beyond the monotonous drone of cows mooing in distant fields and the hees and haws of the townsfolk.
One of the magazines that helped make my life more interesting was Fangoria. Mainly the David Everett years - the early to late 1980s. I certainly loved the coverage of the current horror films of the day. I definitely would have NOT been present in the theatre for such life-changing wonders like Escape From New York , Lifeforce, The Funhouse and many other amazing films if my head had not been stuck in that mag every month. The stills of Adrienne Barbeau (from Escape From New York) published in the mag were one of the highlights of my adolescence.
What eventually became obsessions and unholy grails of horror to me were the articles about older films, actors and directors. It was through one of these articles that I was introduced to the films of
H.G. Lewis.
All I had was the blood-drenched film stills to go on, but the Godfather of Gore (and Direct Marketing) was permanently stuck in my craw. These were films I had to view.
A Few Years Pass
Progress and the modern world comes to my small postage stamp of a town in the form of a video store. And what did my orbs fall upon there upon the shelf?
This!
and this!!
and, oh yes! Yes! This!
I was over-joyed. Finally my life would be complete. This was not something I could bring up to the counter with my parents present this was something that must be rented and enjoyed with pals. Mainly my pal, Humbert, who was a year older and had a license.
So.
A few weeks later, Humbert and I made the scene, rented the films and settled down into his basement free of parents and responsibility - we were ready for some gore...
Humbert stopped the VCR during the opening of Blood Feast and said, "I have to show you something. It's been freaking me out. I have to show someone. I just have to."
I was intrigued.
He led me to the "laundry room area" of his basement and opened a closet. He brought out a small trunk and opened it. The contents were astonishing. It was filled with Swingers' Magazines. The sort of publications a couple or a single man or woman would use to hook up with others who enjoyed meeting at hotels, swapping partners and then, well, fucking and sucking into the wee hours of the night.
"These are my parents' magazines. It all makes sense. They go away on weekends every other month...just to stay at a hotel. Sometimes in Canada, sometimes in Cleveland. My parents are...swingers."
Now...Humbert's parents were much OLDER than my parents. They were older than any of the parents I knew at the time. Humbert's brother and sister were out of the house and already had families of their own. His parents seemed more like Grandparents to my 15-year-old-view of people.
The outrageous images my hormone-infused brain conjured were terrifying. The weird visions of his sweet, elderly parents nude, sweating and fornicating with strange couples in swank hotels was much more terrifying than anything Mr. Lewis could splash onto the screen.
So...to this very day...when I re-visit the films of H.G. Lewis, I think about my boyhood friend's elderly parents and their wild, secret sex lives.
I grew up in a small town. One had to do a bit of work to find the glorious goods when it came to movies and music and books. I used the the two Ms, Magazines and Mailorder, to help me reach beyond the monotonous drone of cows mooing in distant fields and the hees and haws of the townsfolk.
One of the magazines that helped make my life more interesting was Fangoria. Mainly the David Everett years - the early to late 1980s. I certainly loved the coverage of the current horror films of the day. I definitely would have NOT been present in the theatre for such life-changing wonders like Escape From New York , Lifeforce, The Funhouse and many other amazing films if my head had not been stuck in that mag every month. The stills of Adrienne Barbeau (from Escape From New York) published in the mag were one of the highlights of my adolescence.
What eventually became obsessions and unholy grails of horror to me were the articles about older films, actors and directors. It was through one of these articles that I was introduced to the films of
H.G. Lewis.
All I had was the blood-drenched film stills to go on, but the Godfather of Gore (and Direct Marketing) was permanently stuck in my craw. These were films I had to view.
A Few Years Pass
Progress and the modern world comes to my small postage stamp of a town in the form of a video store. And what did my orbs fall upon there upon the shelf?
This!
and this!!
and, oh yes! Yes! This!
I was over-joyed. Finally my life would be complete. This was not something I could bring up to the counter with my parents present this was something that must be rented and enjoyed with pals. Mainly my pal, Humbert, who was a year older and had a license.
