The Ronin wields a remarkable quill

I just received an email from the poet, with his designs, layouts and preliminary selections for this December's book release RONIN IN THE TEMPLE OF APHRODITE.

First, let me thank his longtime friend and poetic collaborator Daniel S. McTaggart for suggesting the title of the book, from the poem of the same name. It was like a catheter into his soul, allowing him to tap an element of his he had resisted for some time placing to page (the lost 8th Panther Cycle would have certainly been up for inclusion in this book had it survived self-immolation).

That having been said: I do not see how we can keep people from killing themselves after reading this book, starting with some ex-lovers (Hell, if I thought I had inspired any of these I'd probably open a vein). The poet is fond of saying that there are three emotional colors to the palette: Love, rage and fear. I think he just created a new one: Anguish.

There isn't fear, there isn't hatred, in this volume, there is just anguish. In the movie "Crossroads" a character says the blues "ain't nothing but a good man feeling bad because he can't be with the woman he loves"...well, then poetry has left the realm of rock and headed into the blues. I am speechless at some of the works...and the design of the book is intended to intensify the sensation of having had your soul sucked out.

It is the battlecry of a lost soul, a dishonored warrior. A massive battlecry, though not as gargantuan as THE COMPLEAT PANTHER CYCLES, it is by any scale a thick, dense, extraordinary volume. My guess, the MSRP will be in the mid to upper twenties.

The market for this book might be limited: Most people don't like dealing with pain (that's why so many people self-medicate), but the sense of ennoblement that comes from the emotional purity and integrity of these works is undeniable. I don't think he could have written this books thirty years ago. The talent was there, and there were sparks of this in poems of his like "Ravenlight" and "reflections on the razor's edge". But, he had to love and lose and fight and win and fight and fall and heal and mourn and laugh and cry and live and die and find the hollow spaces in his soul. A young man lacks the maturity, the experience, the wisdom. This will be his greatest book yet, a litmus test for the maturity of the marketplace, a statement of the maturity and certainty of the artist.

December 14, 2006, mark it on your calendar (It is the festival day in Japan where they honor the Akoroshi, the 47 samurai).

The Amomancer reveals himself the Ronin in the Temple of Aphrodite, that day. I'm jazzed. Now I have to get back to copyediting the damn book.

It it Saturday yet?

Well, it is almost noon on Friday and I have been remiss in blogging, sorry.

Slept in then had to go to the DMV (hey, even poets have cars).

This weekend I have THREE movies to catch up on (and I'll probably go to all of them without a date, horrors!): Superman Returns, An Inconvenient Truth and The Devil Wears Prada.

Say what you will, I have eclectic tastes.

I'll be more conversational this weekend...in the interim, take amongst yourselves...suggested topic: Is the current administration in Washington the most lawless and amoral since the Nixon Administration, or the most lawless and amoral ever?

Have fun.

Lesbian novelists and ten hour poetry readings

See if you can guess which song I have on loop in my iTunes playlist as I wrote this...the answer is at the bottom of the blog entry.

Everything is go. Okay, everything involving the next book is go. All the other stuff must fall into two-dimensional irrelevance for a season (my seasons run from thirty second to ten years in length, sort of like NBA last minutes)...speaking of the NBA...no one drafted Kevin Pittsnogle? Sigh. Morons.

Got a nice comment from Sage Sweetwater, a lesbian novelist peer of mine. Good writer (does it amaze anyone that I have so many bi and lesbian friends after the disaster of my second marriage? Not me. I don't think generification of people is sane...it's mindless, cowardly and wasteful...individuals are responsible for their own actions, not categories of people...) But anyway, if you have a chance, check out her works...solid.

I've voted for my choices for Big Brother All-Stars: Kaysar was first. I like the timbre of his character. Put at least one honorable soul in that soup of lunatics. He'll lose, that's because a mountain of mediocrity can bury any twenty carat diamond (but not the memory of it), but he'll acquit himself with dignity.

The response to "NQ" on MySpace has been so gratifying. Thank you, all.

I have approached a local bookstore about an "event" that has been on my backburner forever...the notion of a full read of "The Compleat Panther Cycles" (estimates run about ten hours of reading) as an event, staged with five minute hourly breaks, media blitz and an application to the Guinness Book of World Records (I say it would be for longest individual poetry reading, E.J. says it would be for most self-flagellating public performance by a 21st century literary figure...he is so fired...) We shall see how they feel about it, and if they decline, I'll go to another venue until I find the one with the vision.

