Archive for April, 2010

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I.Love.These.Guys.

April 30, 2010

Check out the backstory on TheSmokingGun.com.

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My Favorite Monsters

April 28, 2010

Because I do loveses them so. Fictional monsters are always so much fun — good hair, nice teeth, highly photogenic and come with a spicy dose of yummy bad-boyness — and when you’re bored with them, you may put them back in their carrying cases.

Grave Robber from Repo! The Genetic Opera:

If you want to see him in action, lookee here and good luck getting this song out of your head.

Here’s a bit of good advice, applicable in a variety of situations:

“Don’t taunt the fear demon. . . . It’s just . . . tacky.”

— Rupert Giles, Fear, Itself

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And, of course, here’s Spike:

And here’s an excellent pastiche of Spike moments, thanks to Chripper2.

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But, truly, household monsters are my most favoritest, because they may take their masks off, revealing the sweet humanity underneath:

Which leads us to a sentimental little monster & maker poem:

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Private Gothic

I choose to hide in my turret, smitten
with that wasting disease,
imagination, devouring my brain.

For company I’ve built a monster,
giving it life from light hemorrhaging
through the ruby glass in my window.

Here he is! Be kind, he’s a baby,
a snippet whipped out of the egg-shell
that shaped him,

stamped him like a royal seal
imprinting my sword and shield
onto the hot waxy teardrop

of his heart. See how he takes my hand,
he knows his mamma! Bigger
than I am, my little nightmare!

Around and around, he follows
my footsteps. We have for an orchestra
the dinosaur caw of birds, the lunar

love songs of curs. Late into the night,
hallucinating with weariness, you
may glimpse us dancing

past our burning window, ballroom dancing
shadows of mother and son,
monster and maker. Don’t bother

to knock on the door, or throw
your voice to the window; as long as the music plays,
who could stop dancing to answer?

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(Appeared originally in Illumen, November 2009)

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‘Tis a Beautiful Day in the Desert Southwest

April 28, 2010

‘Tis also the season for all manner of critters to come crawling back to the luscious warmth of the sun. Sometimes they’re very tame and mellow, sometimes not. Here’s a friendly gal climbing all over my husband (don’t they always?):

And here’s a poem for her, which I wrote while part of the late Will Inman‘s poetry workshop (which he very much enjoyed — the poem, I mean, though I know he loved his workshop):

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Tarantula on the Patio

all morning        nothing
the shade shrinks then stretches
leans across the radiating adobe brick        nothing
until the door slams
& she tumbles
into the heat of the day rump upwards
good heavens        don’t we all

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True poem, as the tarantula was creeping around on our front patio. I scooped her up in a hat and loosed her into the oleander across the street. But that was years ago. Here’s what I found on our front patio after the last wave of rain (probably a wave goodbye until August):

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Blustery, Wet Weather Puts One in Such a Mood

April 24, 2010

Having read Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, I was very pleased to come across the book trailer for its prequel: Dawn of the Dreadfuls, by Steve Hockensmith. Check it out, check it outers. Inspired me to make this quaint little piece, featured below: Samurai Zombie Killer, with a horrorku following.

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shambling footsteps
soft moan winter shadows don’t
go to sleep

(originally appeared in Scifaikuest, February 2009)

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And here’s something nice, so you won’t have nightmares on my account:

Haha. Fooled you.

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Abandonment and Bliss

April 19, 2010


Abandoned Diner on Highway Between Greer and Tucson, Arizona. Between being a highway diner and its current incarnation as an empty shell, it was a short-lived video rental store.

“We wander for distraction, but we travel for fulfillment.”—Hilaire Belloc

Hotel Caliente

your bed runs parallel
to the highway outside

this fever has wrapped you
in aluminum foil        its warmth
is dreamy        delicious

the curtains are parted
the moon above the parking lot
is a snowflake        melting
beneath your gaze

a buzzer goes off        down the hall
you open the oven door
of your chest        and whisper to the bewildered
gingerbread girl stirring inside
run away        run away

run away home

(Originally published in Laurel Review, Summer 1996, Vol.30, No.2)


A Wild Thang, Trapped in a Net of Lights

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~~The Power of Hypno-Jack Compels You~~

April 13, 2010

~~TO LINK TO HIS VIDEOS~~

DRIVING JACK

and

SPOOKY JACK

~~AND TO READ THE FOLLOWING POEM,  SOFTLY AND TO YOURSELF~~

When the Bite Doesn’t Break the Skin

lips on the neck
hand in the dog’s mouth
what better emblems
of a reluctance to follow through

how much goading
how sharp a stick
pokes the ribs
snaps the electrified wire

the inhibition fencing        the id
is off and running
all we can do now
is hide

~~AND PONDER THESE WORDS ~~

“All knowledge, the totality of all questions
and answers, is contained in the dog.”

— Franz Kafka, Forschungen eines Hundes (Investigations of the Dog)

~~HYPNO-JACK NOW RELEASES YOU FROM HIS AWESOME POWER!~~

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A Doppleganger, A Mummy, A Poem, Oh My!

April 10, 2010

Xander Harris, Meet Your Your Doppleganger (Via TMZ.com): “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” star Nicholas Brendon has been charged with four misdemeanors, after officials say he tried to fight a bunch of cops last month.

Makes me think of lyrics from the song, “Teenage FBI” (by Guided by Voices):

There is good reason, I guess,
Having it once gone too far —
When you clean out the hive,
does it make you want to cry . . .

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In other news: My own doppleganger caught a mummy some years ago, but released it back into the wild.

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And here’s a poem about mummification, sort of:

Poem as Canopic Jar

what better container
for what is useful no longer
for what has been replaced
with folds of linen
sprinkled with scented oil

the head of a hyena’s sister
we will give this jar
for a stopper fierce        unyeilding
her smile a grimace
a cloaked laugh at our efforts

where is the niche
for such a treasure
what candle-flickered nook
or lichen-embraved grotto
waits to be discovered

what combination of constellations
what wrinkle in the brain
will at last summon the wind
to blow the dust off the shelf
to slam the door

(Originally appeared in Erete’s Bloom, Spring 2000, No.1)