Recalibrations of the steamship Gypsy Phoenix

I left Yorktown, Virginia one week ago tonight, but I finally broke down last night.
I cried.
I cried like a pussy-whipped aberration. Another failed relationship, another notch in the leather belt, with the end result looking more and more worn like heroin chic. As the days and weeks and months burn on, life becomes so much more semantic. My priorities turn to steel. I really wasn't sure that I could or should continue this blog, as the wanderlust still lures me back to the open road. But the followers of my jalopy seem to be growing, and though I do not know most of you I feel I ought to keep on with the brave fight.
As such, I am interviewing artists for the blogger/blogspot run by the guys behind A.N.A. Comics, having already done the Torquemada bit on their three founding fathers, I am compiling a set list of names that will be some manner of insightful fun for those interested in the craft of graphic arts.
I am writing away as well for Erik Hendrix and the team at SP! Nexus magazine, mostly reviews but also interviews of a different persuasion along with possible articles on a range of topics. In fact, with very few exceptions, the bulk of my reviews from here on (beit comix, books, records, etc.) will appear exclusively thereabouts. So, especially as the issues remain free I invite all to check out what we are doing over there.
One point of personal inspiration comes via the talented Sandy Plunkett. Few may identify with the story, of a fan managing to track down his favorite artist only to end up with a regular and very friendly correspondence with such. Sandy's art book will be out this coming May, and I am apparently on the short list of reviewers. As I do still occasionally scribe for other sites, I will be looking for ways to help sell the book to the world. Anyone familiar with Sandy's work will understand why. Helping his audience rediscover his work, hopefully enough for him to at last get his original graphic novel out later in the year, is something I equate with being a higher calling. Having a creative and wizened powerhouse of a soul like him in my corner...the world is big enough for many a black sheep, but the stoic comfort of the kindred in spirit is a volatile thing, something to treasure and expand upon. I know I am not alone when I say that I learn best by comparing notes with others. (as with my friends Ness, Jaymes, Nicholas, Judex, Greg, Peter, Kevin, Xei, Rob, Len, the other Len, Richard, the other Richard, Jason, Erik, and Mel.)
Regarding my own projects, yes, they continue in their own way. Look for stories in two separate comic book anthologies in coming months. The Jack The Ripper book is almost complete, the illos for my friend's book of medieval poetry is next on the list, along with a couple of web-comix, conceptualizing the back story of another friend's ongoing comic book series, character designs for someone else's comic and pin-ups for yet another book. And 10,000 words for an anthology novel of dark fantasy. And my own horror novel. And the Vomitoria, and the Aesthetics Engine. A mixed bag, to be sure, but then nowadays I only work on things that attract my pineal gland, my whims and fancy, schizophrenia or no schizophrenia. Pun somewhat intended, like my tongue in a foreign cheek.
Do not mistake my words for a rekindled zeal for life. I just wish to reaffirm that I know damn well where everyone and everything stands. And luckily, Hell does not exist.

But jalopy shall assuredly keep on in its merry little archaic dance. Appreciation extended fully to those who sent in emails in recent weeks. Every man is an island my arse.
Just wish I didn't have to swing the metaphorical/spiritual bar tab on my lonesome.

So good, it's Satanic!

My friend Richard Carbonneau has unveiled his tee-shirt designs for the unbelievably excellent Jack Parsons web-comic he's been writing and producing for the past few decades. Parsons was a contemporary of the old class mystics, ala Aleister Crowley and L Ron Hubbard. Intuitively well-researched, The Marvel is the kind of comic tale I solemnly wish I could create. Historical fiction beautifully rendered, as unabashedly sexy as it is both macabre and scientific, the strip is a work of stunning genius. So of course, the new shirts ain't too shabby either.
Please, support small press, support innovative comic books, support the ingenuity of those openly treading the paths less taken. I will not tell you this twice.


http://store.rscarbonneau.com

Milton

When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide,
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide;
"Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?"
I fondly ask; but Patience to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait."