Ready to guess what I've been listening to for the last ten minutes or so?

It's "Forever Your Girl" by Paula Abdul. Betcha didn't guess that one.

turned in 12 directions at once

Well, the site at MySpace is going gangbusters. I am delighted with the critical and personal-level response (even encountered some people I have not spoken with in years, from back in California, always gratifying).

I know I have been a bit quiet, of late, about my new book...101 GREAT EROTIC POEMS. But, if you recall, usually in the endtimes for all of my books, I get focused in on the project and withdraw, slightly, from the world. This is normal for me, I want this book to be as editorially perfect as its predecessor, 101 GREAT LOVE POEMS, and THE COMPLEAT PANTHER CYCLES. To me, those are the "package" books...the ones where it all came together.

E.J. has actually suggested a slogan of "It all comes together" for this book...sort of tongue in cheek (I asked "Whose tongue and in whose cheeks?"). It has been fun getting to put this together, while at the same time the mixed emotions it inspires helping me in assembling RONIN IN THE TEMPLE OF APHRODITE, what energy I have left goes into the podcasts, the music, the video (yes, I am working on a video) and, of course, the collaborative effort with Daniel S. McTaggart (author of MIDNIGHT MUSE IN A CONVENIENCE STORE) entitled PSALMS OF THE MONSTER RIVER CULT, which is actually a sort of sequel to THE MORGANTOWN SUITE POEMS.

Confused? You should be...I am in the eye of the storm and some days I am turned in twelve directions at once...and I love it. Roaring at the sky in the fiercest of windstorms, that is my place in this world.

The new SNAKES ON A PLANE trailer has surfaced

The trailer for "Snakes on a Plane" has been posted here. It's a little mainstream for my tastes, but it communicates the message.

Yes, Virginia, there are SNAKES ON A PLANE.

It is one of five movies left this summer that I plan to see. SUPERMAN RETURNS, PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN, CLERKS II, SNAKES ON A PLANE and AN INCONVENIENT TRUTH (it is just now, this weekend, finally getting to my area, I guess the rich, out of state controlled coal industry really cares more for their wallets than the survival of their children and grandchildren...)

Enough political riff. Once in a while you just need as escapist metaphor...like SNAKES ON A PLANE!

an inconvenient attraction

I have to thank everyone who is being so kind in their reviews of "NQ"...I was, also, very pleased with it.

I started training today...I've lost enough weight to start getting things back in order. I have a goal, and it is ambitious, but possible (and, if I put my oft-legend will to it, likely).

I am considering postponing my desired full read of TCPC until my birthday, to give me the focus I need to finish the book project before me, the 101 GREAT EROTIC POEMS.

I am feeling the gravitational pull of another body, a woman. It is so inconvenient, so untimely, and so welcome. I shall keep my dark countenance towards her, lest she perceives my interest. This will buy me more time to complete my Herculean labours. Too much to do, I burn the wick low, but I am content that it is best this way...the last several years were so wasted, a fortune in opportunity squandered.

Time to raise high the sky before I die.

Monday Morning Meander

My niece, Crystal, is returning to the area this week and she wrote and asked me when my next reading is, so she could be there (although a rabid listener to my weekly podcast show while she has been living in Austin, Texas, she has never actually seen me read, live).

I had to admit, with some embarrassment, that I don't have anything planned in July. I would like to have at least one, ideally the full-on read of the 'pcycles on the 18th, but that is not something I have yet arranged for. Maybe I need to get with the program and set it up...

I'll post info here as I get it.

The decision to post the raw audio of "NQ" on just MySpace has been, in my estimation, a success...so we shall see what I do in the future. I like having the cuts from THE LAST ROMANTIC VERB on there, and would not want to displace more than maybe one more track in the near future.

We shall see.

I want to get out and walk today, but we are under a violent thunderstorm watch. Sigh. Such is life.

Spent a great deal of time talking to my friend Anastacia yesterday...she's trying to fix me up with someone. Maybe she's tired of me getting into destructive relationships with emotionally disabled young woman as I arrogantly try to play Superman to the wounded birds who turn out to be kryptonite (in the crypt-tonight...there's a poem or ten in that). As neurotic impulsive complexes go, the Superman complex at least helps others...I've saved a few lives and souls along the road. Yes, at a price to me...but in the end, is my safety, happiness and well-being more important than anyone else's?

