Category Archives: miscellaneous
A few minutes ago, there was a thump, and a splash in the bathroom. I ventured in to find this:
Now, there are three likely suspects. The first was behind me snoozing, but I still wouldn’t put it past him.
The other two are ‘sleeping’ as well, though one opened her eyes when I took her picture. Your guess is as good as mine as to who the perp is.
Thanks for ‘reading’. Don’t forget to pick up a copy of TEST PATTERNS — New from Planet X Publications.
My friend died today. He was put to sleep, actually, before his beleaguered body was ready to give up the ghost completely. He was six months old, and had a congenital deformity that made it hard for him the breathe. Three of those months were lived with pneumonia, and he was a cheerful little guy despite that. Here’s a pic of him at about six weeks:
He got sick, though. Dr. Boyer at Speedway Veterinary got him better, and he had begun to fill out, and to run and jump and do all of the things that he had been left out of. For a month. One-sixth of his lifetime. He was my hero..after all the shit he went through, to have spirit like that. Doughty little warrior.
I hope he enjoyed that. He certainly acted like he did. Edgar was the most affectionate, plucky kitten ever. He lived every moment like it was his last, until the end, after his liver shut down, and he was breathing in tiny pants, and drooling bile. That was hard to see. This pic was taken just a couple hours before he breathed his last:
Sorry it’s so dark. It was before dawn — my kindle doesn’t have a flash, and the lighting in here isn’t the best.
Not longer after that pic was taken, I made a vet appointment. We couldn’t keep it because no money. I started a GoFundMe, which will pay the doctor bills when the money gets to my bank. My friend Denise called the doc and got an emergency appointment…actually fifteen minutes after the original would have been.
I knew it was too late. I had been trying to steam his lungs open, putting him in the bathroom next to the tub and filling it with hot water. He didn’t like the vaporizer.
That worked, just a little…but he was gasping, and I had smelled his drool by then. I was just trying to keep him warm, more or less, until, maybe, maybe, we could save him. I thought he had pneumonia again, or kitty crud.
But no. He is on to his reward, and those of us who knew him, and the scores of people he touched through the internet, we’re all bereft. We still have a little bit left to the goal of the GoFundMe, if you would.
Edgar is survived by his brother Tyke, who lives here, and his brothers Samhain and StanLee, and his sister Bastet, who live next door, and another sister, who has moved away.
The picture below is of Edgar and Tyke in better times.
Thanks for reading. I’ll stop crying eventually.
The last post on this blog was about opening my Patreon. As I write, I’m considering killing it. Perhaps I should have built an audience first.
Eh. Was worth a try. I haven’t killed it yet, but it’s a lot of effort to maintain. I’d rather put most of the stuff here. And there’s gonna be stuff.
Forgive me, reader, for it has been eight months since my last blogfession. Mea maximum culpa, five godfaddahs, ten lords a’leaping, and a beer. Praise cheeses.
For blessed are the cheesemakers, as the Python wags would have it.
I’ve been busy. In that span, I’ve self-published two books and a chapbook duo, and edited what promises to be one of the best weird fiction anthologies on the market, a thing called Test Patterns.
Art by Nick Gucker, cover design by publisher Michael Adams. If you click on the pic it takes you to the GoFundMe, where you can secure a copy in a variety of formats.
It has these in it:
We’re doing the final proofs this week. I am all tingly. I could piddle. Santa is breathless.
And this is still out there:
Just the perfect stocking-stuffers in any of their forms, I assure you.
If you go here, you can get a copy of the fabled Test Patterns Teaser, where three of the stories and three of the poems from the anthology smolder and glower. The chapbook will be retired when Test Patterns is published.
Any of these are available in ebook form to reviewers.
Thanks for reading! I’ll be back soon with somethings for your ears.
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
Blood in the water, blood in the land. Southern Gothic crossed with B-Movie, like John Farris and Flannery O’Connor wrote a script to be directed by Jim and Artie Mitchell. Lurid and mesmerizing, festooned with horrors taken for granted flowing into each other like water under the mangrove trees overhung with Spanish moss in little old New Alabama…the narrator’s camera eye does not shrink from depicting each gross and engrossing incident in this catalogue of terror.
It’s just past the Civil War in the American south. Luann Lee escapes the preacher only to be “rescued” by Red, who should probably be played by Rory Calhoun if you can’t get Kurtwood Smith, in the movie, when someone like Brian Yuzna or Stuart Gordon directs it.
I can just imagine Red’s face, with a furking leer on it and the blood running from his mouth. Michael Faun depicts him so expertly, draws the environment so clearly, evokes crawling horror so well, that you’ll never get the taste out of your mouth.
Highly recommended. Also recommended-Drugula, by the same author.
I wrote this a good many years ago, but I think it still applies, especially right now, with all the unrest in the US, so I’m posting it up.
with apologies to the late Gil Scott-Heron
the revolution will be televised
the revelations will be disseminated by covert action
read between the lines
disinformation will be commonplace
this information will be available for public display
in keeping with the signs of the times
the revolution will be available at your local video store
its evolution will be in conversation and hidden passions
you will be told where to go for more information
disinclination will be no excuse
this inclination will be made available to the local networks for instant replay
Marching, charging, surging, curving
bearing truths, and so unswerving
largely barging, herding burdens
speaking in tongues, and so, unnerving
the revolution will not march on little cat feet
though its aims may seem a trifle foggy to the uninitiated
The revolution will not be colorized
The disputation won’t be quashed by network sanctions
dissatisfaction won’t be bastardized
this satisfaction won’t be gained at the expense of our children’s days
but by the sweat of our brows
a restitution will be undergone
exasperation will be rededicated by inverse flexion
come just as you are
disapprobation will be frowned upon
this approbation will be intentionally overplayed
all night long
Grunting, jumping, lunging, sponging
crime rate’s up, retention’s plunging
skimpy pimping stinking thinking
booted up, the network’s linking
the revolution will not turn on a dime
though donations will be gratefully accepted
the revolution will overthrow the status quo
the corporations will be deregulated by negative cashflow
we’ll be good to go
inarticulation will be commonplace
this articulation will be ubiquitous and prominently displayed
why not make a stand
the disenfranchised will be mobilized
the misbegotten will be unforgotten and unafraid
great yet still unwashed outside
and in canyons of steel and glass, the herd will march on the head of a pin
and air their dirty laundry again and again
until that discoloration will seem commonplace
and the hues will be red white blue and gray
and indeed all the sixteen million tints of the rainbow
for the world is not black and white, nor gray, but a technicolor show
the revolution will be brought to you in wide-screen surround
damn near lifelike, a theater in the round
Never complain, never explain
Do what you must, excuse our dust
Beg to differ with the gipper
Win one for us
The revolution won’t be fought with swords
Slurping, chirping, lurking, jerking
Winging, slinging, pinging, singing
ambiguous and unrelenting
spreading pending gender bending
roles reversing and revolving
the evolution of the revolution beginning
The revolution is electric
respect it, reflect it
garrulous, careless and hairy
the revolution is intention
intoning baloney can only be phony and fixed
watch the parking meters for signs of the apocalypse
by the light of the setting sun