From Out of the City, Version 2.0

Okay, the master plan for FROM OUT OF THE CITY, my weekly podcast of poets and poetry...I've retooled it, and you will be able to hear it, starting this Friday, March 3, 2006.

Some changes:

New theme music. More structure. A plan!

Yes, a plan, a pattern...

The first week of every month, the show will be...me, exploring some aspect of poetry. Some reading included.

The second week of every month will be me, doing a full on reading.

The third week will be guest week...some other poet or gaggle of poets will take the stage.

And the fourth week will be whatever I feel like. (And if there is a fifth weekend? God help us, every one.)

crushed and hushed

I lost my heart the other day.
I didnt give it away,
it just bolted.
I cut it off before it showed itself too plainly
to the woman inspiring it to leap,
as that is too scary for me to deal with,
but it is still running.
Darting.
Breathing the air
while I must cringe in mortal terror
that it may be discovered and traced back
to me.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

I feel like I have regressed to being a teenaged boy. Oh no, this is bad. This means I'm going to be writing again, compulsively....aigh! Hiding behind my pen.

Quote for Today

"But my breath will not be wasted and colours tasted never forgotten as long as I have words and the will to use them."
- William F. DeVault, Night of a Thousand Colours

It's a tangle

Okay, let's add Louisville, Kentucky, to the August Book Tour.

Hey, we got a little snow here last night, but what was worse was the timing and the fact it was falling on roads that were already wet...result, snow on ice just after dark, with the WVU-PITT basketball game just getting over. Not a pretty picture.

Okay, clearing my head, clearing my schedule, getting the gears engaged.

What do you do when you have someone stuck in your head and you can't seem to dislodge them?

No, not her.

No, definitely not that woman, either.

Stop guessing. I'm not talking. I'm even a little surprised (talk about the classic "from an unexpected corner" and NO, it isn't her, either.)

Confession: I've always been very awkward in person with women, slowed by my own innate shyness (yes, I know, you've read "Penetralia". Well, good for you.) The truth is, part of why I started writing is because I alwyas been shy in that arena, needing a cast iron case to en-couer-rage me to do anything more than stand on the sidelines and mumble. It's just acquired instinct from years of being treated badly...you kick a dog long enough and he comes to believe he deserves to be kicked.

Maybe I should just focus on the books and the tours and maybe, maybe, she will notice me or a well-meaning friend will play matchmaker. (laughs) There are days I make Woody Allen look like Casanova.

The other problem is I over-analyze. Twenty reasons for this, ten possibilities there, a while spectrum of pitfalls. Past experiences of mine and others, leading me to inescapable conclusions. It's a zoo up there (pointing to cranium). No, really, a zoo. All sorts of creatures running around, making strange noises and throwing poo at one another. Someone needs to clean up that mess.

Don't look at me.

DeTours for DeVault, 2006

Okay, the order is given. He wants to read.

Oh Joy, this means I'm on the seat.

Two tours. One, I'll call it the "I'm Trying to Burn off My Repressed Sex Drive" tour is to encompass National Poetry Month, which starts in about 32 days. Regional...Virginia, Maryland, West Virginia, Ohio, maybe...he wants at least twenty reads. Bookstores, schools, boudoirs, churches, sex clubs, bars, arenas, rock concerts, whatever. You got an English class or a garden party or a bookstore? Drop me a line at trojanhearse@cityoflegends.com ...He'll be trying out some new material and building his reader base whilst shaking off the cobwebs.

The second, which I call "I'm Back to Normal Now Give Me The Damn Microphone, Insect" tour is for promoting his two books (THEOCRICIDE and 101 GREAT EROTIC POEMS) that emerge this summer, and is due to run August-September. He wants double the reads, and national. You guys know the drill...I know he's got regular readers and fans in the Newe York, Boston, New Orleans, Chicago, Dallas, Houston, Austin, St. Louis, Greenville, Tampa, Miami, Birmingham, San Jose, Los Angeles and Atlanta areas...get off your duffs and send me some venues, or make the initial contact for us. His classics plus what worked in the new stuff, with a whole new level of madness...

If you help, you get a reward...I promise.

What? Let's just say there are former lovers who didn't escape into the night with such goodies...

More on that in a day or two.

resolve

It's time to complete one of my novels, instead of ghosting for others.

So, here's my first pledge of the year. Barring my death or mental disability, my novel DEITECH will be out by 2007.

How's that for a barn burner? Been promising that book since the 70's.

About damn time.

Monday Morning and the skies are sort of grey with a hint of mint

Bleah.

Monday morning. Double shot of caffeine, please. Hot shower, hot shower. Shake out the cobwebs.

Normally Mondays are glide days for me, I just teach on Monday night, but I volunteered for some stuff this morning, so I (best William Shatner impression) have...to...wake...up.

Where to begin? Did some stylistic updates to front page of City of Legends yesterday, sort of tightened it up, darkened it up and spiced it up...check it out if you have a moment.

Had a nice talk with someone at Books-A-Million the other night. I had read there, last year, and was thinking of doing so again this year...she flat out told me I should be reading there "all the time"...I could be convinced. I have hesitated approaching the Barnes and Noble people, locally. B&N has a long history with me, going back well before my 2002 tour...I've been usually undazzled by their razzle-dazzle, and their tendency to put me either at the front of the store or in the bowels of the netherworld, not good. Although, I admit, in my collection of posters from past tours, theirs are the nicest.

I may go check out the Dance Concert 2006 at West Virginia University this week. As my old friend Carole Weidebusch, I think her title is assistant director for the show, said, "Think of all those lovely muses running around on stage." She keeps hoping I'll write a poem or 86,000 about their dance program at WVU, there is one about her in my book THE MORGANTOWN SUITE POEMS, so you never know. I'm appreciative of a beautiful young woman, but to actually get involved with someone that young, they would have to be something extraordinary, and not just in the kip, although most young lovers are unimpressive in that manner, thinking that if they show up you should be grateful. Most women younger than their mid-thirties lack the maturity, poise, intellect and life experience to be more than a passing fancy. (Now watch someone prove me wrong.)

But, heh, you know me. Still looking, not for a constellation, but a star, a planet, some one, some place, to dig in and weather the rest of this corporeal existence. I'm not picky, she just needs to be brilliant and beautiful and passionate and funny and kind and spiritual and loving and literate and affectionate and clever and limber and sweet and tall and classy and honest and sane.

Aside from that, the doors are wide open (actually, I might even compromise on a few of those...like sanity...)

a line from a recent discussion about potential

I quit mailing it in when I put together THE COMPLEAT PANTHER CYCLES. When the histories get laid down, that will be the moment when I finally stepped up and called my shot.

the goddess walks

the goddess walks in her garden
unaware that the sun is waiting her whim,
grim moments lending impetus to joy,
a royal smile on lips known to taste tears.
some where in the distance, where dark
gives way to grey and time holds sway
only for those foolish enough to mark it,
a troubadour plays a sweet and barren ode.

she shall serve as sacrifice
when forgotten gods of love and lust
call for their avatar,
surrendering her heart
to rule a land measured only
in how far I will walk in dreamless sleep
between now and the end of all things,
making words into wonders for as long
as there is language for a song.

for sacrifice empowers dreamers and lovers,
that which hovers between birth and death
a baby's breath in colours resplendent,
transcendent o'er all things, even pain,
as the power of light and shadows
weaves threnodies into amomancies
and nothing is regent but her will.

for I have waited this long for this song,
this song of stone and clay and fire and water,
this song of memory and hope.
praying for transfiguration as an act of will,
left behind as the kill of a nosferatu's rage.
laying page to wound to stem the life
that shall not serve as Ouranos' legacy.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

Qucik Sunday Morning Recap

Good working session with Tag last night at Books A Million...we settled several things involving his forthcoming book and a potential poetry festival in the area.

Came home and had a nice call with Anastacia, got filled in with her universe. She's the one who told me about Don Knotts passing. I was a little regretful that his illness last summer had cheated me of the chance to meet the man in person, but now I am more so. As a child I had been entertained by his television and film work...

Which leads me to my only Don Knotts story...when I was at Morgantown Junior High School my social studies teacher was Mrs. Madiera (not Mrs. Madia, that was the art teacher) and she was in her last year teaching, she was retiring after we graduated up to Morgantown High School. But she told us more than once about how, in her first year teaching, one of her students was Don Knotts, who won the school talent contest with a ventriloquial act. Nice bookend effect there.

Anyway, much to do today...more tomorrow, and the future doesn't take care of itself.

(I recall Spanky and Our Gang's song "Sunday Morning"..."It's so quiet in the street you can hear the sound of feet walking by...you put coffee on to brew, we can have a cup or two, then do what other people do on Sunday morning...")

Don Knotts, you will be missed

Don Knotts, inarguably Morgantown, West Virginia's most famous export so far, has passed away. He was 81. A veteran of stage, screen and film, he was an icon of television's early years and several family-oriented comedy films.

I knew people who knew him and was honored to appear in the AEI's "Art&Soul" book alongside him last year. I was disappointed when health reasons forced him cancelling his appearance at last year's Arts Festival in Morgantown.

for Don

make us laugh, a gentle laugh
aware of our own frailty.
make us shed a gentle tear
aware of our mortality.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

Okay, Deputy Fife, time to hang up your guns, your job is done.

The blah blah stuff

I got an email the other day from a former lover, she asked how I was doing, specifically asking about "Not the blah blah stuff of the blog, but in real life?"

I hate to break it to her, this is my real life. Perhap that is why we are former lovers. I smiled about it, as she has always been real-world sensible, a good person, and actually a fine poet in her own right, but I think she never quite "got" me. Never quite figured out that the strange difference she recognized in me was more than a pose, it was a choice, a path, a life.