I am not so arrogant to think I should stand aside while others suffer. In a recent poll, 74% of college age males said they would intervene to stop a rape in progress. Whether or not you believe that number...what about the 26% who would not? What kind of gutless, selfish, stupid jerks are we raising in this country?

Don Quixote is not only dead, we have pissed on his corpse and made a sitcom about his stupidity.

David Bowie says in his song "Somebody Up There Likes Me" - "Was a way when we were young that any man was judged by what he'd done...now we pick them on the screen by what they look like and where they've been."

Dead on, Ziggy. Dead on. That's why we have a coked-out frat boy in the White House who will be on the board of every major oil company when he retires, as thanks for the billions of dollars they are raping from the public while sending our children to die in Iraq, instead of some guy who comes across as a little too smug and self-righteous, but actually gives a damn about something other than his personal fortune (Al Gore).

We get the government we perversely deserve. We don't care about the kind of world we leave to our children and our grandchildren. That's why I think the 26% is high. No one seems in a hurry to intervene in this rape.

The Podcast is Up...the Nosferatu grins

The new podcast is up at Radio City of Legends...it features my new recording "NQ", which is a percussive blending of my poem "The Nosferatu's Quandry" with some dead-on licks from the Gods of Love. Very nice.

If you want just the raw recording, sans the whole show, you'll have to jack it over at MySpace.

a worthy golem moment: NQ

"and it was nothing.
compared to a single, honest kiss.
but it was,
in the absence of passion,
a worthy golem in the armies of solitude
up
on the cliffs
where I still dance with the winds.
and call the thunder.
even when no one watches.
or cares
or dares
to dance along.
(for that is my nature.)"

Those are the final words in my poem "I rained poetry".

This morning, I had a "worthy golem" moment as I crafted, alog with the assistance of E.J. and the Gods of Love, a new single, "NQ", which is a dance-flavoured percussive reading of "The Nosferatu's Quandry"...I've posted it to MySpace at William F. DeVault and the Gods of Love ...so, enjoi.

a ten hour reading of TCPC?

Weird night, strange dreams (not bad dreams, just what part of my preconscious threw an armadillo on a skateboard, SpiderMan and Eva Longoria into a storyline together?) Any weirder and I'll have to write a treatment for David Lynch (I can see it now, Rikki Lake will play Eva...Spiey will be tortured by repressed memories...the armadillo is not what he seems)

"The Nosferatu's Quandry" has fueled a new musical piece...I hope to have it polished enough for tonight's podcast, we shall see.

I have been out, pimping, on MySpace...the slices are getting a listen and I am slowly building up contacts. Even Nordette acknowledges me now... :-)

Got a nice, long email from Peri, giving me the inside intel on what to expect when I come out for her wedding...I'm ready. Okay, I'm not, but time will have to be appeased...

Just go through reading through some stuff by my friend Kira...she has remarkable promise as a poet, just needs to go through the burn-off stage (she's quite young...how young? a decade too young for me, and I'm pretty omnivorous when it comes to age...besides, she looks ta me with that "You're older trhan my Dad" look, which just is not a turn on...) What's the burn off stage? That's where you learn what you want the world to see and burn away the rest...let the heat of your own creativity give you the power to pitch what is worthless to you.

It's short notice, but I'd love to do a full reading of THE COMPLEAT PANTHER CYCLES on July 18th, as a PR stunt. E.J. estimates it would take 10 hours to do the full read. I see it as a five minute break every hour, and just going for the full book...might get some bookstore a little attention...maybe I should pimp the idea to Chanda at B&N, or just hang it to dangle in front of a local indie store.

in the ether

Well, so far I have many listens to the clips I attached to my "musician" site at MySpace, and have acquired three "friends"...

the incredible Nordette Adams

the enchanting musical act from Fairmont, Sugarcamp, whom I have both heard perform and hung with some members of

and a strange and marvelous band I encountered named Shattered Hand, from Morgantown, with a great sound and feel to them (and who said nice things about my pieces)...

so far, so good.

Hey, also got word from Peri, thanking me for the birthday package...nice to hear from her, but sometimes it just reminds me how much I miss her.

I want my PTV

I just took back over the day to day operations of my newsletter, too many typos lately...nothing against E.J...it just isn't his reputation on the line.

