The exact place and time my internet path crossed the author, Nick Mamatas, escapes me, but I recently ordered two of his novels before having read a single line penned by him. Since I am a devotee of Hunter S. Thompson, I was attracted to the fiction work, The Damned Highway: Fear and Loathing in Arkham, which combines Lovecraft inspired characters with a gonzo flair. I also ordered Move Under Ground due to its protagonists, some of my favorite rapscallions of the Beats.
Facebook postings by Nick Mamatas announced the release of his latest novel, Bullettime, which is described as a Discordian adventure. Since I had just spent $30.00 on the above mentioned paperbacks, I decided to request that our local library purchase Bullettime for its shelves and was pleasantly surprised to find they had.
The plot of Bullettime is both chaotic and simple in a healthy Discordian manner. The hero is a young man from a dysfunctional family who is constantly bullied (although the term is not used) by society. His disconsolate life is complicated by a chance meeting with the Goddess Eris, who infiltrates his thoughts and actions up to the satisfying finale.
Concurrent to the main action is multiple dimensions or realities called the Ylem, (pronounced “IGH-lum” according to Nick, who kindly sent me a link to the Wikipedia definition. Rather than leading the reader into alternate universes, Mamatas treats life in Ylem as a background or undercurrent of potential paths, much as I would envision the creative imaginings of this engaging author.
Bullettime is a day at the beach or a walk in the park, but beware of jellyfish and muggers.
As 2012 moves closer to its finale, I am listing the tasks and purchases I am postponing until 2013, just in case the world really ends this December.
1. A new world almanac
2. Getting a physical and an eye exam
3. Hiring a tree surgeon to clean up our property
4. Getting the house painted
5. Buying gravel for the driveway, including delivery and spreading
6. Photographing or scanning paintings and drawings currently stored in my studio
7. Cleaning my studio
Likewise, I am procrastinating in the area of website building, online selling, and anything else that takes effort that I resent and resist. If the world doesn’t end, which it probably won’t, I will make a concerted attempt to clean my studio.
I did notice that the dead things in my art (filthy little nest) studio are starting to smell. I suppose I will have to bury the poor little hummingbird I had hoped to save after it crashed, and the dried mushrooms I’ve collected probably don’t help the atmosphere. The deer skull stays, though.
I am so thankful that I can flee this reality on the nights I do sleep and cruise through the chaotic landscapes called dreams. I have finally accepted cell phones as a dreamland prop. They never work, just like the button phones would morph into pillows with illegible numbers. Last night I actually dreamed of my own Virgin Mobile, which I’ve had since 2008; it was drained and useless.Sometimes life reminds me of hiking up a sand dune.
Usually the first robin of spring shows up in our ash tree sometime in March. Today we were astonished to see a huge flock of red breasts resting after their long migration. Approximately 20 or 30 robins were consuming the bright red ash berries and leaving ruddy poops on the patio. Is this natural or another illustration of global warming?
Speaking of, yesterday on Facebook, I tried to share a friend’s photo of a banner proclaiming
However, Facebook would not allow me to share the image unless it was on my own wall. Such censorship truly disturbs my faith in social media, NOT! I must admit, I am probably as addicted to Facebook as anyone else, although I do not share my physical and mental ailments, my familial discords or triumphs or even my political views (other than general nausea) with my FB friends, whether close or mere acquaintances. The distinction of nearness or shadow friends is requested by Facebook, but I always ignore the plea. The majority of people or pages liked or befriended are merely cyberworld contacts, bands or artists, writers or philosophers. How do you measure closeness on the web?
What seems to draw me to certain people or their blogs is what they say or the images they post. Very few display true self portraits in their albums. Many collect iconic photos of celebrities and infamous serial killers which they use for their profile pictures. The ability to hide behind someone’s mugshot is a benefit available to anyone who so chooses. I show my own face, but it is not labeled with my true name. Names have always been considered powerful and magical secrets, a greater truth now in the era of identity theft and character assassination. Profile information has been hijacked in the past, and Facebook users should always be alert to phishing and ill considered clicking.
Robins should be wary of unseasonal southern breezes. They’ve arrived in the Idaho panhandle too early this year, and I hope they know what they are doing.
It’s raining on my snow covered yard, and the glug of the gutters is a pleasant soundtrack as I attempt to navigate through nonsense. There are places I have found where I cannot enter, comments I could add, if I but knew who I am.
Granted, I am a neophyte blogger. True, I’ve only posted one entry before, but I have successfully added my thoughts to other people’s journals here in WordPress land. Today I remain unrecognized with every attempt to log in and comment. Is it because I foolishly added a “Gravitar” to my WordPress profile?
Perhaps the reason is more sinister. The blog I wanted to access is another collection of conspiracy theorists, specifically L.O.W.F.I. or the League Of Western Fortean Intermediasts. There is even a place for my thinly populated state, the Great State of Idaho, although no one has contributed any anecdotal weirdness that I can see.
So why do I keep getting the message that I am invalid? I’ve changed my password twice, verified my user name on my “dashboard”, all to no avail. Will I be forced to abandon my attempt to blog? Was the blank journal book my friend Calleen sent me yesterday an omen? Is paper my only means left?
Let’s try and publish this, and we’ll see. This is your 3rd published post. Dope! That last sentence was a copy and paste from WordPress. It just called me a DOPE. Believe.
After spending some time and effort typing my first Quick Post and being told to be sure I’d filled in all the required content (guess I hadn’t), I really don’t know if I can regurgitate that train of thought. There was mention of art, Atari 1040st computers from the mid 1980s, pigment and paper. My digital art was done back in the day on a program called Spectrum 512 and saved on slides taken with my Minolta XG7.
The only constant in my artistic output has been paint, pencils and paper. The Atari is in a landfill somewhere and was not replaced until 2003 by a Dell desktop PC, which now languishes in the basement. It now has two siblings, a laptop and a notebook. Computer art is now done rarely but elegantly using Twisted Brush by Pixara, a powerful program that has been improved and expanded so much I get lost when I fire it up. I’m still haven’t mastered layers.
Perhaps this blog will inspire me to share some of my art, now shoved in the closet and under the bed. Hope so.
trying to master layers
Somewhere in time we were living. Remember us then.