So.
A few weeks later, Humbert and I made the scene, rented the films and settled down into his basement free of parents and responsibility - we were ready for some gore...
Humbert stopped the VCR during the opening of Blood Feast and said, "I have to show you something. It's been freaking me out. I have to show someone. I just have to."
I was intrigued.
He led me to the "laundry room area" of his basement and opened a closet. He brought out a small trunk and opened it. The contents were astonishing. It was filled with Swingers' Magazines. The sort of publications a couple or a single man or woman would use to hook up with others who enjoyed meeting at hotels, swapping partners and then, well, fucking and sucking into the wee hours of the night.
"These are my parents' magazines. It all makes sense. They go away on weekends every other month...just to stay at a hotel. Sometimes in Canada, sometimes in Cleveland. My parents are...swingers."
Now...Humbert's parents were much OLDER than my parents. They were older than any of the parents I knew at the time. Humbert's brother and sister were out of the house and already had families of their own. His parents seemed more like Grandparents to my 15-year-old-view of people.
The outrageous images my hormone-infused brain conjured were terrifying. The weird visions of his sweet, elderly parents nude, sweating and fornicating with strange couples in swank hotels was much more terrifying than anything Mr. Lewis could splash onto the screen.
So...to this very day...when I re-visit the films of H.G. Lewis, I think about my boyhood friend's elderly parents and their wild, secret sex lives.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
31 Uncanny Bits of Terror for October - Day Twenty Six: A Scary Story
I've been trying to prepare a post about the career (well, the more Halloweeny parts of his career to be exact) of William Conrad and I stumbled across this nifty, creepy story written by Henry Slesar. Many of Slesar's stories were used as the basis for Alfred Hitchcock Presents episodes. Hitchcock and Slesar were a perfect fit.
You'll see exactly why when you read:
Examination Day
The Jordans never spoke of the exam, not until their son, Dickie, was twelve years old. It was on his birthday that Mrs Jordan first mentioned the subject in his presence, and the anxious manner of her speech caused her husband to answer sharply.
‘Forget about it,’ he said. ‘He’ll do all right.’
They were at breakfast table, and the boy looked up from his plate curiously. He was an alert-eyed youngster with flat blond hair and a quick, nervous manner. He didn’t understand what the sudden tension was about, but he did know that today was his birthday, and he wanted harmony above all. Somewhere in the little apartment there were wrapped, beribboned packages waiting to be opened, and in the tiny wall-kitchen something warm and sweet was being prepared in the automatic stove. He wanted the day to be happy, and the moistness of his mother’s eyes, the scowl on his father’s face, spoiled the mood of fluttering expectation with which he had greeted the morning.
‘What exam?’ he asked.
His mother looked at the tablecloth. ‘It’s just a sort of Government Intelligence test they give children at the age of twelve. You’ll be taking it next week. It’s nothing to worry about.’
‘You mean a test like in school?’
‘Something like that,’ his father said, getting up from the table. ‘Go and read your comics, Dickie.’ The boy rose and wandered towards that part of the living room which had been ‘his’ corner since infancy. He fingered the topmost comic of the stack, but seemed uninterested in the colourful squares of fast-paced action. He wandered towards the window, and peered gloomily at the veil of mist that shrouded the glass.
‘Why did it have to rain today?’ he said. ‘Why couldn’t it rain tomorrow?’
His father, now slumped into an armchair with the Government newspaper rattled the sheets in vexation. ‘Because it just did, that’s all. Rain makes the grass grow.’
‘Why, Dad?’
‘Because it does, that’s all.’
Dickie puckered his brow. ‘What makes it green, though? The grass?’
‘Nobody knows,’ his father snapped, then immediately regretted his abruptness.
Later in the day, it was birthday time again. His mother beamed as she handed over the gaily-coloured packages, and even his father managed a grin and a rumple-of-the-hair. He kissed his mother and shook hands gravely with his father. Then the birthday cake was brought forth, and the ceremonies concluded.