Maybe not the smartest one I ever made (although I can think of some a lot dumber).

What am I doing, blogging at 4:30 am? Easy...I've been up since three, my brain is awake and motive...and when it is off it's ass, I don't get to sleep. So I finished off last night's teriyaki chicken with steamed rice and have been poking around my zone of control on the web.

Some have criticized my decision to not do a show this week. If you've listened to all ten hours or so of recordings already present on Radio City of Legends you can criticize me, otherwise, shut up. The gladiator is not always fighting for the whims of the crowd.

Yes, that's me hanging out, quietly, on the JDtalk discussion group at Yahoo...I am a West Wing fan, and having been in a few Josh-Donna relationships in my life where I never crossed the line, I have been rooting for that couple from day one. So, add my "Squeee" to the heap.

Well, this deranged glass samurai is going to try and get some sleep. Night. Or, rather, morning.

look inside a poet's soul

I stand at the edge of a great abyss.

The wind is fiercely cold at my back, pressing ever so subtly for me to

leap

but the runner of the cliffs of the human heart and soul is no fool.

Or, perhaps, just an unusual one.

I have been asked by the shadows to defend. This is not the first time I have been called upon to defend an article of my faith, nor the darkest. I have, in past times, won my case for God, and lost it for truth, only to win it later. I have spoken for integrity and for temperance, and even self-denial, for sacrifice, for charity.

And now, for love.

To speak with clarity, one must step to the lip of the world and look down upon the stars, an infinite voyage you would never fall to, as there are forces that would grind you to dust before you ever laid eyes on a single world beyond this sphere.

It is an humbling moment. Humbling and cold. The preamble asked of happiness.

Am I happy? I defended the argument of yes, the other day, to a friend, stating that happiness is not a binary station, but a scale, a range of answers. I am, for the most part happy.

But, I am not.

I feel the crust of my exile, every day, like a bone spur in the heel of a runner, digging in ever time I

step

forward to think and feel and seek and believe.

Jade says I am like Sisyphus, happy in my purpose. She is right, in part, being an archetype is rewarding, to a point.

To a point, but not to the point.

So let us barter for life, for love, for faith, for dreams.

What would I have that I do not have? I can't answer that. I know the answer, but it would open a gash in my last defenses, rendering me a simple target in a world of moving images. A big and bright red dot, as big as the sky.

I have always been a machine, complex and chaotic and mad and elegant in design, perhaps, but a machine. A perpetual emotion machine, requiring a fuel to drive me, able to, at least for a season, make love out of nothing. But I am exposed as hollow when the veil is pulled aside and my creative bride proves to be wax or wood or even illusion.

I am the Amomancer, a dancer of words. A weaver of romances. One who kisses jasmine incense and paints runes of fire and sweat in heated strokes of an arcane brush, dipped in hunger and belief.

I do not know where I left the boy I was was, the man I became. Somewhere down the road, I was not looking when the transfiguration overtook me and I had overlooked the price, even though I had warned and warmed myself on the precognitive mythology of the coming change.

What are the shadows? Facets of the mind, of the soul, of the heart. Art comes from conflict, and I have spun tapestries immortal with the aid of these jesters of pain. One shadow seeks stagnation, mediocrity. The other seeks to feed with no concern for those who could be harmed. The former seeks only to fit in, to be one of the herd. The latter wants to feed on the herd.

I can't be either. I tried the first suit of flesh on for a time, willing myself dead to live amongst the orchids while I dreamt of roses. The pain of shedding that skin drove me to the other, and I lost my moral compass. While not as evil as I could have become, I allowed myself to take a path of rationale. Excusing my sins of, mostly, omission with an omniscient eye that recorded all for my own mockery. I watch bits and pieces of it, every day, with a heavy heart.

I have a friend who the other day said that if his wife died, he'd kill himself. I told him I envied him. I shocked myself with that revelation. I have been so often disappointed by conditional and feeble loves in my life that to love someone so much again, that I could not survive their passage from this sphere, oh that would be a delight.

"Give me this or I won't love you anymore, help me do this or I don't love you."

What kind of graceless, spineless, soulless species are we the children of? We are and need to be better than that.

I defend love as...an echo.

The fact that you hear an echo does not mean it is not a real sound, shaped by the forces that reflected it form its original source. Love is a reflection of our world, both the seen and the unseen. I have loved those who did not love in return because that is a part of love, just as God loves even those who denies God's very existence. I still have the passion, the hunger, the heart, the mind, the craft, the soul, the heat, the light, the warmth, the strength to love. I will love with my words, my thoughts, my heart, my hands, my plans, my actions, my flesh. The wind fades.

So what of me, now? This world is not a lucid dream, but I am a lucid dreamer. I have before taken flight to end a fall in a dream.

I choose to take point and throw myself from the precipice. Because I choose love and thus embrace sorrow, pain, joy, lust, sacrifice and the occasional mockery. I'll eat onions, even thought I do not like them, if they are in the way of a steak. I'll take some sadness if it means I still get love, even if it is just I get to give love. There will be shadows and scrapes and tears and kisses and broken hearts and broken promises and broken minds and burnt words. But love is, in and of itself, immutable. Ask John Lennon. Ask Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley. Ask Jesus. (There's three people rarely caught on the same street corner.)

I will continue to love and to seek love, because,

from the beginning and in the end,

that is my nature.

To love. And that is who I am.

The Amomancer.

Voting for American Idol...

For the first time ever, two days ago, I voted for an American Idol contestant...Taylor Hicks. Why? Three reasons:

1) He's a throwback to the edged soul/r&b school of guys like Joe Cocker, whose work still stands out from the 60's, despite later in life choices to go more pop.

2) He's prematurely grey. We gotta stick together.

3) Karla "The Mad Gypsy" Sasser, perhaps the woman in the world I am the most fond of who is still publicly talking to me (you'd be amazed who still keeps contact but I can't reveal it), contacted me and let me know she knows him...and her endorsement has always been good enough for me.

So I voted, and deep inside there's a part of me that wants to believe that my vote mattered. Probably not, as he is that talented, and stands out at this level of compettition, but nonetheless. Go for it, Taylor. I'm waiting to see if you uncork "Feelin' Alright" at some later stage of the competition.

Spoke with Tag last night, we need to sit down and synergize what I can do to help launch his book later this spring...

The genii strikes again

Truly strange day. Truly, truly strange day.

Earlier in the day I had spoken with my old friend Alan, and he was wound up over the lack of a worthy peer group in the area. I wouldn't disagree for the world, but let's not get off the case. He stated, epmpatically, he'd be much happier if he could reconnect with our contemporaries we'd lost track of.

Later in the day I went to the Mall with him, and as he was standing in line at the Mountaineer Brunch, I glaned in a nearby art gallery.

And saw a familiar face.

I stepped over to Alan and said I had just seen So-and-So (a young woman we had gone to high shool with, and neither of us had seen in a multiplicity of decades).

He asked "Are you sure?"

I pointed her out, without being obvious. He looked and said "That's not her."

After he decided not to grab something to eat, I noticed the lady in question again in the gallery, so I steered us into there. I again insisted it was her, Alan disagreed. I also noted that the section of photographs she had been standing in front of actually bore the credits of a photographer who had the same name as yet another fellow contemporary, unseen for a few years.

Finally, I pointed out that coincidences, so Alan walked up to her and asked her "Are you So and So?"

She beamed and said "Alan!"

Moral of the story...don't make wishes in my presence unless you want them to come true. It's the magic gloves. I can't save myself, but weird coincidences happen for those in my presence. I am the genii an ex lover used to call me.

Tarot reading for the poet

Okay, I am tearing myself away from an infinite loop of the next West Wing promo to kick the old boy out of his event horizon (he gets these...half the reason half the women in his life aren't around anymore...he gets these creative funks and rides them like a tidal wave into the face of a cliff....)

I went to facade.com Yeah, I know, Tarot decks and stuff, but although I do not believe there is anything truly spiritual in it, I do know that sometimes the words serve as catalyst for reflection. If you've never been to the site, it is a site that figures all sorts of new age gee-gaws like Tarot readings (free, online!) and biorhythyms.

I chose the Celtic Cross layout and the William Blake Tarot (lately, he's been in a Blake sort of mood) and asked it the question "Where does he go from here?"