The MySpace page for "William F. DeVault and the Gods of Love" is getting some initial attention. I'm not pimping it out, and I'm not pimping it in a major sense. It's there and that's fine. If two people check it out, that's two people who wouldn't have even known about me, perhaps.

I'm in the studio this weekend, because I have no life, working on my latest insane project.

What could be more insane than a book of blatantly erotic poetry or a CD of poetry-music fusions or a reading to promote an encyclopedia I do not appear in?

That's right...a music video.

Huh?

Yeah, well...I've been experimenting and have narrowed it down to a handfull of potential candidates for the actual piece...front runner is "From Out of the City" as that allows me to get political. But I am thinking about all possible recordings, even considering doing a new one just for the video, but it might make more sense to promote the CD.

If you want to suggest a particuler recording or work, let me know.

The musician site at MySpace

Okay, I just helped get this up and running...it's the musician site for William F. DeVault and the Gods of Love at MySpace, the link is right here.

No, I am not kidding. He's set up three tracks from THE LAST ROMANTIC VERB, uploaded some interesting photos and announced, finally, officially, what we already knew: World domination is his goal.

I get Tahiti.

I know he's already promised Australia to Tag (although he might withdraw that offer if a leggy Aussie lass asked sweetly), and I think he gave some woman he met in LA a major slice of Northern Europe for one magical, sweaty weekend. He's so easy.

The other duchies are up for grabs, I suppose.

So, if you are on MySpace and like the poet, or just want to stake your claim early, check out his site and be a friend or fan.

The first poet rock star. That was predicted a few years ago...who knew?

the poet as nosferatu

It's the blasted horse latitudes, that sense of drifting, without a wind to go with or tack against. Always a little frustrating.

Usually, in the aftermath of a tour, or even a single reading, it is problematic. I usually plan a daisy chain of events to avoid this sense of awkwardness, this sense of drift. If I am the sort of person who overcommits, it is because I, like nature, abhor a vacuum. There has to be flow, into or out of me. Boredom has always been a problem for me (I was fine, for a time, in Mississippi, until I became a simulacrum for others, with no sense of self, playing a role where I was actually proxy for others. It was not a fun existence, I welcomed the validation of an escape, despite my personal losses).

Morgantown has my family and a lot of personal connections, but the limited spectrum here, expecially during the summer, is disturbing. To someone used to this pace, waiting a week or two for a "major event" is fine. To someone used to major events on the hour, it is numbingly slow. Eventually, one runs out of output and requires input.

You can only love for so long before you need to hear "I love you" once again. I am not God, my well of patience and charitable love extends only as deep as my core, which is not infinite. As my old friend Dave used to say: "Everybody does what they do for a payoff". Eventually, the sense of nobility, even superiority, lent by being the romantic wears thin. The emotional batteries drain.

Deep down, all creative artists are nosferatu, the undead, we feed on the life around us to find the energy to rise from our crypts and walk amongst mortals. That I have chosen not to indisciminately feed, as I did in Los Angles right after my first divorce, taking every offered neck, is a good thing, but eventually the hunger gets to you and you must chose to be like the David Bowie character in "The Hunger" and be trapped forever hungering in a shell that has lost the ability to seek sustenance, or surrender to the hunger and feed like Lestat, uncaring of the moral consequences of the predation. I have always sought the middle road, where a healthy and synergistic relationship both feeds and is fed by me, and perhaps it is, in the words of my poem "glass roses" out there...but the night grows long and the hunger grows deep.

Sooner or later, I feed or wither.

the nosferatu's quandry

The night grows long, the hunger deep,
I can feel it in me, as I sleep,
a hollow womb of poisoned thought
that floods with passions scattershot.
That I might rise to walk the trail
where lovers strive and lovers fail
will not be left to destiny,
castoff, aloft, to plummet free
and gather speed and gather seed
and, in the end, to gather need
to blight the night with crippling pain
until I dare to feed again.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

I can say no more

Intrigued by a suggestion by a musician friend that we should do a live gig, with my readings and his musicianship, I am pondering the possibilities. In the interim I am hammering out next week's podcast...which will include music...I can say no more.

MySpace...yawn

Yes, I'm late blogging this morning. I slept in...feeling a bit under the weather today. Nothing major, I am human.