An hour later, seated by the window, he watched the sun force its way between the clouds.
‘Dad,’ he said, ‘how far away is the sun?’
‘Five thousand miles,’ his father said.
Dickie sat at the breakfast table and again saw moisture in his mother’s eyes. He didn’t connect her tears with the exam until his father suddenly brought the subject to light again.
‘Well, Dickie,’ he said, with a manly frown, ‘you’ve got an appointment today.’
‘I know Dad. 1 hope –’
‘Now, it’s nothing to worry about. Thousands of children take this test every day. The Government wants to know how smart you are, Dickie. That’s all there is to it.’
‘I get good marks in school,’ he said hesitantly.
‘This is different. This is a – special kind of test. They give you this stuff to drink, you see, and then you go into a room where there’s a sort of machine –‘
‘What stuff to drink?’ Dickie said.
‘It’s nothing. It tastes like peppermint. It’s just to make sure you answer the questions truthfully. Not that the Government thinks you won’t tell the truth, but it makes sure.’
Dickie’s face showed puzzlement, and a touch of fright. He looked at his mother, and she composed her face into a misty smile.
‘Everything will be all right,’ she said.
‘Of course it will,’ his father agreed. ‘You’re a good boy, Dickie; you’ll make out fine. Then we’ll come home and celebrate. All right?’
‘Yes sir,’ Dickie said.
They entered the Government Educational Building fifteen minutes before the appointed hour. They crossed the marble floors of the great pillared lobby, passed beneath an archway and entered an automatic lift that brought them to the fourth floor.
There was a young man wearing an insignia-less tunic, seated at a polished desk in front of Room 404. He held a clipboard in his hand, and he checked the list down to the Js and permitted the Jordans to enter.
The room was as cold and official as a courtroom, with long benches flanking metal tables. There were several fathers and sons already there, and a thin-lipped woman with cropped black hair was passing out sheets of paper.
Mr Jordan filled out the form, and returned it to the clerk. Then he told Dickie: ‘It won’t be long now. When they call your name, you just go through the doorway at the end of the room.’ He indicated the portal with his finger.
A concealed loudspeaker crackled and called off the first name. Dickie saw a boy leave his father’s side reluctantly and walk slowly towards the door.
At five minutes to eleven, they called the name of Jordan.
‘Good luck, son,’ his father said, without looking at him. ‘I’ll call for you when the test is over.’
Dickie walked to the door and turned the knob. The room inside was dim, and he could barely make out the features of the grey-tunicked attendant who greeted him.
‘Sit down,’ the man said softly. He indicated a high stool beside his desk. ‘Your name’s Richard Jordan?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Your classification number is 600-115. Drink this, Richard.’
He lifted a plastic cup from the desk and handed it to the boy. The liquid inside had the consistency of buttermilk, tasted only vaguely of the promised peppermint. Dickie downed it, and handed the man the empty cup.
He sat in silence, feeling drowsy, while the man wrote busily on a sheet of paper. Then the attendant looked at his watch, and rose to stand only inches from Dickie’s face. He unclipped a penlike object from the pocket of his tunic, and flashed a tiny light into the boy’s eyes.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Come with me, Richard.’
He led Dickie to the end of the room, where a single wooden armchair faced a multi-dialled computing machine. There was a microphone on the left arm of the chair, and when the boy sat down, he found its pinpoint head conveniently at his mouth.
‘Now just relax, Richard. You’ll be asked some questions, and you think them over carefully. Then give your answers into the microphone. The machine will take care of the rest.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’ll leave you alone now. Whenever you want to start, just say “ready” into the microphone.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The man squeezed his shoulder, and left.
Dickie said, ‘Ready.’
Lights appeared on the machine, and a mechanism whirred. A voice said: ‘Complete this sequence. One, four, seven, ten . .
Mr and Mrs Jordan were in the living room, not speaking, not even speculating.