This is the reading I got (key points bolded by me):

The card not shown but at the center of the cross, represents the atmosphere surrounding the central issue. Seven of Science (Lamentation), when reversed: A great deal of psychic energy being unleashed. Strong resistance to pressure. Gathering, shaping, and polishing your ideas. In the creative process: When you are feeling stuck or blocked, push your imagination to find a way around the problem; rely on your energy and hard work.
The card visible at the center of the cross represents the obstacle that stands in your way - it may even be something that sounds good but is not actually to your benefit. Three of Science (Jealousy), when reversed: A challenge to mutual understanding. Transcending emotional or erotic stress. A conflict of wills that adds to the excitement of a relationship. Intoxicating mutual obsession. A decisive attitude readjustment. Concern over a rival motivates you to proper action. Realizing the things you take for granted. Putting your heads together helps. In the creative process: When loss of understanding triggers pain and creative numbing; stay close to the people involved; this is a point of transition.
The card at the top of the cross represents your goal, or the best you can achieve without a dramatic change of priorities. Four of Science (Repose), when reversed: Self-absorbed solitude or seclusion. Forced withdrawal. Brooding about something. Depleted or fatigued by stress. Avoiding action by drifting. In the creative process: Allow new insights to surface by becoming more fluid and letting go of mental demands and pressures.
The card at the bottom of the cross represents the foundation on which the situation is based. Five of Music (Melancholy), when reversed: Denial. Failure to reach spiritual insights following a sad event. Inability to leave past failures behind. Buried hopes. Refusal to acknowledge mistakes. Letdown after intense effort. In the creative process: Convert the pain of disappointment or loss into artistic expression. Let go of something old or dead and move on to something new and alive.
The card at the left of the cross represents a passing influence or something to be released. Woman of Painting: Practical and resourceful executive skills. Creative vision is operating on many levels. Recognition and tangible rewards may be at hand. Group activity or cooperative efforts. Making use of appropriate technology. Supporting and acknowledging the contributions of others. Fostering the arts. Creative drives. Love of beauty. Perceiving hidden values. In the creative process: Your creative ideas are now taking tangible form, assisted by good use of your available resources and personnel.
The card at the right of the cross represents an approaching influence or something to be embraced. Eight of Science (Restriction), when reversed: Suppressed creative energy waiting to burst free. External constraints provide much-needed focus. Intense mental fervor despite outward calm. Freedom from your prejudices, dogmatic attitudes, and fear of failure. Self discipline and mastery over ones emotions. In the creative process: Make your obstructions or limitations productive by stimulating greater intensity of thought and a deeper sense of spiritual freedom.
The card at the base of the staff represents your role or attitude. Three of Painting (Practice), when reversed: Failure to master your skills and talents. Lack of engagement with your peers. Unwillingness to synthesize the available factors. Failure to build support. In the creative process: Experimentation and manipulation are the keys to acquiring the experience needed to get the job done.
The card second from the bottom of the staff represents your environment and the people you are interacting with. Nine of Painting (Fruition): Rewards of relaxation, luxury, or perks for a job well done. A profound or peak experience. Physical bliss, orgasmic potentials. Tangible achievement on many levels. Peak health or accelerated healing. Active participation in a complex physical or job process. Making tangible contributions to society. In the creative process: You gain by combining separate elements into an integrated whole; making the right use of what is available in order to achieve your goals.
The card second from the top of the staff represents your hopes, fears, or an unexpected element that will come into play. Woman of Poetry: "To go forth to the Great Harvest & Vintage of the Nations". Radiating confidence, pride, and self-assurance. Being unafraid to promote yourself or reach for what you really want. Being generous and open-hearted, but also dramatic and assertive. Wanting to inspire others. Creative self-fulfillment. Gathering a rich harvest from the situation. Expressing intuitive knowledge and leadership. Mastery of expression. In the creative process: With complete confidence in your expressive abilities, you serve as a guiding light to inspire growth and confidence in others.
The card at the top of the staff represents the ultimate outcome should you continue on this course. Ten of Science (Defeat), when reversed: Spiritual victory in the face of material defeat. Sacrificing the lesser for the greater. Being released from a dead-end situation. Embracing the inevitable. In the creative process: Difficulties abound; your work is in flames. Defeat must be transcended by right attitude. Remember that suffering is the short road to Spirit.

Yep, sounds like him. I am intrigued by the "Woman of Poetry" card...an unexpected element...maybe...there is someone on the horizon. I figure when he finally takes a lover, he will be okay. I already lost my wager on how long he could hold out.

The Rosewood Theater is dead

The Rosewood Theater is dead. erk.

Just saw the news in the Dominion Post. Since 2004 the downtown Morgantown venue had been trying to make a go of it in a general no-man's-land between the entrenched bar band scene of the beer and bluegrass focused Morgantown and WVU's lock on major name talent (thanks to the purchasing power of student activity fees and your tax dollars)...had I known they were struggling I might have pitched in, but since I did not...it's like reading an obit of an acquaintance and seeing it mention all he needed was a kidney transplant to survive...you feel a little guilty, even though you didn't know he was sick and aren't sure you would have been a good donor...

Nevertheless...Gary Tannenbaum, who made the Blue Moose Cafe what it is (including the centerpiece of my 2002 return to Morgantown) deserves a lot of credit for opening such a fine place and I hope he sits back, adjusts his strategy and plows forward again, this time to greater success and victory. If you need any assistance, GT, just drop me a dime, you know where to find me.

a poem as perfect as a kiss

words are words
as flightless birds
defy the primary definition of thing with wings.
I have never seen a poem as perfect as a kiss.
syntactical undead
inhabiting my head
and remind me of something I must have crushed
walking away from moments such as this.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

Quote for Today, February 22, 2006

"A quote is but a tattoo on the tongue."
- William F. DeVault, 1992

thanks to Babelfish at Altavista

J'ai rêvé des araignées faites de verre
un enchaînement des pensées et rêves qui passent
baisers et voiles de gaze qui s'accrochent
cela restent dans le pré par lequel les vents chantent.


William F. DeVault. tous droits réservés.

resignation

you know, the world will spin just fine without my pressing it.

I'm not doing a show this week.

I'm walking my own road for a bit...

don't worry, I always come back. I'm a creature feature of obligation.

the trouble with wingmen

E.J. contacted my old high school to see if they want to have me come by during National Poetry Month. I'm not holding my breath. I am sort of the red-headed stepchild of their distinguished alumni, having no forty year old sitcom or thirty year old soap opera to my credit.

A line came to me today...being I did not want to lose it, I scribbled it on my own arm...

"The arrogance of a nuance'd dance."

I'll incubate it and see what sort of wings it grows while being sat upon.

Quote for today

"The existence of a single atheist does not disprove the existence of God."

- William F. DeVault

(if I have to explain this one, I may have to start taking names.)

defining theocricide

I was very gratified earlier today when E.J. forwarded me a search result he'd done, where the word "theocricide" showed up on a website unrelated to me and my works. It is nice to find even one person using a word you had unabashedly coined twenty years ago (1987).

I have been asked, more than once, especially since the announcement of the book by the same name, what the word means. Mostly by people who are afraid it is sacrilegeous in nature. Not at all a true thought.

Theocricide is rooted in my own love of language (as are my other abominations, such as Nemicorn and the whole amote/amotation/amomancer family), but was originally coined for the title of a poem "Theocricide at Mach 10e6". I wanted a word that expressed an impulse for change, an impulse so powerful that one would throw down a belief or value system as tightly held as one's own belief in a Supreme Being. The word literally means "killing god".

In the context of the unwinding of my relationship with the woman whose mother's death prompted the poem, I needed to express how wrenching that had been to me, how far divorced from my own values and purpose I had thrown myself, how traumatic that was to me on so many levels and how sorrowful I was for it.

I have done many things in this life I am sorry I did, as Roy Batty said "I have done questionable things." But I try to look on the plus side of my failures. Once, when my daughter challenged me to admit that my marriage to her mother had been a mistake, I pointed out that had her mother and I not married, she and her brothers, probably the three most precious people in the world to me, would not have even been born. I can regret my actions and motives, but not the good fruits of sometimes bad actions.

I should not have broken off my engagement with Psyche. I should not have cheated on the Valkyrie, I should not have started the affair with the Panther unless I was unshackled. I should have been more honest than I have been on occasion (although, there are those who believe me far more vile and capable and guilty of things far beyond my ability to act out, purely because it suits their worldview to believe such things. So be it. Sometimes I was merely the dupe of others, using me to front their own actions and take the fall.)

Many of these acts were theocricidal, tearing me from core beliefs I still intellectually embrace, but have spiritually been separated from by willful acts. In some ways, a theocricide is just a three dollar word for a sin, a trespass, although of a magnitude to make it bloody rebellion.

Perhaps I should just name the book "Sin"?

No. And let me try to expand on that.

Some, perhaps many, of my theocricidal acts were necessary. Necessary to throw out "other gods" (and godesses) that had taken control of my life. Looking back I can see at least five acts of theocricide in my life, five upheavals on a metaphysical and spiritual level that ripped my self-identity to shreds and left me to reassemble my soul with the tools at hand. Most were the reflex backsquirm of a beast caught in a death grip by his own folly.

Sometimes the tools that patched me were my own skills. Sometimes they were a willing lover who lent me the motive force that only a lover can. And sometimes, the best of times, the tool was that still, small voice that never departs, but often we find it too easy to ignore.

The same voice that granted me my talents, my skills, and the life for which, even in times of sorrow or stress, I am most grateful for.

So, the book THEOCRICIDE is both a confession and a celebration, sort of a Mardi Gras without the raging hypocrisy. If I live to see it in print, I will die a happy man.

And my death with not be a theocricide.

The Cover for Theocricide

Before E.J. gets to scoop me, this is the last info I will allow out about my next book, THEOCRICIDE, before it publishes later this year. Behold the cover:


I am satisfied with it. That is good. It has a certain organic charm to it, a certain otherworldly beauty. I am sure there will be critics of it. Screw them and the festering turds they rode in on.

The volume itself will be large-format, like THE COMPLEAT PANTHER CYCLES, and as of last edit has just over 600 works in it. The line about "essential poetry" was E.J.'s...it gets the word "poetry" into the title.

The frontispiece is still under evaluation, but the introductory quote to the volume will be the opening lines of my poem "theocricide at Mach 10e6" for which I coined the word. The poem was originally written for the death of the woman who was to have been my Mother-In-Law and whose death affected me greatly, Mary Wiles Lusebrink.

"By death is the shadow granted substance.
In pain is the sinner reborn saint."

looking for an audio poet to step up

It's Monday and the author who is supposed to be my featured guest this week, postponed from last week, has not completed her files...so, guess what, kids? Either I need a poet to step up to the plate in the next 48 hours or I'm going to do a clip show this week.

Uh huh. That's right.

