Thimble Me You Fool

It may surprise many people to learn that if I’ve read juvenile literature, I read it as an adult. The Lord of the Rings didn’t find its way into my hand until I was in my mid-twenties. I am still reading the Chronicles of Narnia as the mood strikes me. And just yesterday I started reading Peter Pan. Yes, I’ve seen film adaptations of the novel but I don’t recall even picking up the book before this month.

The difference between Peter Pan and the other novels is a simple one. I’m brewing a short story where Peter Pan is inter-text for the story. I know it will take place with adult aged Lost Boys (not the vampire kind), but I don’t know where else it might head, but I expect there will be gin and Twinks. It’s like the beginning of a relationship. You’re not sure where it will go, but you’re anxious to find out. My task ahead is to read, to think, and then to set pen to paper — even in this digital age.

When I’ve completed my tale, I’ll post it here.

Not Banned in Boston

The Golden Compass has been banned and pulled from the library shelves in some parochial school districts because the author is an admitted atheist. Having neither read the book or seen the film adaptation, I cannot comment on the literary or aesthetic merits of either. However I can comment on the level of censorship displayed by the school districts – and thus by the larger Church. It’s my understanding that the problems are not with the content of the books but with the authors personal spiritual (or lack thereof) beliefs.

As I’ve said before some of the most Christlike people I know are atheists. They “minister” to the sick, the hungry, the poor – to all who need aid and comfort. Some of the most deplorable people on the planet have no issue proudly professing their work for God Almighty (cf. the current administration). I am condemned to Hell for my reading choices, the films I watch, the way I love, my personal beliefs, and spiritual practices. These people with their hatred, bigotry, and inspired demoralization of the masses are, apparently, given the keys to the kingdom and seated nearest the Throne of God.

With Thomas Jefferson a Deist (at best) we should toss out the Declaration of Independence. I’ve read theories that Lincoln was a closeted atheist, so we repeal the Emancipation Proclamation. I’d bet there were more Freethinkers, atheists, and agnostics among the men who wrote our Constitution than most people would like to think, so let’s just put that little document in the shredder and be done with it. If anyone ever wants to know what scares me most, it’s that this thinking will be seriously taken up, and people will actually try to put such a culling into practice.

But then I’m one of those liberals who believes in a free exchange of ideas. I find it a better world when I can find my Truth and allow you to have yours. It makes the world a better place, and when we talk I’m hearing something besides the echo of my own voice.

Basil and the Bears

I say Basil is a Twink
Who gave a Daddy Bear a Wink
Up they went to Daddy’s garret
Where young Basil proved his merit
Now he’s wrapped in chains and things
Even a commitment ring
Now you know the truth of it
Please quit having squeamish fits
Be on your way and have now fears
Of how Young Basil was done in by Bears

My original poem was duly inspired by the work of the late Mr. Gorey.

Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate

I’ve been working on one of my short stories this evening, and it amazes me that when under the spell of my Muse I can write effortlessly, but when she is off doing whatever Muses do when they aren’t inspiring, a simple sentence can be pure torture. Letters, stories, blogs, poems, simple business e-mails require serious, conscious thoughts when She isn’t sitting behind me. My delete key works double duty, and I wonder how I lived when everything I wrote required setting pen to paper – a true indulgence these days.

The quiet solitude of this weekend will be followed by a noisy gregarious one filled art – not just St. James. I have friends with openings on Friday and Sunday, so I will overindulgence on an ocular banquet and delight in my avarice for that which I don’t really want. For those who might wonder about such things, one can, oddly enough, get a hangover from art. I’ve had them before, and they have nothing to do with how much one imbibes at the reception – or the ubiquitous after party. In fact this version of a liquor never brewed might just be more intoxicating than the alcohol and possibly more dangerous.

Didn’t Socrates warn against the artist? Well, I’m the poet, the writer who’s even more jeopardous than the painter. My Muse challenges me to throw all caution to the wind and write.

As always, Dear Reader, I bid you peace.

Saints & Sinners

I’m currently reading Not in Kansas Anymore: A Curious Tale of How Magic is Transforming America by Christine Wicker. While I’m not  far along, she has given me something to ponder. “An angel and a devil are only a breath away,” she quotes a gentleman as saying. She was in a room full of folks who share my Gothic outlook on life, sex, and everything. Is there, then, something willing us to be lords of the flies or spurring us to a higher plane?

HP in the Breakroom

First let me say with all assurance that I did not cast a spell on anyone, nor did I draw my wand. It was, though most interesting today when I was in the break room heating my lunch and talking with a friend of mine; she asked me a question about the last HP novel. I explained that I hadn’t finished the book, but I’d read the Epilogue. Our senior executive vice president was standing at the microwave next to me, and commenced speaking against the blasphemy I’d committed by reading ahead. I promised, quite faithfully, that I wouldn’t do such a heinous thing again. Well, there aren’t any more HP books forthcoming are there? I’d just run about four miles and burned off almost seven hundred calories, and now I wanted nothing more to refuel and rehydrate, but I have an exec telling me I ought not read ahead in a novel. In all honesty, it’s quite funny, and it just goes to show the cultural infiltration of HP. However, if it somehow becomes a performance issue, I think I’ll have to seek legal counsel.