Went ahead and signed back up with MySpace...five minutes later I realized why I'd left in the first place. It's like a virtual theme park for ADD children. Even those claiming to be "adults" (many, it is glaringly obvious that since anyone with the click of a button can claim to be over 18, are just sandbagging) on there seem determined to compete to see who can make the most screechingly unviewable profile, with a visual and audio clutter of dreck. It's tiresome, like a small, yappy dog that nips at your heels.

I'll leave my profile up for a few days before I decide it just is a total snore...and leave it to the sexual predators.

Wrote some good stuff yesterday, I am quite pleased. It's all in the inspiration and I am tapping into some new material...don't worry, 101 GREAT EROTIC POEMS is still on track. I'm just in a wedge hiatus, where I chose to put it aside for a few days while I work on other things.

Several have contacted me to say I sound really down on myself over the reading the other night. I always hate my readings. I wasn't as sharp as I could have been, but that reflected a) the venue (bookstores are not as much fun as cafes and clubs), b) the audience (nothing meant offensive, I just did not have a point of focus in the crowd) and c) I just wasn't feeling it. Next time I will do better, I promise, and I will still be hypercritical of my performance, I promise as well.

You don't get to heaven without some self-examination.

a random encounter with an old buddy

Had a random meeting with Bobb Cotter this morning, just ran into him at the store. He's the author of the book "The Mexican Masked Wrestler and Monster Filmography" which, in this age of the film "Nacho Libre" should be going gangbusters (if he lived in a larger media market, he'd be gold, let's face it). Bobb and I go way back to when he was the back-up artist on my pulp magazine "Vengeance and the Death Squad".

We both had concerns about the narrow focus of the local media market and want to give it one last, insane try before washing our hands of our hometown as homebase. I know that the allure of LA will not be lost on me when I step onto Venice Boulevard, have some rose ice cream and walk into the high desert at Joshua Tree to bathe in the ions and sharp sands of the Santa Ana Winds, E.J. has it on even money that I don't even get on the plane to come back. I refuse to take that bet, I'm no fool.

Of course, we're both overlooking the obvious; that in these days, you can homebase anywhere if you exploit the web...and while most of my books are sold elsewhere, most of my subscribers to my newsletter and my podcasts never have even been to Morgantown, it still is crippling to not have a vibrant and dynamic arts community locally for moral support.

Reading circles are no substitute for the Algonquin circle of writers. When I hear the members of local writers' groups discussing books they've read rather than books they are writing, I wonder if they know what writers do...

Add to that the sense on the part of local media that "nothing good can come out of Nazareth" so artists, musicians and writers with a local connection are discounted.

Time to flex some muscle.

aftermath of WV Day

Bleah. Urk. Is it morning?

Not dazzled by the reading - book signing last night. It's hard to feel energized when you can find a larger audience sitting around the table at an Olive Garden. (Which, the second day of their "grand opening" in Morgantown got more press than the presence of all four writers yesterday in the local media...priorities is weird...) Nobody's fault, just these things happen. I miss my LA audiences.

To add to that, I was flat. Undeniably flat (you can go to another blog now, I always hate my appearances, though I am going to vent it this time...this is just self-flagellation, you may find it boring). I did not use the space I had, I was rigid, monotone, in the words of one audience member "laid back". Aigh. I didn't have a key person to reflect off of and, in the absence of that, I know how it goes, but that doesn't mean I have a good excuse. I should stand or fall on my own merits as an author and a performer.

Okay, enough rough stuff. This out of the way I can get engaged on finishing up the edits for 101 GREAT EROTIC POEMS.

winding down

The reading / signing went well, not as nice of a turnout as I would have liked, but I can't control that. We sold a few books.

Hey, Kate, I figured since I told you that you didn't need to check my blog, you would. Nice to see you here. Yes, I find you fascinating, but I'm not going to wreck a budding friendship by getting all guy about it. Relax, read a good book.

Chanda, thanks for the opportunity...don't beat yourself up over media failures...we'll work together to make things work smoother.

Cheryl Denise, great, as always to work with you. Dan, good to see you again. Bob, hope you weren't too bored.

Well, time to unwind, then to watch this week's episode of "Rescue Me".

PTC disapproves of "Rescue Me"

I see where last week's episode of "Rescue Me" was named the Worst TV Content for the week by the Parents Television Council.

So, parents, don't let your kids watch it at 10 pm on FX. Me, I love the show...characters who are actually more inept at life than I am. You know, human beings, not the sanitized mockeries of life some would have us misrepresent as adult life.