So, if you are a poet of some consequence and want the universe to hear your words, talk to me...now. I am not going to kiss ass anymore, coddling my guests. I hate hosting as it is, I'm a writer not a promoter. A hooker, not a pimp.

argh

evicting the leggy book cover models in waiting

Stayed up way too late last night.

Partying? Hardly.

Talking to some exotic LA-based nymphomaniac actress who will do anything to get a part in my movie? Not likely.

Watching old movies and talking to myself? Some night, yes, but not last night. (You ought to hear those conversations when they occur, though. They are like arguments between my enfranchised personality facets, and none of them play fair).

No, working on the cover for THEOCRICIDE. Brain melt down. The material is almost complete. But I am looking for a...hold it. Why am I looking for a model? Do I think I need a hot female on my cover to sell books? Think again. 101 GREAT LOVE POEMS outsold FROM AN UNEXPECTED QUARTER and LOVE GODS OF A FORGOTTEN RELIGION combined. No, SNAP, there's an epiphany for you (or, in honor of my late, great friend Mary Jo, an EPIFANNY).

I see the cover now. Perfect. Shut down the camera and send the boom man home for the evening. That's a take. Thank you, whatever minority voting wedge of my preconscious came up with the idea. Thank you very much. No cheesecake, just genius.

You know, one day I may be shot/stabbed/beaten to death/defenestrated by a deranged person who has never even read my work because they thought there must be something inherently evil to me. The same kind of people who, during the "evil books" fanatacism of the seventies, burned library copies of THE LION, THE WITCH AND THE WARDROBE as they presumed with a witch in the title, it must be the work of Satan. Aeons ago, in junior high, I loaned a book to a friend of mine, called "The Games Satan Plays" which was about how an unwholesome interest in the occult could be spiritually detrimental. Her mother saw the title and threw it out, thinking it was trying to win her over to the devil.

Sigh. People need to get up off their couches and ask questions, not just accept ignorance as a de facto excuse for their actions. I remember a Bloom County strip where two characters are talking and one of them quotes Marx that "Religion is the opiate of the mases." Which makes the point that many people use it, not as a means to discovery, but a means to sedation. Just ask the people using it for political leverage. Anyway, when questioned on the meaning of that line, before the character can respond, the TV set thinks "Marx ain't seen nothing yet."

Okay, back to work...God did not put me on this planet to waste time and oxygen.

quote for today

there just isn't enough time for the roses
- I Should Have Been Immortal,
William F. DeVault, 1974

1 degree fahrenheit

That's the temperature outside. 1 degree fahrenheit. My element. I'm the kind of person who likes to go outisde in shorts when the wind chill is zero...it wakes you up and seems to stir a part of the mind and soul that nothing else does.

Bard dragon? Frost dragon. Favorite X-Man? Iceman (in the comics). Love the cold. Aside from the loss of pretty skin viewing factor, I wish they'd do a Survivor in the snowy mountains. Let's see if they can really survive. Last person with all ten fingers and toes wins.

Tag tells me the Irene McInney reading on Tuesday went well. For those of you not keeping track, Ms. McKinney is West Virginia's Poet Laureate, and a damn fine poet in her own right (I add that as many state poet laureates are "Who knows who" titles and not associated with excellence in their field. Come to think of it, a lot in this life is that way. As an old business acquaintance of my mine always says "Networking is more importance than competence." He makes a good living at it. Maybe I shouldn't be such a crusty old cuss? Well, in answer to a question that was asked the other day, do I aspire to that post, Poet Laureate? Not really. There are those who call me the Poet Laureate of the Internet, which is good enough for me...besides the old Writers Club joke about me being the "poet Lauri ate" (the original Panther's name) comes back too readily.)

I have five goals for the next four weeks, and I will report on the, from time to time, here in the blog.

1. Find a used but usable copy of both Myth II and Myth III for my son, Elric. His CD for Myth II has a crack in it, and he also would like to find Myth III. He's running an iMac...anyone out there have an old one laying around? Get in touch with me.

2. Find a cover model (or cover design) for THEOCRICIDE that I like. I'v seen a few models, the only one that really is a good choice, so far, has dropped from sight...which is a bummer. If you are or know a model who is trying to break in, a book cover is not a bad place to start.

3. Book four paid readings, anywhere in the US, for the period of August 16-September 15 of this year. Want me to show, let me know. Give me a lead or a lock, I'm negotiable.

4. Set at least five readings in schools or libraries for National Poetry Month. In an iaeal world, local, but I am willing to wander a bit...have a high school, college or public library that might put up with me? Srop me a line...I'm reasonable, and I find the fact that schools tend to forget National Poetry Motnh only second to the fact that I know schools that do nothing for Black History Month as offensive to my concept of what school is about. Maybe I should rattle the State Board of Education, I've spoke before them before, maybe they can give me a leg up in contacts. The insularity of most institutions in this state undermines developing new venues.

5. Write at least 100 good works. That's not so much to ask. From me.

Gotta go.

My Taxes have no business helping Republicans in Texas

Looks like the Courts have granted the Bush Administration's request to spend YOUR tax dollars helping the Republican Party fight a challenge to their partisan redistricting of Texas that increased Republican gains in the congress and diluted minority rights.

Guess George Bush is working overtime to make Kanye West look like a prophet. I am disgusted with politicians that place their party before their country and the voters. Shame on you. That goes for people on both sides. We have American men and women fighting and dying in Irag, a war on terror that seems more and more a joke every day, drugs in our schools, rebuilding from natural disasters that were made worse by the incompetence in Washington and now my money is being diverted from building new schools, aid to seniors and buying body armor for our troops in Iraq to make sure the Republican Party gets to control Texas.

There is not a word in my vocabularly foul enough for the disgust I am feeling right now.

Saturday morning update

Just got through loading the RSS for this week's podcast, so it is will be available tonight on Apple's iTunes Music Store.

WVU faces off against UConn later today, here in Morgantown, let's see if Gansey and Pittsnogle rise to the occasion (of course, you never know what Herber or Beilein might invoke, miraculously, either. That's the great thing about ther Mountaineers this year, they are not dependent on the performance of a single player.) Should be a good game.

Back to the Podcast...I am being criticized for not being more explicit with my erotic poetry. Kids, if you want explicit, download the sex tapes of whatever borderline celebrity got caught with their pants down this week. That's what losers, has-beens and never-weres depend on.

We live in a porn obsessed society, where porn "stars" (hookers with cameras) become celebrities and where a TV network tries to tell us that a trio of bleached and siliconed inflatable dolls who tag-team service a man in his mid-seventies are "girls next door". What kind of creepy planet of losers are we turning into?

(insert inarticulate creeped-out sound effect here)

Looks like we need a little schoolin'.

The Boob Show in Louisville, February 24

Gratuitous plug for a friend...and no, I am not involved with her (would I tell you if I was? Of course...not), so no haters, please...

Wildchylde (poet/performance artist Jessica Lynn Mathis) will be hosting a special performance show in Louisville, Kentucky, February 24th from 10pm-2am at Saints on Breckenridge Lane for Mardi Gras Louisville (to help recent transplants from the New Orleans area feel at home)

Her act is called THE BOOB SHOW -
Where they all act like boobs!
(ha, thought there was something sexual there, didn't you?)
Karaoke*Comedy*Prizes*Costumes*Fun
(or so she says)

More info? Contact happymartmovie@gmail.com

and no, I am NOT going to be there...but if you are in the area, drop by, as a favour to me...

This week's show is now live...

The show is up at Radio City of Legends. Remember, this one may be unsuitable for children, people with sensitive natures and self-righteous paranoids. Includes the work "Love is An Howling Beast" and the complete cycle "Penetralia".

My legs are still throbbing from yesterday's workout...that damn hill about a quarter mile in, it is a killer. I feel like someone took a mallet to the backs of my legs...ouch, ouch, ouch.

But, remarkably, no leg cramps last night. Hmmm.

Weather is supposed to change in a major way today, huge cold front arriving. Ah well.

Just uploaded the new show to Archive.org. Love those guys, they made my podcasts feasible. I see where E.J. leaked the 101GEP cover. Remind me to beat him later. Nice cover, though. And he got most of the other facts right, so whoop-de-do.

Sorry for the disjoint...blew a breaker. Do not use toaster at same time as dishwasher (making mental note).

Finished the mix...phew

Just finished laying the final mix of the show for this week...it will be up tomorrow at the usual places (Apple's iTunes Music Store and Radio City of Legends...)

I did a reading of my cycle known as "Penetralia", and then capped it with a reading of my poem "Love is An Howling Beast".

Good day, overall, today...made some progress against the hordes that are the demons of my own overconfidence (I take on WAY TOO MUCH work at any given time, then have to wade out of the bog).

My brother, Robert, called about ten this evening, asking if there had been a picture of me in the paper today...there had. His girlfriend told him about it jut a few moments before. Such is life. Not the most flattering picture of me ever taken.

I went down to the used video store with Alan MacDonald, my childhood friend I'd recently rediscovered. He bought a stack of videos, and I found an excellent copy of one of my favourite films of all time..."The Stunt Man" with Peter O'toole, Barbara Hershey and Steve Railsback. What a fun film. Dark humour. Very dark.

E.J. dropped me a note this evening to let me know he'd finally decided on whom he'd like to cast for a film version of "The Panther Cycles"...Ed Harris (Me), Geena Davis (my ex-wife) and Uma Thurman as "the Panther". I think he needs to find a good pharmacy and just start taking pills at random.

E.J. leaks the August release

Pssst. No. Don't look directly at me. I'm incognito.

I just got this earlier today. It's the mock up for the cover for the August 2006 release of his book 101 GREAT EROTIC POEMS.

This meeting never happened. You never saw this.