Beyond that though, I wonder if HP’s real charm is that the books allow us to enter a world where no matter how dark, dangerous, and degenerate things become the Good prevails and the Light triumphs over the darkness. Thinking back a little ways, during the worst part of the Monica-gate I became extremely interested in baseball, and I owe a great debt to McGwire and Sammy Sosa for giving me something to look forward to when I turned on the evening news. The game has taken on a whole new meaning for me, and I’ve become a fan of the game – not an avid one who can rattle off stats and scores, but one who now truly appreciates not just the human condition but what we humans do to find hope in a seemingly hopeless world.

Anticipation

Like many other people in the English speaking world, I eagerly anticipate the stroke of mid-night as Friday turns into Saturday and the last of the novels goes on sale. Of course it’s much later in London – on British Summer Time than it is here, and they will have the first chance to dive head first into the novel and begin the last adventure. I shall wait, and read, and savor. I shall eat and drink the precious words, and I shall not call in sick to work to finish the novel in some wild orgiastic frenzy of Summer Reading. To be honest about it, I’m not queuing up at the stroke of midnight. I’ve reserved my copy from Flourish & Blotts sometime back, and I’ve even got a gift card to help defray some of the costs.

Imaginary 42 (more questions)

In the Hitchhiker’s Guide we learn that god doesn’t exist because the Babel fish does. Apparently, proof of god’s existence means there’s no god, the babel fish is proof, ergo there is no god. But if only god could have created the babel fish, and god doesn’t exist, then there’s no babel fish, and if there’s no babel fish, then there might just be a god. However, there is a babel fish – in the story at least. I’ve just managed to confuse myself. The logic of the whole thing is pretty fuzzy at best.

While I’m playing with a novel, there are people in this world who have such debates over things that just as whimsical but taken far more seriously. At it’s base, for example, intelligent design makes an amount of sense. Science has found the how of a Master Plan. It seems pretty straight forward and non-threatening. Let’s face it, the Bible is lacking in serious detail. As I’ve said before, I’m one of those Pagans as devoted to my beliefs as anyone at any MacChurch. But I don’t claim to have any of the answers about the plan. In fact, I strongly suggest running from anyone who says she/he knows what God(s)/Goddess(es) want.

Without challenging my faith in the least, science explains a lot. I understand, at a basic level anyway, evolution. I understand chemical processes – after all that’s what cooking is. I don’t understand how life began from that series of chemicals stewing in a primordial lake. Was there Divine intervention? I don’t know. My faith and my science fail me on that one. And at the end of the day, does it matter? We’re here –at least I believe we’re here. The how of it might be interesting, but it doesn’t change the facts.

While we’re here on this little blue dot dancing around a yellow star, shouldn’t we worry more about so many other things than if I’m going to hell for whom I love or how I pray and to whom? Is the non-believer somehow less a person than me? Wouldn’t it be great if the God in whose name many have been killed, tortured, maimed, bankrupt, and ostracized really did step down and call a halt? Sad to say, but I bet His most ardent followers wouldn’t listen. After all, who knows more about the mind of God. The deity himself or his followers?

Gonna Have a Good Time Tonight

I left work late this afternoon, so The Firm got about an extra ½ hour of my time today. I decided to forgo the lift – abs – cardio I typically do. Today’s focus was on upper body then an abs routine (a good one but not the killer one). After showering, I decided that it’s Friday and payday (even if Sunset is some hours away). I set my boots toward my secret third place instead of Sesame Street. I walked in, had a seat at the bar, ordered up a Tanqueray and tonic and began to read the dinner menu. I’ve often said that I wasn’t really raised in the traditional sense of the word. I was trained up. That training came in quite handy this evening when I looked to my left and saw two executives from The Firm sitting next to me. I spoke and sat minding my very own business.

Now while that’s interesting, it’s far from the reason I’ve set virtual pen to paper. The bar tender, a cute and nice man got my food order then asked me about dessert. He suggested a cheesecake. I tried it. It was unquestionably the very best cheese cake I’ve ever had. It was the cheese cake with a chocolate crust and hand whipped cream with a warm caramel sauce and slices of banana. The sauce contained a variety of nuts (pecan, walnut, hazelnut). It was garnished with a fresh mint sprig. The piPce de résistance was the utensil to eat it with. The barman turned garçon brought out a smaller plate with a spoon; both had been dusted with powdered sugar. While it added little to the pallet, the presentation was a pure delight. And yes, the sweetness of the confection was balanced by the bitter of the Tanqueray and tonic. While it wasn’t better than sex, it was nearly as good.I then went for a tour of a bookstore where I got my Spiderman comics for the fortnight as well as a book of wonderfully insulting words. Stay tuned as I’ll absorb many into my vocabulary.

Request a Name

The other day I was going through a gallimaufry in a box, and I discovered a binder that I’d used to store numerous half written literary attempts that I’ve churned out over the years. Part of that collection is a series set in a little town called White Flower. The short story “Satin Pillows” is the first of that set and definitely my purple patch. For great and sundry reasons, I can’t keep the name of the town as White Flower. Honeysuckle is one possibility (a white flower after all), but there are other possibilities include Blue Iris, Popesnose (yes I mean that one). I’m also open to suggestions.

 And lest you wonder…yes I’ve been reading both Poe and Fitzgerald of late.