I know what the world has done to my brother and how narrowly he has survived it. And I know, which is much worse, and this is the crime of which I accuse my country and my countrymen, and for which neither I nor time nor history will ever forgive them, that they have destroyed … Continue reading Cosmic Horror, Jim Crow, And “The Thing In The White House” Just Won’t Go: Victor LaValle’s “The Ballad Of Black Tom.”
With HBO’s Lovecraft Country based on Matt Ruff’s novel of the same name offering a new episode each week, and Black Americans and protestors being shot and villainized as speakers at the Republican National Convention and pundits at Fox News call for more “law and order” (i.e. targeting Black Americans and the #BlackLivesMatter movement), it’s … Continue reading It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Lovecraft’s America: Victor LaValle’s “The Ballad Of Black Tom” And “The Thing In The White House” Is A Shoggoth. Episode 1.
Man only escapes from the laws of this world in lightning flashes. Instants where everything stands still, instants of contemplation, of pure intuition, of mental void, of acceptance of the moral void. It is through such instants that he is capable of the supernatural. (11) As I read through Simone Weil’s Gravity and Grace, first … Continue reading The Supernatural Terror Of Simone Weil As Fiona Apple Fetches The Bolt Cutters.
I will tell you: one must have chaos in one, to give birth to a dancing star. I tell you: you still have chaos in you. (Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spake Zarathustra, 46) χάος in Greek means “infinite space, the expanse” and the “nether abyss, infinite darkness,” also “unformed matter.” In Hesiod‘s Theogony, we begin the … Continue reading Branches And Sky Unbecoming Or A Few Thoughts On Chaos.
The world is weird. The sun spills light as though it has all the colors to burn what is dead and empty into luminous greens and yellows, while a pool of water adds its aesthetic by reflecting and shimmering the madness of light and color. And all of this is made because the Netflix inside … Continue reading The World Is Weird.
I shiver with rapture; I soar on the wings of sudden joy! O Pan, O Pan, appear to us, sea-rover, from the stony ridge of snow-beaten Cyllene. King, dancemaker for the gods, come, so that joining with us you may set on the Nysian and the Cnosian steps, your self-taught dances. Now I want to … Continue reading Time For Dancing With Myself, Pan Dancing With His Sweet Self, Trees Dancing In The Streets And The Great Sacrifice To Keep The World Turning And Spinning And Leaping.
Nymphs and Satyr as painted by William-Adolphe Bouguereau and dated 1873. My eyes were reeling with such images lost in my forest, but having found my way out of branches and roots and the winding, gyring paths of Dr. Seuss and Quantum Mechanics, I’m back home to cut a filet of elk into stew pieces … Continue reading Thinking About The Rona While Cooking Viltkött Bourguignonne And Talking To Hannibal Lecter, Agent Smith And Luis P. Villarreal Who Are All Listening To Nina Simone Sing “Black Swan.”
Look close at a tree. I mean, really close. A tree is really, when you look close a bit alien, a bit other than you, if you’re human, and then again there’s something familiar looking back out at you. Other and you. Rooted to place and branching above, its skin is alive and revealing of … Continue reading Thinking About The God Pan While Taking A Walk With Arthur Machen, Nick Cave, Genesis, Sean Carroll And The Cat In The Hat As A Deer Stock Back Home Bubbles.
How does a journey begin? Well, with a walk. A church and a cemetery affords the beginning. Bare branches on the edge of spring with stubs of brown-green grass and a path of graded small stones. An avenue of trees really, as we look down the path past grave markers and towards the dwellings of … Continue reading A Walk And A Reverie With Apples, Cheese And Cognac Or How To Embrace The Pandemic And Meet Pan.
A walk up a hill on Islay to the Kilbride Reservoir, the source of water for Laphroaig’s mash tuns and washbacks. Water scooped into a glass that already looks like a pour of Laphroaig with all the light brown sediment and small dark bits and pieces swimming and churning in peat-flavored H2O. But for now … Continue reading Walking Up A Hill On Islay To A Standing Stone With A Requiem On Earth And On The Moon.