SP!N 3

Issue three of SP! Nexus magazine is out now, and I must say it is the best yet, with articles and essays on a wide range of topics and all packaged quite nicely. As for my contributions, I interviewed Arcana Publishing's Vice President of Operations (and writer nonstop) Mark Poulton- in which he leaked to me that he will be writing for Rob Liefeld's Youngblood in coming months, along with a triad of reviews- Aleister Gilgrim's Ferrymen graphic novel, all three issues of Wesley Zane's Shadow Of Death series, and Aladdin #1 from Ian Edginton and Radical.
I am working on my fourth review thus far for next month's iss.

As usual, download the webzine for free right here:

http://www.selfpubmag.com/start.htm

Thought For Food

"Sexually progressive cultures gave us mathematics, literature, philosophy, civilization, and the rest, while sexually restrictive cultures gave us the Dark Ages and the Holocaust."
-Alan Moore, from 25,000 Years Of Erotic Freedom


The Origin Of The World
Gustave Courbet, oil on canvass, 1866

Porphyria's Lover

from The Madhouse Cells
by Robert Browning

The rain, set early in to-night,
The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
And did its worst to vex the lake,
I listened with heart fit to break;
When glided in Porphyria: straight
She shut the cold out and the storm,
And kneeled and made the cheerless grate
Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
Which done, she rose, and from her form
Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
And, last, she sate down by my side
And called me. When no voice replied,
She put my arm about her waist,
And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
And all her yellow hair displaced,
And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
And spread o'er all her yellow hair,
Murmuring how she loved me; she
Too weak, for all her heart's endeavour,
To set its struggling passion free
From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
And give herself to me for ever:
But passion sometimes would prevail,
Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain
A sudden thought of one so pale
For love of her, and all in vain;
So, she was come through wind and rain.
Be sure I looked up at her eyes
Proud, very proud; at last I knew
Porphyria worshipped me; surprise
Made my heart swell, and still it grew
While I debated what to do.
That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
Perfectly pure and good: I found
A thing to do, and all her hair
In one long yellow string I wound
Three times her little throat around,
And strangled her. No pain felt she;
I am quite sure she felt no pain.
As a shut bud that holds a bee
I warily oped her lids; again
Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.
And I untightened next the tress
About her neck; her cheek once more
Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:
I propped her head up as before,
Only, this time my shoulder bore
Her head, which droops upon it still:
The smiling rosy little head,
So glad it has its utmost will,
That all it scorned at once is fled,
And I, its love, am gained instead!
Porphyria's love: she guessed not how
Her darling one wish would be heard.
And thus we sit together now,
And all night long we have not stirred,
And yet God has not said a word!

The Shaming Of The True.

Remember kids, suicide is always an option! And sometimes, it is the only option!!

From all of us here at los Vomitoria familia, have a Happy Valentine's Day, ya blockos!!!

...

Being an Objectivist, I know very clearly what I want and/or need from the world. I freely practice compartmentalization, and have never been afraid to close a door, or to kick one open. I have made more than my fair share of sacrifices over these long years accordingly.
But now, because of my inability to find gainful employ, a relationship with my ideal woman is being ripped to shreds. Having been through the ringer as much as anybody else, I waited two years until this magickal young woman appeared, thinking that relationships could and should never again happen. This then, my final run.
I want her to be happy more than anything, so I plan to go the homeless route at month's end. What remains of my belongings are still supposedly in storage out of state, but even were I to not doubt such a thing I have little interest in returning there. No money, no job, no home, and no prospects whatsoever lie before me now.
I could easily survive life on the winter's road, but not another heartache. Unless something positive happens, I doubt very seriously that I will live to see this March, as even would a job somehow be immediately gained she has already made up her heart on the matter.
The matter of "us". And my failure.

Thusly, this blog is now closed. Mayhaps temporarily, maybe not.