Note the similarities to his 2002 best seller 101 GREAT LOVE POEMS. Note the pink jade heart. I have the list of 93 of the 101 final works for the book.

Some surprising choices, more on the part of who is out, rather than who is in. Startling.

Spoiler #1: No poems from the Panther Cycles. In fact, only one of the three panthers is represented. Hint: Red haired amazon. In the works AND in the dedication.

Spoiler #2: You have never seen many of the poems in this book. Ever. He's pulling out his private stash. Poems like "wet, tense flesh" and "Your Taste, On My Tongue". And my favorite title: "Plugged Into Your Very Core". Trust me, that one is worth the price of the book, alone.

Between the defiant tone of THEOCRICIDE and this book, don't expect him to get invited to any Republican fundraisers next year.

'Bout time he grew another or two. The howling beast has awakened.

To quote Tank in "The Matrix" - "...this is an exciting time".

The Sawyer Song

who needs drugs when you have....

The Sawyer Song.

For all you LOST junkies out there.

I don't think I can ever be depressed again...it is just too silly. Check it out.

The Morgantown Suite Poems gets plugged

Well, the Dominion Post finally ran the photo of me handing off the royalty check to Arts Monongahela for THE MORGANTOWN SUITE POEMS. Awful picture (I look like I just spent twenty minutes getting inflated beyond legal limit) but maybe it will spur sales of the book. I have not been aggressive at promoting it. Heck, I haven't even been passive in promoting it (it came out just six weeks before THE COMPLEAT PANTHER CYCLES and got lost in the mists).

My view has always been that ArtsMon should be peddling it, as they get all royalties...I do have creditors to pay and need to focus on paying gigs. But I also recognize that they are not retailers.

It's a great book, though. And I think people who do not order it and live in or near Morgantown, or just love the slice-of-a-life observances in it are missing out. From local landmarks to high school romances, from the impact of shopping malls on downtown merchants to remembering absent friends, it is all there.

You can always drop by my bookstore. And merchant inquiries should go through Arts Monongahela.

book updates

OKay...here's the latest dirt on my next two books.

THEOCRICIDE
May 2006
Approximately 500 pages (just slighty under the thickness of THE COMPLEAT PANTHER CYCLES) but with approximately 800 works. Around here we've nicknamed it "the story, so far". It is not a bio, it is poetry. But poetry that reflects and expresses who I am, what I have experienced, and the extraordinary people I have intersected with in my life. E.J. calls it "The Gospel According to Saint William"...I am not sure if that suits me, or the book, but so be it.

101 GREAT EROTIC POEMS
August 2006
The bookend to 2002's 101 GREAT LOVE POEMS. 101 poems. Take no prisoners. I may get burned at the stake for even contemplating this volume, but...it's my legacy, get out of my way.

There is also an unsubstantiated rumour that I will be editing an anthology of several poetic friends. No comment.

I wrote something today, so pure it was like oxygen, a toxin at too high a concentration. I threw it away. It will return, in more subtle form, to make its way into my wordsphere.

thought for today

People under siege behave like people under siege.

The West Virginia Library Commission

I'm going to be promoting some of my newer material onto the website this week, having already peeled off several works and made some esthetic reductions. Still picking the pieces.

Made it through V-Day. Wrote some good stuff over the last week. Those of you who hang for my stuff at Author's Den...you've only seen the very tip of the tip of the iceberg.

I dropped a line to the West Virginia Library Commission three days ago, letting them know that any guidance they might give me in terms of connecting with libraries for National Poetry Month would be appreciated. It's eerie. When in California, I always had as many readings and public appearances as I could handle during that month. In Missisisippi, even though I was only a transient there, same story...including hosting duties at the Mississippi Gathering of Poets in Bay St. Louis and being a bookstore's guest at the Mississippi Library Convention.

Having been back in my home state for almost two years now...no sponsored visits, no school visits. Part of it is the subculture of the state's institutions...in particular, the schools...I have been repeatedly warned that schools tread lightly in having guest speakers. Makes some sense, but I also think there is that same insularity. God help a poet or artist in this state who doesn't use coal, railroads and mountains as part of their palette.

West Virginia is more than these things. One of the things that has held us back in this state from storming to the top of the power brokers economically, artistically and politically is this very provincialism. I'm not suggesting we redecorate, I'm suggesting we evolve, take the lead and embrace the notion that using the past as an anchor is a two-edged sword (talk about a mixed metaphor).

I am helping Anne Montague with her project to put together a concert and website to promote our troops' sense of home. Great project. But she told me the other day that, in talking with county organizers for it that some have said that the project is of limited appeal because in their counties there may be only "one or two" computers.

BAH! If there is any county in West Virginia lacking thousands (or in the case of some counties, like Pocahontas, with less than ten thousand residents, hundreds) of home computers, I will eat my fancy oriental jacket, with ketchup (and I hate ketchup). Leaders have failed to cotton to the fact that we are already wired to the universe, so that their illusion of control is complete.

Kids, the revolution, the renaissance, is already upon us. Wake up and quit hobbling the next generation with your insistence upon looking backwards while trying to walk forwards, it makes you stumble. Renowned visual artist Michael K. Paxton and I had a chat when he was in town for Arts Week last year, in which we marvelled at the retro-cultural imperialism we have both, at varying times in our careers, in the Mountain State. While merely frustrating to us sometimes, it is a garotting of our best and brightest. The democratic lawn of grass is best accomplished by mowing down those who are overly accomplished or talented.

For those of you unaware of Mr. Paxton's accomplishments as an artist, you should check him out, all over the web. Remarkable man, remarkable artist. Hmmm...maybe I should negotiate a book cover with him....

Nah...that would mean ceding control of my image to another, and I'm not good with that. That's one of my hobbles.

Last minute tip for Valentine's Day poetry

If you're stuck at the last moment, needing to find something to share with your lover...consider my works, either

In written form

or

In audio form

There's hundred so my works in the 'City, as well as works by some poets I admire. There's over six hours of recordings at Radio City of Legends...just about any flavour for labours of love, my doves.

Hmmmm...someone seems to be invoking me....

.....poit.....

Valentine's Day message

Since Valentine's Day is to me, as "The Romantic Poet of the Internet" (a sobriquet which people still mangle...hey, I didn't make the damn thing up, Yahoo stuck me with it almost a decade ago) what All Hallow's Eve (Halloween) is to witches and the 4th of July to people who like to see things blow up but really don't know jack about U.S. history, I feel I should do something special today.

What? I'm not sure. So just let me tell you all I wish for more, stronger, purer and more passionate love in all of your lives in the coming year. Keep your eyes, your arms and your hearts open.

Love is nothing new, yet never grows old. Just as Shakespeare wordjacked "Pyramus and Thisbe" to write "Romeo and Juliet" (did you honestly think the lovely story of "Shakespeare in Love" was true? Oh, you sweet, romantic simpleton!) love is forever new and bold but also resonant throughout recorded and disremembered history.

Feel free to lift lines from my poems for your personal Valentine's Day message to whomever you are courting or trying to hang onto, I respect that (no one will bitch you out for it, trust me).

I wish anyone and everyone joy, love and a peaceful heart this day. May, if nothing else, one perfect kiss lay in wait for you...uh oh...good line...sounds like a poem spark...


read between the lines and find what lurks behind the veil
a tale to tell as hearts may swell to seize the day as rapt.
sprung from where you wouldn't dare and yet would ever dream
a perfect kiss that lays in wait to place claim upon your heart.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

Pax vobiscum.

Conjured by Your Heart

for Valentine's Day, a gift to a goddess in the shadows...


I can be patient
and wait for you
in silent moments
head bowed
eyes closed
breath slow and purposeful
counting the moments
until you speak my name
in a summoning tone
invoking me to step

step through the wind
and join you
and join with you
to find a madness
sweet and sharp
like a soft kiss
gone hungry
like soft limbs
gone taut
like soft hands
demanding

commanding my performance
as a barter for the night
a barter for delight
that I will not fail you in

ever again
if you dare raise eyes to skies
and call to me
to remind me
of an oath made to be unafraid
of what may come
as long as I know your heart.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

Tearing down the walls of time

Made some changes to the City tonight. Some works are gone, deleted (37, to be exact).

The Damascus poems survived the flames of the Bard-dragon's breath. They are not reflection's of another's illusion, but my own heart and life.

It is as I want it to be...

Happy Valentine's Day!!!!!

I promise to my readers, my friends and my family that I will redouble my efforts to bring more love into the world.

pink meringues and the objectification of women

I had to rack my brain earlier...someone challenged me on the lack of poems about breasts in my catalog. I knew I had a phrase for breasts, I just could not remember it...took me forever...

"pink meringues"

Yes, that's it!

I had a good friend, once, who was both a poet and an artist, she was thinking of putting together an exhibit and book entitled "Parts of a Woman". If a man did that, even I, he'd be ripped from limb to limb as objectifying women. But if a woman does it, it would be okay.

That having been said, don't be surprised what I post here and on Author's Den over the next day or two...I am trying to get into the head space necessary for this week's substitute show, if needed.

red is the rose and Track C to be, after all

My guest for this week's show seems to have fallen off the edge of the world...no contact in a while. You know what that means? Yeah...more studio time for yours truly this week. Yikes.

To heck with it. If I don't hear back from her by COB today, I'll launch "Track C" for this weeks show...for those of you who don't read further back than the latest dispatch, that was to be the truly, intensely erotic track for my Valentine's Day production.

I guess you may get it after all. I mean, Track A and Track B, both part of the show I released over the weekend, strong romantic with erotic elements...but this one is going to come from, not the heart, but the loins. I've got a few pieces up my sleeves (well, actually, another article of clothing) to be unleashed.