It was almost four o’clock when the telephone rang. The woman tried to reach it first, but her husband was quicker.
‘Mr Jordan?’
The voice was clipped: a brisk, official voice.
‘Yes, speaking.’
‘This is the Government Educational Service. Your son, Richard M Jordan, Classification 600-115 has completed the Government examination. We regret to inform you that his intelligence quotient is above the Government regulation, according to Rule 84 Section 5 of the New Code.’
Across the room, the woman cried out, knowing nothing except the emotion she read on her husband’s face.
‘You may specify by telephone,’ the voice droned on, ‘whether you wish his body interred by the Government, or would you prefer a private burial place? The fee for Government burial is ten dollars.’
The short story (originally published by Playboy Magazine in 1958) was later used as the basis for this episode of the Twilight Zone - the revived Twilight Zone of the 1980s.
Considering the way of the world, this sort of future might not be too far off...
You'll see exactly why when you read:
Examination Day
The Jordans never spoke of the exam, not until their son, Dickie, was twelve years old. It was on his birthday that Mrs Jordan first mentioned the subject in his presence, and the anxious manner of her speech caused her husband to answer sharply.
‘Forget about it,’ he said. ‘He’ll do all right.’
They were at breakfast table, and the boy looked up from his plate curiously. He was an alert-eyed youngster with flat blond hair and a quick, nervous manner. He didn’t understand what the sudden tension was about, but he did know that today was his birthday, and he wanted harmony above all. Somewhere in the little apartment there were wrapped, beribboned packages waiting to be opened, and in the tiny wall-kitchen something warm and sweet was being prepared in the automatic stove. He wanted the day to be happy, and the moistness of his mother’s eyes, the scowl on his father’s face, spoiled the mood of fluttering expectation with which he had greeted the morning.
‘What exam?’ he asked.
His mother looked at the tablecloth. ‘It’s just a sort of Government Intelligence test they give children at the age of twelve. You’ll be taking it next week. It’s nothing to worry about.’
‘You mean a test like in school?’
‘Something like that,’ his father said, getting up from the table. ‘Go and read your comics, Dickie.’ The boy rose and wandered towards that part of the living room which had been ‘his’ corner since infancy. He fingered the topmost comic of the stack, but seemed uninterested in the colourful squares of fast-paced action. He wandered towards the window, and peered gloomily at the veil of mist that shrouded the glass.
‘Why did it have to rain today?’ he said. ‘Why couldn’t it rain tomorrow?’
His father, now slumped into an armchair with the Government newspaper rattled the sheets in vexation. ‘Because it just did, that’s all. Rain makes the grass grow.’
‘Why, Dad?’
‘Because it does, that’s all.’
Dickie puckered his brow. ‘What makes it green, though? The grass?’
‘Nobody knows,’ his father snapped, then immediately regretted his abruptness.
Later in the day, it was birthday time again. His mother beamed as she handed over the gaily-coloured packages, and even his father managed a grin and a rumple-of-the-hair. He kissed his mother and shook hands gravely with his father. Then the birthday cake was brought forth, and the ceremonies concluded.
An hour later, seated by the window, he watched the sun force its way between the clouds.
‘Dad,’ he said, ‘how far away is the sun?’
‘Five thousand miles,’ his father said.
Dickie sat at the breakfast table and again saw moisture in his mother’s eyes. He didn’t connect her tears with the exam until his father suddenly brought the subject to light again.
‘Well, Dickie,’ he said, with a manly frown, ‘you’ve got an appointment today.’
‘I know Dad. 1 hope –’
‘Now, it’s nothing to worry about. Thousands of children take this test every day. The Government wants to know how smart you are, Dickie. That’s all there is to it.’
‘I get good marks in school,’ he said hesitantly.
‘This is different. This is a – special kind of test. They give you this stuff to drink, you see, and then you go into a room where there’s a sort of machine –‘
‘What stuff to drink?’ Dickie said.