...to be continued?


Don't hold your fucking breath.

taxed

When/if tax money comes in the next few weeks...a cheap hotel, a bottle of bourbon, and a knife.

Absurdism (In)Action

AiA:1

Sometimes to let off steam, I sign back up for the John Birch Society e-mail newsletter, just so that I can report each new update in to gmail for phishing attacks.

Christianity vs Knowledge

Psalms 5:5
The arrogant cannot stand in your presence;
you hate all who do wrong.

Psalms 11:5
The LORD examines the righteous,
but the wicked and those who love violence
his soul hates.

Amos 5:15
Hate evil, love good;
maintain justice in the courts.
Perhaps the LORD God Almighty will have mercy
on the remnant of Joseph.

and for good measure-

Isaiah 44:24,25
This is what the LORD says—
your Redeemer, who formed you in the womb:
I am the LORD,
who has made all things,
who alone stretched out the heavens,
who spread out the earth by myself,

who foils the signs of false prophets
and makes fools of diviners,
who overthrows the learning of the wise
and turns it into nonsense.

"There are some ideas so preposterous that only an intellectual could believe them."
-George Orwell

vaudevillain origin

(for a book by other people)

Always the nerd, the outcast, Jacob Bierce grew up alone but immersed in books. He read voraciously, on any and all subjects, finding in them better worlds. In high school, he discovered theater. In college, in New England, he pursued it actively. Quickly rising to a star performer- an actor's actor, a dancer, a singer, Jacob was the pride of the theater department. Still, he was without friends. Onstage he was anybody, everybody. Off stage, he was forever trapped in the awkwardness of himself.
Until he met Meredith Sonnenfeld. Meredith was also a theater major, and an exceedingly beautiful young woman. The two were drawn together and it was not long before Jacob found himself sharing in Meredith's other passion- social justice.
While attending graduate studies, Jacob and Meredith had become enamored with a two hundred year old playhouse that she had inherited, spending more and more of their resources and free time restoring the building and organizing a community theater troupe with independent showings, even hosting the space as music venue fun. Jacob, through his Meredith, was at last coming to know a kind of happiness.
Then the Boston Mob intervened.
Apparently Johnny Granger had made a number of offers to buy the property, offended at the persons being attracted to the area due to the playhouse moonlighting as a soup kitchen and homeless shelter. Meredith had steadily refused every time, even as the offers grew into outright threats. One night, Jacob arrives on the scene following a late rehearsal at the university, to find Meredith being very brutally raped and beaten by Granger's men. Jacob tried to fight back...but failed miserably.
Knocking him unconscious, the thugs set fire to the old building, leaving all inside for dead.
But somehow, Jacob survived the inferno. Waking hours later amidst the still-smoldering ruins, lying only a few feet away from the cindered corpse of the only person he ever loved- the only person who ever loved him. No, Jacob did die in the flames that destroyed the historic playhouse, but from the ashes...like a Phoenix, was birthed, the Vaudevillain.
Fixing Meredith's skull to a burnt length of railing, he runs outside maniacally, tattered clothes and burnt skin, to confront the armed mobsters who waited across the street, watching the fire to see the job through. The Vaudevillain beat the thugs to death on the spot, a fierce violence unleashed at last.
The anarchistic prankster thespian, the Vaudevillain dances the line between right and wrong. After years of confounding the local authorities, he remains an at large felon, wanted on multiple counts of numerous crimes, most notably, arson, battery, and public indecency. He sees himself as the hero though, switching traffic light bulbs for dayglow violets, spiking water supplies with LSD, leaving well-versed graffiti in impossible places, all over town. He aims to show society the mad folly of its ways by exhibiting himself to be the penultimate folly.
Clad always in purple and white stripes (his dead woman's favorite colors), a jester's cap, with staff in hand and a dual comedy/tragedy masque, he is the world's greatest performer, a living work of Art.
And he is certifiably insane.

work

Work.