For more information on this honor, including the details that got them the award, check out this link.

And don't let your kids go to that page either, they give graphic language and sexual descriptions, unsuitable for kids, as they detail the sins of the writers, producers, and actors. I'd give the details here, but as a responsible parent, I don't put such language on my website for kids to read.

Heh.

Erotic Poetry in Mountaineer Country

Today is the day of the signing. Sigh. I note with no startled disappointment that, despite Barnes & Noble's best efforts, there has been no mention of any of the 4 authors who are appearing today at their store in honor of West Virginia Day and to help promote the West Virginia Encyclopedia, in the local media. Ah, well.

If you haven't been around me during the prep for a read, I'm not an easy person to get along with...I go inward, flip to feral, turn myself inside out and wait for the moment. This will be an unusual read in that it will be with people I largely I have worked with before. Cheryl Denise, the charming and lovely author of the book I SAW GOD DANCING will precede me, Tag is supposed to be there, and even the admirably crushable Kate will be working the counter at Starbucks to make me my iced tea the way I like it (strong, unsweet, and served by a brilliant and beautiful woman). Add to this the legions of people who have predicted their intent to be there, I am hoping for a mob scene, I'll be happy if they sell some books.

As I woke this morning, I stayed in bed for a few minutes (normally I avoid this, as it is just a reminder of the lack of other heat sources under the comforter) and opened a few mental channels I normally only open on appearance days. I used to "wear the poet" all the time, and would still, but Morgantown, West Virginia, is not the place to be me, it never was and never will be...I learned my lesson, survival is for the cunning. A disguise is always useful. I still think the same way, believe the same things, my thought cadences come in rhythm and rhymed words. Don't get me wrong, the vast majority of locals are great, intelligent and kind people. There are just enough yahoos to make it inopportune to be too easily singled out.

I put up one of the previously unreleased poems from 101 GREAT EROTIC POEMS on AuthorsDen, this morning. Call it a whim. The name of the poem is "The Texture of Your Tongue" and you can read it here. Please note, although I rated it R...it is, conceptually a hard-R poem, being about fellatio. Erotic poetry, remember? Yes, hello? This is not a children's book...

Sheesh.

Good news, the spelling checker here on Blogspot did recognize "fellatio"...but it had issues with Morgantown, Starbucks and "sheesh".

I repeat. Sheesh.

To Do List for the rest of 2006

Seven things to do before year's end:

1. Attend Peri's wedding (Hey, isn't that the reason Dads exist?)
2. Stand in the full force of the Santa Ana winds (I need the recharge)
3. Fall in love (Sooner or later, the hunting cat will prowl and growl and howl, sooner would be nice)
4. Put out 101 GREAT EROTIC POEMS (That might impact #4)
5. Put out RONIN IN THE TEMPLE OF APHRODITE (I could do it as a seven book set right now, so much material)
6. Another 50 pounds gone, start running (Looking good on track for this.)
7. Write something immortal, profound and eloquent. Then, do better. (Nuff said)

the necessity of evolution

As my emotional temperature rises, like the arcane runes on the One Ring in "The Lord of the Rings", things bubble to the surface, emotions usually kept under lock and key and beneath tons of debris. When you drain the pond, it's hard to not get some of the sedimentary sentiments.

It makes for interesting dreams and strange epiphanies late at night, when you are working away on projects that require either a concentration on the amomantic scriptures of a life, or the connection with the raw emotional stock of the soul.

Someone wrote and asked if I was going to re-enact "the Topanga Run" when in LA this fall for my daughter's wedding.

In a word, "No". Not in a rental car and certainly not at a time when much could be read into it. Besides, I have nothing, at this time, to test regarding my survival instincts. I have no doubt but that I am either going to go the distance, or sacrifice myself out of necessity, probably for someone who won't really care (twisted laugh) but I don't do what I do for the applause.

Somewhere along the way, we became too selfish a culture to note that the individual is not the most essential element in society. Just as I stand by my statement that an atheist cannot completely understand love, as they have no absolute model of it to integrate into their emotional worldview, I also question whether or not someone lacking a model of self-sacrifice for the greater good, even in the face of ignorant hostility, could understand it.

We need, as a people, as a culture, as a world, to evolve. The difficulties that lie ahead require strength of purpose, clarity of mind and dedication of heart. And that's just the mid-term elections. God help us when global warming wreaks the havoc we are damning our children and grandchildren to in avarice and cowardice. When new political and cultural forces arise and arrive.