A living legend's work is never done. Tired of waiting for others (a flaw in my character, born of a desire to be fair and fair minded, sometimes abused by others, although in ths case it is probably just a sincere "whoops!").

Uh oh...new poem...contractions beginning...here it comes...

Red is the Rose

red is the rose that blooms in my garden,
grey is the night in which the colours all fade,
'though sometimes in pain my heart may harden,
a reach for love as a man unafraid.

maybe she'll be the one I've been needing,
maybe she'll be the one meant to be,
maybe she'll touch me and end my heart's bleeding,
I may never know if I don't dare to see.

cold is the night between the fresh startings,
old are the songs I sing on my way,
full of the pain of a thousand pained partings,
but eager to find and embrace the new day.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

Hey, spontaneous poetry, it is also part of what I am.

my survival playlist

I have a playlist on iTunes. Music, not poetry. Well, song...which are a fusion.

I call it "adrenaline"...because when I am weary, it kicks me in the ass...

Today has been the third longest day of my life, as I recall them. I anticipate a long night. Anniversaries are like that. You wouldn't have me any other way. I'm the guy who can tell you the anniversary of the first kiss he ever shared with a woman, her favourite colour, the scent she wore the last time I saw her.

So, I need the shadows...Icarus gains momentum as he falls. And, as long as the wax holds, he'll be fine.

What's on this list? This psychoreactive intravenous blast? Well, I won't tell you all of the pieces, but included are:

"Every Picture Tells a Story" by Rod Stewart. How can you not react to that?

"Bring Me Some Water" by Melissa Etheridge. Bam. Bam. Bam. With irony (for me).

"Fat Bottomed Girls" by Queen. You got a problem with that?

"Criminal" by Fiona Apple. Yeah, I know...odd choice. I used to sit in a theatre in Santa Monica, waiting for the movie to start, during the first exile, and for some reason this piece played almost every time. It is a sure time and space trip back to that time in my life.

"The Boy in the Bubble" by Paul Simon. A reminder of just how miraculous this universe is. And a great piece of music in its own right.

Hey, WVU just beat Georgetown...yay!

Even Cinderella Gets Naked

I've always been amazed by the number of people who wander to my site, looking for my poem "Even Cinderella Gets Naked". The whole concept was to make the point that even mythic characters, if we accept them a flesh and blood, had and have dimension.

It was also written to a female acquaintance who was feeling particularly unworthy of romance, back in 1997.

Unworthy of romance? What 11 of the Ten Commandments must one break in public to achieve that distinction? Everyone is redeemable, everyone. Maybe not by the same means, but everyone deserves some joy in life, everyone deserves to be loved, everyone deserves honor, in some aspect.

here's the poem...

Even Cinderella Gets Naked

fairy tales don't end at the threshold.
and the cold isn't as cold with Prince Charming
showing you the other half of his charm.
arm yourself with passion tonight
and fight your inhibitions.
for there are no more conditions.
and, once you shower off the fireplace ash,
I'll explain to you many things a glass slipper
is good for besides leaving behind
for this Prince to find
(if you don't mind)
and I know you won't.
so scrub off the grime
and the young lady doubts.
the woman emerges
from her cocoon
(tonight) to make more fantastic memories
than in any Grimm book of antiquities.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

I once got an email from a young man complaining I didn't have an illustration with it. I told him he needed to be finding himself a young woman, instead of looking for naked cartoons on the web.

I'm doing some urban renewal in the City of Legends later this week...this should be fun. I count approximately 60 poems to fall to my wrecking ball, with about the same number replacing them. Yeeeeee-ha!

Valentine Gift Pereceptions and this gutless wonder

The Valentine's Day issue of perceptions and impressions.

A biggie. Give the wrong gift, say the wrong thing, particularly on first approach, and you're toast...or at least down to some sports analogy for desperate times, best forgotten.

I mean, if you give a woman (or a guy) a copy of THE COMPLEAT PANTHER CYCLES and they get the wrong message, what do you say? What do you do? Or, worse yet, what if they move away a few weeks later, willfully (don't laugh, I know a really nice guy that happened to).

I mean, to me, that book is about going for it. Putting all other considerations secondary and attempting to jump lover's leap in your rocket powered heartmobile. If that's the message you're going for...Boy Howdy! Hope they receive the message and respond accordingly, just don't name any of the kids after me or steal any of the names I have tucked away just in case I do end up with more progeny.

As a "I'd like to get close" gift, that book suffers from being maybe too much, like Steve Martin in "Housesitter" when he builds a house for his love and she rejects him, probably not in the least because he went too far.

Start small. 101 GREAT LOVE POEMS is a good call, you can always laugh off questions about what you're trying to say by saying that it's Valentine's Day and thus love poems seem like a good gift. Coward. You and I both know that you meant you want to take the relationship, as they say, to the next level. Usually that level involves a bed or at least the backseat of a four door sedan.

I'm giving one book for Valentine's Day this year, just one. I took LOVE GODS OF A FORGOTTEN RELIGION and FROM AN UNEXPECTED QUARTER out of circulation, so my choices narrowed, but in the end I decided to wimp out and give INVOCATO. It's chock full of romantic and erotic poetry, but with enough other things that I can wimp out and say I was just trying to show my craft (ack. craft, hate that word) er...my art.

See, I am gutless, as well.

Better still, save the money and just email a link to your intended to my website or to my podcast shows (you could even narrow it between the romantic and the erotic ones, but that may be too obvious) just link them to my radio page here. Tell them you found this nifty collection of podcasts and audio files...you can even send the link to several friends, to mask the fact you're really just wanting to get it to the one person you're focused on.

Good luck. And, I repeat, do not name the children after me.

February 12, 2006

Made it. Two years. Whooooooo!

Hey, we have snow today. About damn time.

Sent E.J. some new stuff I wrote over the last few days...he seemed to like it all. Just another pulse. Get those from time to time...write like the wind for a few hours or days, a few hundred works...then I put them aside. It's a cleansing of the palate.

Well, have to go shovel some snow.

Lock Up The Womenfolk

I just got a lengthy email from the poet. Not a message, as such...a mass of poetry.

I mean, a mountain, a tsunami if you will (he told me of his dream of death).

He's exploding...I knew it was a matter of time. I don't know who it was who inspired the new piece "flint to my steel" he just posted at Author's Den, but it definitely shows an awakening.

May God have mercy on all our souls.

He's loose. Lock up the womenfolk.

Valentine's Day plans?

There's an old saying amongst partiers that "New Years Eve is for amateurs". I don't know how true that is, but in the spirit of those remarks, in my book, Valentine's Day is for amateurs.

I don't plan to go out that evening, I don't have a reading that night (West Virginia poet laureate Irene McKinney is coming to speak at the university that evening, and God help me I don't ever try to conflict with other poets...besides, with student fees paying the publicity for her appearance, I'd be obliterated...and I like her work. Tag suggested I attend incognito. Not a prayer. All I need is to be recognized and I'll be accused of trying to steal her thunder, and that's not what I am about. I am my own voice, she is her own, and I respect that. Just as Tag writes things I could never, I write things he could not. It is a partnership of equals, as any artistic teamwork should be. Well, unless you're the tracer. (A sly tip of my hat to "Chasing Amy"))

I may do something on the global scale, where my network of readers can dilute it...but to actually stick my head out there, no thanks...I have too much to do as is and the distraction of a hastily arranged event would not suit me. So, I am sitting still and enjoying my universe.

Besides, I am working on something...something new. I've made my earnest attempts to work with the locals and found them unsatisfying, hey don't know where to place me, in the subculture, so I am an oddity. I don't resent that...heck, it took me aeons to figure myself out and I'm with me 24 hours a day, most of the time. But the effort to integrate is tiring and the results have been unsatisfying, like a steady that won't even hold hands on the third date.

Sex, Lies and MP3's

This is an article I posted as "Sex, Lies and MP3's" on Author's Den, earlier today, detailing my efforts in putting together my romantic and erotic poetry tracks for Valentine's Day for my podcast show, From Out of the City.
+ + +
Okay, I admit to a certain perfectionistic streak in me, something I control by forcing myself into a single draft mode. I don't allow myself to rewrite...what I hammer out is either a keeper or a junker. No turd polishing.

My resolve has been tested in general by my new podcast show, "From Out of the City", and in specific by this past week's goal, to craft two tracks worth of audio programs...a romantic and an erotic one.

First problem, selecting the material. I ran a poll on my blog...got a few ideas. But, in the end, I wasn't going to cop out and throw the selection process on anyone else. I had to make the choices.

Yeah, I had to pick a handful of works from amongst about 13,000. Good luck.

I sat down and picked two lists.

For Track A, the romantic works, I picked a selection of some of my best.

*The Unicorns
*Sacred Smile
*Monument
*Damascus, Movement III
*The Patchwork Skirt of My Love
*Tread Softly
*Love Gods of a Forgotten Religion
*We Owe Debt to Memory
*A Kiss is an Act of Bravery
*Soubrette

The "Unicorns", "Monument" and "Tread Softly" were easy calls. Some of my most enduring works, sweetly romantic, proven winners.

"A Kiss is an Act of Bravery" was a last minute addition. I'd forgotten the piece until recently brought back to my attention my the Selke, the young woman-muse who had inspired it in the first case. Her reading of it for a show a few weeks back reminded me that it was a good candidate for Valentine's Day.

How could I not do "The Patchwork Skirt of My Love", "Love Gods of a Forgotten Religion" and "Sacred Smile"? All three were award-winning works in their own right and evoked such wonderful images. I have to admit the connections between the latter, "Damascus (Movement Three)" and my second marriage made it a challenge, but I was game.

"Soubrette"? I've always considered that one under-rated and it resonates with me.