Benjamin Franklin was a gigolo of a syphilitic dog.

Benjamin Franklin, Advice to a Young Man on the Choice of a Mistress (1745).

June 25, 1745

My dear Friend,

I know of no Medicine fit to diminish the violent natural Inclinations you mention; and if I did, I think I should not communicate it to you. Marriage is the proper Remedy. It is the most natural State of Man, and therefore the State in which you are most likely to find solid Happiness. Your Reasons against entering into it at present, appear to me not well-founded. The circumstantial Advantages you have in View by postponing it, are not only uncertain, but they are small in comparison with that of the Thing itself, the being married and settled. It is the Man and Woman united that make the compleat human Being. Separate, she wants his Force of Body and Strength of Reason; he, her Softness, Sensibility and acute Discernment. Together they are more likely to succeed in the World. A single Man has not nearly the Value he would have in that State of Union. He is an incomplete Animal. He resembles the odd Half of a Pair of Scissars. If you get a prudent healthy Wife, your Industry in your Profession, with her good Economy, will be a Fortune sufficient.

But if you will not take this Counsel, and persist in thinking a Commerce with the Sex inevitable, then I repeat my former Advice, that in all your Amours you should prefer old Women to young ones. You call this a Paradox, and demand my Reasons. They are these:

i. Because as they have more Knowledge of the World and their Minds are better stor'd with Observations, their Conversation is more improving and more lastingly agreable.

2. Because when Women cease to be handsome, they study to be good. To maintain their Influence over Men, they supply the Diminution of Beauty by an Augmentation of Utility. They learn to do a 1000 Services small and great, and are the most tender and useful of all Friends when you are sick. Thus they continue amiable. And hence there is hardly such a thing to be found as an old Woman who is not a good Woman.

3. Because there is no hazard of Children, which irregularly produc'd may be attended with much Inconvenience.

4. Because thro' more Experience, they are more prudent and discreet in conducting an Intrigue to prevent Suspicion. The Commerce with them is therefore safer with regard to your Reputation. And with regard to theirs, if the Affair should happen to be known, considerate People might be rather inclin'd to excuse an old Woman who would kindly take care of a young Man, form his Manners by her good Counsels, and prevent his ruining his Health and Fortune among mercenary Prostitutes.

5. Because in every Animal that walks upright, the Deficiency of the Fluids that fill the Muscles appears first in the highest Part: The Face first grows lank and wrinkled; then the Neck; then the Breast and Arms; the lower Parts continuing to the last as plump as ever: So that covering all above with a Basket, and regarding2 only what is below the Girdle, it is impossible of two Women to know an old from a young one. And as in the dark all Cats are grey, the Pleasure of corporal Enjoyment with an old Woman is at least equal, and frequently superior, every Knack being by Practice capable of Improvement.

6. Because the Sin is less. The debauching a Virgin may be her Ruin, and make her for Life unhappy.

7. Because the Compunction is less. The having made a young Girl miserable may give you frequent bitter Reflections; none of which can attend the making an old Woman happy.

8thly and Lastly They are so grateful!!

Thus much for my Paradox. But still I advise you to marry directly; being sincerely Your affectionate Friend.

dodgem logic 2

Alan Moore is an interesting person.

zen and the art of testosterone

You're very welcome, ingrates.

good searching for CBLDF

I found another way to help a great, great cause. Change your homepage (as did I, or at least switch your search engine of choice instead) to the Yahoo!-powered good search site:

http://www.goodsearch.com

It works exactly like Google, except that every search you make will magically cause funds to be donated to whatever nonprofits you choose. The funds are redistributed primarily from online adverts elsewhere, breaking down to something like a penny per search request. And the charity of my choice?

Comic Book Legal Defense Fund

Because if you don't stand up for the stuff you don't like, when they come for the stuff you do like, you've already lost."
-Neil Gaiman

Ode to Television