Caffeine. I need caffeine. Well, not as much as a good woman, but the need is more immediate and the fulfillment more likely.

::sigh::

The Podcast is Up and Kicking

Well, the Podcast is up at Radio City of Legends. I did a tribute to West Virginia Day, reading selected pieces from my book THE MORGANTOWN SUITE POEMS.

I chose a broad swath of works, from "I will walk these streets, again" to "Matthew 10:14", "PK", "For C." and, of course, "First Date Blues". I think it was a fun show, so check it out if you have a chance...

Father's Day has come and gone, I heard from one of my children, at least, which is better than most years, and probably better than I deserve. No, not self-pitying...I wish I had been more the traditional father to my children. They are remarkable individuals in their own rights, and as long as they are happy, healthy and safe, I have few complaints. Being a parent isn't about you, it's about them.

Two days until the read, I can feel myself starting to get wound up...

strange but beautiful

(ever have a vision so abstract you didn't understand it, but could yet express it?)

strange but beautiful
the arc of the lark, a curve of unswerving passion
fashioned in jasmine and honeysuckle wreaths
to stop the nosferatu's teeth
from more than a taste
from laying waste
to what, in haste, was imagined love
and some immortal dream of joy
that mirrored what I'd seen in the sun's cleft,
or so I imagined, in hope God had left,
but it came from blood
not the ether that folds cold memory
into the shrouds of distant stars
the better to bind noble scars
strange but beautiful

strange but beautiful
I can sense your presence
but I cannot ken the vector of your approach
and like Hector, I cannot fight
what I cannot touch in the light
swinging blind against the walls
as I kick against the pricks
I would place palms to cool stone walls
and wait your arrival, eyes shut to silence
the shadows of the fires
the shadows of desires
that would blacken flesh and bone
and drag me to the precipice
to dance for the fates my amomancies
strange but beautiful


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

William F. DeVault in 4-D sound and full color

Hey, you'd be amazed what you can find, knowing what I know, being where I've been and talking to those who either, out of rage or shyness, don't speak with the poet.

For instance, if the only place you ever see William F. DeVault is here, you probably have not encountered the picture at left, which is the one we recently put up at his profile and store at lulu.com, where you can buy several of his books, as well as his CD.

I'd drop by, if I were you. It's not the most glorious site for his works, but you get to see his range there, and the picture is visually interesting. It's very recent, although he has since taken the mustache off.

If your thing is his voice, either musically or his "naked" readings, there are many, many hours of him, not only at his Radio City of Legends page, but also at the remarkable archive.org, which is where the majority of his files are stored and available in multiple formats for listening and downloading.

And, of course, let's not forget AuthorsDen where he often Easter Eggs poems and stories and essays not available anyplace else!

The WikiPedia has a nice page about the poet at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_F._DeVault. Authoritative and mostly accurate, although I note they do not have any sexual anecdotes about him there, so how much fun can it be?

If you are into that sort of thing, the Annie Merner Pfeiffer Library at West Virginia Wesleyan College, where he did not attend and has never even been invited to read, has a page about him here. If you are doing a report on the poet/author/cult figure, it pays to have citations. Note that no school where he actually attended has ever made tribute to him, his high school (Morgantown High School, Morgantown, West Virginia) even misplaced a shaipment of books he sent for an entire graduating class one year.

There's only a handful of quotes from him on the web's best site for interesting quotations, BrainyQuote.com, but they did get his ironic "A quote is just a tattoo on the tongue" right, so I'm in for them.

And, finally, as if you didn't already know, we have The City of Legends which is his official site, and can take hours, if not days, to fully explore.

Happy Father's Day

Well, it is Father's Day. Congratulations to those millions (billions?!) of men around the world who have, each in their own way, been fathers (and if you are not actively involved in the lives of your children, shame on you).

My father has played a major role in my development. I love him. He's a great guy with a grace in dealing with people, even strangers, that taught me a lot about dealing with the world. He taught me my love of literature and mythology. He has a poster from one of my readings hanging on the wall of his den. My books are on his bookshelf. My Mom may not be sure what to make of me or my poetry, Dad just accepts the fact that people buy my books and show up for my readings and signings.