Finally we get "We Owe Debt to Memory", which I think lays a solid framework for romanticism. I couldn't say no to that one.

Now to the eros. Tougher call. My works, while often in the erotic vein, are not as explicit as some might expect. Indeed, Walt Whitman was as explicit as I. And he's been gone for some time, you know.

The list I came up with was great...

*A Summoned Fire (Pink Jade)
*Warm Breath Stirs Soft Flesh (Pink Jade)
*Touch (Pink Jade)
*Possession
*Wine
*Tracery (Pink Jade)
*Jasmine and Plumeria (Pink Jade)
*Dare We Cross the Rubicon?
*The Satyr's Suit
*How Would You Have Me Touch You?

I sat down, after I completed the readings and the music for the romantic track, and worked these. Rough. I was doing half "Pink Jade" works and a couple from my affair with the Mad Gypsy (eerie coincidence...having not spoken to her in a year, I got an email from her while working on the recordings. The empaths still vibrate.)

"The Satyr's Suit" and "Dare We Cross the Rubicon", which I had written for Author's Den, were easy calls. Likewise the two to the Gypsy, "Wine" and "Possession".

"How Would You Have Me Touch You"? A logical choice for a reading, as were a selection of the works from the "Pink Jade" series.

I finished the read and decided to experiment with using Ravel's "Bolero" for the background music.

After three tries, I was furious with annoyance. I couldn't get the balance.

I sat back and clicked ont he files that the Selke had recorded for me, as background for some of the pieces. Just breathing, soft sighs, little sounds in the back of her throat. The sort of sounds that signify a woman's contentment with lovemaking.

Effective.

I threw out a day's work and started over.

First, some humour. Something unexpected, transitioning from real life to love life.

"Lust Bunnies". Perfect.

Then something light, but nonetheless erotic, a flirtation.

"Swerve(flirt)" Having established the need, we're establishing the seduction.

Now, something transitional. Something with the presence to have us bring in the undeniably erotic vocalizations of my sweet tempered and most loyal muse.

"The Priest of Passion Serves the Sacrament". Excellent choice, erotic, achingly so. The lover as worshipper, bound by faith to love as much as possible, to bring pleasure on the altar of a woman's body.

Okay, we're there, we're raising the room temperature...how far do we take this?

"Prescient Tense: Rose Petals" How sweet, erotica with some gentle romance. Soft core sweetness.

Le's pull something from the "Pink Jade" works...something unexpected...

"Thin Skin (Pink Jade)" Curves and soft, warm skin. Touching and caressing.

Yes, that's it! Now, let's drop the bomb...

"Passion Sympoetique". All three movements: Seduction, Penetration, Sustain. I could hear the music, already, in my head.

Now to bring it to, pardon the phrase, a climax. I had written a piece lately that seemed to get many all hot and bothered. Good enough referral there.

"Feral With Desire".

I had barely finished the last words of that piece into the microphone when the loop browser on my Garage Band software was open and I was assembling the backing track. Guitars, pianos, harps, mandolins...and, The Selke's backing vocals, beginning after the first two works, and ending the entire recording with a final, sated sigh.

I felt like Keith Emerson. He told a story of having taken Emerson, Lake and Palmer's recording of Alberto Ginastera's "Toccato and Fugue in D Minor" to the Swiss composer's home to have him listen to it. As the final notes faded, the maestro began banging his cane on the floor screaming "Diabolo!"

The keyboard god was worried he'd offended the composer, who explain through his interpreter that quite the contrary, this was how he had heard it in his own mind when he composed it. He was marvelling at how the pomp rock trio had captured what no orchestra had managed to.

I know how he felt, the music came like magic. I mixed and adjusted, tweaked and adapted.

I listened to the final tracks. Then listened again. The listened again.

Then I reached for my upload button as I spoke the nunc dimittis.

I was done.

  

dying in my sleep doesn't kill me

I wonder what Nietsche would say

I'd always heard that if you died in a dream, you died. But I died in a dream last night. Crushed in an instant beneath a tsunami, standing on a beach while others either, as I did, stood there, aware of the futility of flight, or fled.

It was interesting, as it was not until afterwards, as I awoke, that I realized I'd violated an old wives' tale. What was remarkable was not only the clarity of the dream, but the fact that I did not invoke my own policy in lucid dreaming and wake myself up (or fly away, or hold back the wall of water, I estimate it was about 150 feet high as it came upon me). Curious.

I'm fine, my heart didn't give out, my brain didn't shut down and I certainly didn't wake up drenched in sweat and urine. Guess I have one more thing I can relax about now.

While I am still alive, thanks to everyone who has gone and listened to, or downloaded, the Valentine's Day podcasts for From Out of the City...it already looks to be, as anticipated, the most listened to show yet (and V-day is still three days away). If you haven't yet...Radio City of Legends has the program, plus both the Romantic and the Erotic tracks as separate entities, or you can pick it up on Apple iTunes Music Store (where it is free). You can also hook up with them on archive.org , home of most of my podcasts and the remarkable Wayback machine.

So, what's your excuse? The City of Legends should be on your itinerary for Valentine's Day, whether to set the mood or get you in the mood or give you some good ideas. And, no, I left "The Penetrating Rose" out of it this year. Maybe next year.

If a tsunami doesn't get me.

on being enamored

okay...so I have a crush on someone...big deal. not my first, not my last (Just an old man's last attachment? unlikely...not because I am fickle, but because, in 9 out of ten cases, they wander off long before I would even consider wearying...to be honest, I would like someone for a permanent romantic relationship. but. try to find someone who wants to play at my level for more than a weekend or two.)

rough.

I'll be fine, I'm not suffering. having successfully detoxed from love, I am very philosophical and even circumspect about it all. yes, I want back into the pool, but I'm not going to dive headfirst in the shallow end. I'm impulsive, not suicidal.

getting ringing feedback on the new show...still not quite where I want it to be, but making headway...

going to go out to BAM tonight for a bit and hang with Tag...it's been awhile. who knows from what corner something or someone might emerge. who knows?

place your bets on who the next (final?) great muse will be. I've already got a few side bets going.

let me surprise you. my barter of immortality is sometimes a powerful inducement to surprising women.

a love god, remembering his faith

I guess some people were wating for the Valentine's Day podcasts...by the time I got up this morning, after having announced the shows were up last night, I already had an explosion of hits on my site equivalent to the initial boom I got for New Years' Day.

Good.

I also did my usual next morning revisions, looking for typos and swapping out the longer files archive.org initially works with for the derived 64kb mp3's that are about 40% as long as the 160kb files we start with...for people with slower connections it is good, those with a greater desire for purity can go visit archive.org for the full fan of file lengths and types.

I see Affleck and Damon are re-uniting in a film. Good for them, and their box office. Actually, I thought of them yesterday, only because when Maggie asked who I'd like to play me in the movie version of my life, Damon was one of the names I thought of. My first choice remains Fiennes (Ralph, not Joseph) as he has the gravitas, the sincerity, the intelligence and the ability to project barely restrained madness I think of as the model for, if not how I am, at least how I'd like to be perceived. Actually, it would be better for someone else to cast my role...my caution that "an honest man cannot be the hero of his own memoir" rings especially true for casting.

Two more days to the finish line. There will be no trophy, no headlines and no celebration, but a sense of accomplishment on my part and the ability to burn the sack cloth, rinse off the ashes and shake the dust from my feet. Regardless of assumptions, lies and misperceptions, I've proven my point, at least, to me. I am my own phoenix, my own panther, my own man.

I have paid my penance.

Valentine's Day Programs are Up!

The Valentine's Day programs are up now on the City of Legends Radio page, later tonight on Apple' iTunes Music Store.

I placed the full length show on both iTunes and my radio page, as well as the individual Romantic and Erotic compositions on the City of Legends Radio Page...

and yes, ladies, I did include "feral with desire".

update on February 9, 2006

Busy day...

had lunch with a near miss (timing issues kept us from being mor than friends)...

had a great phone conversation today with an interesting writer/performance artist from Louisville (she's very attractive, too...sort of like Brigit's younger sister...hmmmm)...

I heard that the awesome Aberjhani's mother has passed. my sincere condolences...

finished final edits for the shows this weekend. madness, I am sibling to your essence...

worked on several external projects, like Camp Sunshine Mountain Lakes proposal and the "Thanks, Plain and Simple" concert groundwork...

editing work on three books...

wrote a few new poems and still found time to blog, relax and plan my eventual domination of this planet.

save yourself the struggle and surrender now.

none but the phoenix

none but the phoenix shall ever get in
thin skin splits for no tepid tyranny

I grew these walls and carried them
from out of a city
like a necessary evil, this exile,
every mile a test of lessons learned
icons burned into my living flesh
shall I mesh this time with an illusion

I think not
better still the immolation of one dance
begun and ended in unpretended fire
light that cracks like heated glass
at the touch of the god of ice
a vice to splice into my lineage

palms to the wall
calling the unanswered prayers
to the sky, dying, prying away cold fingers
like the remnant stingers of leopard wasps,
pain without death is a shallow breath
that mocks the clocks' tyranny

I want to see the fire before I die.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

the erotic track is complete

done.

thanks to all the suggestions I got from friends and former lovers.

a special thanks to the Selke, whose breathy background vocals really set it all off. you've getting a promotion, or at least that weekend in a hotel I promised you a long time ago.

is it perfect? no. but perfection is a path, not a goal. and it should never be a gaol (you'll figure it out, if you're literate and smarter...think Oscar Wilde. let me guess, they don't teach him in American schools anymore...ah, sorry, I can't think of any relevent Kelly Clarkson lyrics, you're out of luck. read a book, schmucks.)

but it is a few orders of magnitude better than the previous edition.