‘It’s nothing. It tastes like peppermint. It’s just to make sure you answer the questions truthfully. Not that the Government thinks you won’t tell the truth, but it makes sure.’
Dickie’s face showed puzzlement, and a touch of fright. He looked at his mother, and she composed her face into a misty smile.
‘Everything will be all right,’ she said.
‘Of course it will,’ his father agreed. ‘You’re a good boy, Dickie; you’ll make out fine. Then we’ll come home and celebrate. All right?’
‘Yes sir,’ Dickie said.
They entered the Government Educational Building fifteen minutes before the appointed hour. They crossed the marble floors of the great pillared lobby, passed beneath an archway and entered an automatic lift that brought them to the fourth floor.
There was a young man wearing an insignia-less tunic, seated at a polished desk in front of Room 404. He held a clipboard in his hand, and he checked the list down to the Js and permitted the Jordans to enter.
The room was as cold and official as a courtroom, with long benches flanking metal tables. There were several fathers and sons already there, and a thin-lipped woman with cropped black hair was passing out sheets of paper.
Mr Jordan filled out the form, and returned it to the clerk. Then he told Dickie: ‘It won’t be long now. When they call your name, you just go through the doorway at the end of the room.’ He indicated the portal with his finger.
A concealed loudspeaker crackled and called off the first name. Dickie saw a boy leave his father’s side reluctantly and walk slowly towards the door.
At five minutes to eleven, they called the name of Jordan.
‘Good luck, son,’ his father said, without looking at him. ‘I’ll call for you when the test is over.’
Dickie walked to the door and turned the knob. The room inside was dim, and he could barely make out the features of the grey-tunicked attendant who greeted him.
‘Sit down,’ the man said softly. He indicated a high stool beside his desk. ‘Your name’s Richard Jordan?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Your classification number is 600-115. Drink this, Richard.’
He lifted a plastic cup from the desk and handed it to the boy. The liquid inside had the consistency of buttermilk, tasted only vaguely of the promised peppermint. Dickie downed it, and handed the man the empty cup.
He sat in silence, feeling drowsy, while the man wrote busily on a sheet of paper. Then the attendant looked at his watch, and rose to stand only inches from Dickie’s face. He unclipped a penlike object from the pocket of his tunic, and flashed a tiny light into the boy’s eyes.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Come with me, Richard.’
He led Dickie to the end of the room, where a single wooden armchair faced a multi-dialled computing machine. There was a microphone on the left arm of the chair, and when the boy sat down, he found its pinpoint head conveniently at his mouth.
‘Now just relax, Richard. You’ll be asked some questions, and you think them over carefully. Then give your answers into the microphone. The machine will take care of the rest.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’ll leave you alone now. Whenever you want to start, just say “ready” into the microphone.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The man squeezed his shoulder, and left.
Dickie said, ‘Ready.’
Lights appeared on the machine, and a mechanism whirred. A voice said: ‘Complete this sequence. One, four, seven, ten . .
Mr and Mrs Jordan were in the living room, not speaking, not even speculating.
It was almost four o’clock when the telephone rang. The woman tried to reach it first, but her husband was quicker.
‘Mr Jordan?’
The voice was clipped: a brisk, official voice.
‘Yes, speaking.’
‘This is the Government Educational Service. Your son, Richard M Jordan, Classification 600-115 has completed the Government examination. We regret to inform you that his intelligence quotient is above the Government regulation, according to Rule 84 Section 5 of the New Code.’
Across the room, the woman cried out, knowing nothing except the emotion she read on her husband’s face.
‘You may specify by telephone,’ the voice droned on, ‘whether you wish his body interred by the Government, or would you prefer a private burial place? The fee for Government burial is ten dollars.’
The short story (originally published by Playboy Magazine in 1958) was later used as the basis for this episode of the Twilight Zone - the revived Twilight Zone of the 1980s.
Considering the way of the world, this sort of future might not be too far off...
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