I may leak it to a few friends (and volunteers) who want to see what lurks beneath the surface (or, rather, the covers)

do I see a show of hands?

erotique poetry 101b

must have caffeine. give me your caffeine. urrrraghurgh

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...better.

stayed up way too late last night, working on the music and vocals for the Track B podcast...man, I have learned more in the last few days than I ever wanted to know about some things, but that's what makes life interesting.

Not final, but here's the current list of works being used in this track, now:

As I Slide Into You
Passion Sympoetique
feral with desire (nb - not to be confused with "feral with a side order of potato skins")
the priest of passion serves the sacrament (nb - so as to be accused once more of blasphemy)
lust bunnies
swerve (flirt)
Prescient Tense (Rose Petals)
Pink Jade: Thin Skin

This is by NO MEANS FINAL. As god of my own universe, I reserve the right to make changes up to and including the last possible second. Note: less "Pink Jade"...no "leopard"...and some light hearted erotica.

I am evaluating a small cluster of my works, so blatantly erotic as to be problematic...I'll see if I want to "go there". Well, yeah, I want to "go there", but maybe not poetically.

uh oh, the wolverine's loose again. Anyone got an aluminum baseball bat? Ideally with welded-on spikes?

after three hours of losing my mind at the microphone

As Joe Gideon said to his mistress, Victoria Porter, in "All That Jazz" after she made it through her dance routine without screwing up:

"Better."

Not there yet, but better. It's not longer "Oh my God, so egregiously pedestrian I must go out and shoot myself." It is now more "Well, that's interesting, I wonder if he's done anything else."

Of course, you know what I am shooting for:

The nunc dimittis.

do not feed or annoy the amomancer during mating season

snarl

now I recall why I dropped "testosterone" from my bloodstream. it makes me cranky. not cranky like a 6 month old in a soiled diaper. cranky like a wolverine with a toothache.

now there would be a muse. "the wolverine cycles" anyone?

I repeat. snarl.

listened to the recording sessions for track b, what I recorded last night. they suck. too much hum, not enough hymn. I want madness and badness, not romi-ette and julio.

late nght recording session. check. and to hell with Ravel's Bolero, I need my own music. I can't fit in another man's shadow. well, maybe Orson Welles (fat joke).

snarl.

there are some decent moments, but not sustained. a good reading should be like great sex, slightly out of control and with a firm grip on what you're trying to accomplish. (sounds like I'm vaguely recalling my poem "sixth gear")

snarl.

I made a list today of former lovers that, despite my affection for them, I would heartily commit suicide rather than be the last man left on earth with them.

short list, but telling. most I wouldn't mind the exile.

snarl.

"it is part of our being, like blood, spit and sweat" - line from my auld poem "Last night"

snarl.

looking for a texture to the read...midway between Ralph Fiennes and Ron Perlman. yeah, high bar.

if you don't bleed from the blow, you never really felt it. get up and fight.

I went through a copy of "from an unexpected quarter"...I counted over forty poems that I will drop from my catalog once that book is retired. orphaned children of an indifferent god of poetry and eloquence who finds them offensive for their weakness or their vector.

the adrenaline is a side effect of the testosterone. it'll mitigate. eventually. I have to, until then, vent my rage on shadows
and immovable objects. but it does help for exercising, I'd forgotten how strong I was.

snarl.

"find me the finest onion on earth. perfect, round, ripe, hearty. not a blemish. polish it with soft cloths and gentle touch. cook it in rare oils and with persistent, gentle flame. and I still won't eat it. I don't like onions." - me, on preferences

snort. pftttt!

All over the place

February 8, 2006...

That's today? Sheesh. Where have the years gone? Ever have that? You look at something and suddenly you feel like you have stepped back and placed it in context and there is a great sense of how much time or distance has gone? And has yet to go?

Remarkable: When someone buys a retail copy of THE COMPLEAT PANTHER CYCLES, paying the extra ten bucks the middle man gets when it is sold through a bookstore. Just a comment.

I have a portfolio of artwork my daughter gave me a few years back, of her student artwrk. Some of it is quite remarkable, including this one, haunting piece of a family of gorillas...I am considering having it professionally framed as part of my wedding present to her and Brian. (smirk) With my luck the glass will get broken in transit and that will be one more sin I am guilty of, but it is a marvelous piece and I think she'd understand the gesture. When I was cast out of Mississippi, that folder was one of the few things I took with me (I was riding a bus, little could come...I was reminded the whole time of "All That You Can't Leave Behind" by U2.

I have not been to the desert for so long. During my trip for Peri's wedding, I must. Maybe the boys will come with me and we shall see if it is in their soul, too. Be nice to have Brian and Peri along, but I figure she may be a bit busy. While I admire her industriousness and determination, I worry she is taking on too much (a genetic failing, I fear, don't even look at my "To Do" list in stickies on my Mac...)

Tomorrow I start my walks, again, my knee, which I twisted in a fall a few weeks back, has healed. Time to get back to work, God and time wait for no one.

I have to admit, when a writer whose work I haven't read yet on Authors Den leaves a comment on one of my works, I go to their site to see what they are about. And, yes, am more likely to if they have a female name. Hey, I'm about to officially go feral again, just looking for someone to make the madness worth it. Although I figure my next muse will drop like a winged messenger from a parted heavens, it pays to have your eyes open for the show. There are some very interesting candidates out there.

Track B is complete

Finished the recording of the vocal tracks for the Track B "Erotic" podcast. wow. that was strange.

I dropped one of the original selections, "I will wake you, tonight". Why? I couldn;t get behind it, it was written so clearly to someone who disappointed me, and getting it up, emotionally, was just not there. I'm not an angry lover, I prefer my passion flow from earnest desire, not some self destructive implosion.

I replaced it with "Dare We Cross the Rubicon?" which is a sounder work, anyway.

The final piece was the most fun..."The Satyr's Suit"...as I ran out of my main music track, through a twain track behind this one...a light music track, and then my dear friend, the Selke, provided me with...mmmm...shal we say "vocal effects" to enphasize the poem.

Fun.

Now to consider Track C...do I really, really want to spend Valentine's Day knowing that there are sex-crazed animals out there getting turned on and fire up by my words and images, making love like carnival ferrets while I sit alone, brooding?

Probably!

At least then I know I am doing something with my time, useful.

Enjoy the holidays, people...your Amomancer is backing you up...

listening for the tell-tale squeaking noise

eep

eep

eep
eep
eep eep eep eep
eepeepeepeepeepeepeep

found me

yeah, I know, silly...but that's my mood...been burning the candle from both ends and the middle...now just trying to make it to the next millstone (and yes, I said millstone)

Top Ten List: Ben Roethlisberger in the Super Bowl

Top Ten Reasons for Big Ben's Sub-Par Performance in the Super Bowl

10. He kept thinking he saw Adam Sandler on the sidelines, warming up.
9. He was macking on one of the Seattle Gals cheerleaders.
8. Ben has actually been dead for two weeks, that was Tommy "What color shirts do our guys wear" Maddox in disguise.
7. Terry Bradshaw spiked his gatorade.
6. Kid Rock bet him a night with the white trash porn star of his choice that he wouldn't throw two interceptions on national TV.
5. His bionic hand was malfunctioning.
4. He wanted to make Jerome Bettis look good, but that damn Hines Ward had to steal the spotlight.
3. Quitcherbitchin...we won.
2. Takes the pressure off for next year's Super Bowl.

and the #1 reason why Big Ben Roethlisberger turned in a sub-par performance in this week's Super Bowl?

1. Seattle had spies hidden in his beard.

sacrifices made in the name of poetry

That's better, a little sleep. Brain working. Eyes open. Tarzan hungry...be right back.

Even better, now...damn, low on caffeine.

The worst part wasn't the disorientation from exhaustion. The worst part was that I was so tired I didn't watch Letterman last night and therefore missed him shaving Ben Roethlisberger (mission accomplished, SuperBowl won, he could ditch the lucky beard)

Vaguely reminiscent of something mother used to bake...er, no, vaguely reminiscent of the whole Broadway Joe Namath stunt, when Pete Rozelle told him that NFL players could not have facial hair and ordered him to shave the Fu Manchu mustache he'd grown in the offseason, he contracted with a shaving cream company for an endorsement...

and they call Pete Rose "Charlie Hustle"!

Anyway, back to the grind...should have the erotic show put to bed (interesting metaphor there) tonight and can then focus on "Track C" - the "Adults only" concept I haven't promised, but will explore.

That's how a prince in exile spends his time...

Still missing Peri immensely. Part of me imagines this is her way to get me into a suicidal funk, to prove her theory that I need meds. Don't bet on it, beloved daughter. I timeshift my emotions as necessary to adapt...how do you think I survived those first months in Venice Beach? My heart may be a patchwork, but it works.

And better than most.

I wonder who has been poking around my website looking up key phrases from "The Panther Cycles"...my internal search function has been busy. I have no way of knowing who or even from where these searches originated, but the phrases used were precise wordings, and seemed to revolve around Cassiopeia, the child that the Panther had dreamed of having with me.

I like a mystery, it keeps my mind active and alive. Not ready for the worms, yet.

Great response on AuthorsDen to two new erotic poems (links included):

genii I previously posted here, this poem was inspired by a past lover's insistence on calling me her "Genie" - personally I prefer the spelling Genji, but that confuses people - it's nice to have a reputation as a miracle worker.

Feral With Desire A subtle little work that opens with the line "I want to enter you..." that was goaded from me when Tag indicated he thought "genii" was predictable.

Check them out, if you would...it's the week before Valentine's Day, for heaven's sake!