My poem "Autumnal Memory" is about the effect he always had on the girls I dated...I'd bring one home and as we left, she'd always turn to me and say "I love your Dad".

Autumnal Memory

the smell of burning leaves
always reminds me of my father.
a good man. honest and kind.
all my girlfriends who ever met him
fell in love with him.
but I saw him first.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

He's 83 years old now, but he is still outside every day the weather allows, weeding his garden, pruning his roses, driving around the yard in his Ladybug-shaped yard tractor. He takes more naps, but that's okay. He always was a napper. He used to volunteer to put me and my older brother Robert down for our naps, so he'd have an excuse to grab a quick catnap (often with us still awake, slipping out of bed and getting into mischief).

So, here's to Dads, everywhere. I'm not a great one, though my intentions are good and my skills getting stronger, and I respect any guy with the backbone to actually do the job.

for Kate

Why is it when someone whom I think doesn't even notice me makes an issue of my absence it feels good on some levels...sort of the reverse of being ignored by a lover, a pleasant "not taking for granted"?

This is for Kate, who noted my absence:

So you told me I had been gone too long.
Do you know how that made me feel?
A sense of being missed, a twist of light in the surreal.
So thanks you for your furrowed brow
and that pouty bit of scolding
it's nice to know, where ere I go, my life is not yet colding.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

peckish hearts and eyes

what sly and sinister thoughts
linger behind that smile?
whiling away their hours
collecting their powers
to charm a mortal man
to his doomed delight.
a light on a cliff
guiding him to a safe harbour
if he is wise enough
to follow the source
with a discerning eye,
to make his journey safe
and, ultimately,
worth the odyssey
from the desert of the cold seas
into arms that share epiphany.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

This piece was inspired by a picture linked to me by a site editor who had writ to express her approval of my blog.

Thanks, Diana. The inspiration of your smile was quite pleasant.

dreams of a strange but charming week

I think I shall go out and get some sunshine. Those of you who know me, will understand. Those who don't...don't matter.

Strange dreams almost every night this week. Last night, I dreamt I went by my old high school to pick up my ex wife, who for some reason was a student again. I drove her to the apartment she and her mother were sharing, and we spoke obliquely of many things, I dropped her off and she invited me in, but in the construction going on, I lost her...the construction was odd, but in the context of the conversation I had just had with her, it made perfect sense. I think I answered some of my own questions, and thus gained resolution.

Earlier in the week, in another dream, a kiwi (the bird, not the fruit) was sighted in the front yard. I caught it by hand and brought in indoors, where it proceeded to explore the house with reckless curiosity. At length we came to an understanding. Again, I think it was a preconscious attempt at resolving some inner questions, I just have yet to figure out who or what the kiwi represented. I am predisposed to think it is Alisha, but it could be a new element (there is this certain young woman of my acquaintance...perhaps she is rising in my thoughts).

In any case, I need to look to my writings, edits and the show this weekend, if for no other reason than to take my mind off of Tuesday's reading.

Bizarre conversation for the week: A friend asked me about a female acquaintance of mine, what I thought of her. I told him she was very nice, but had the unfortunate problem of being :::way::: too young for me. He looked at me like I was crazy and said "Wait for her birthday" in a matter of fact tone that told me he thinks i am looking at things way too seriously.

I have always taken matters of that sort very, very seriously. It is one of my greatest strengths and one of my greatest weaknesses. I am the Amomancer, after all.

I missed a day?

What? I didn't post a blog entry yesterday? I must be slipping!

Actually, between all the projects I have going, I just got distracted. Yeah, you know, projects. Poetry readings, books, podcasts, the CDs, artistic collaborations, blondes, brunettes and redheads.

Yeah, well, such is life. I'm a little over-extended and showing no sign of folding back against the flow, so it is just a matter of pushing through and getting some of the projects completed and off the table then resisting the temptation to add new "to-do" items to the mix.

It sounds like half the planet is planning to show up for my appearance on Tuesday at Barnes & Noble. Good. I need a good jolt to get the energy back.

Caffeine. Proof of a benign and loving Almighty. Thanks.

cleaning up the radio

After a brief and furious exchange of long-distance emails, it has been determined that my next purpose in life is to reorganize the "Radio Page" at www.cityoflegends.com so that the poet feels it is more "user friendly" and less cluttered.

He's right, if you take a look here you will see where there is a great many, too many, soundfiles available...hours and hours of recordings of the poet and his friends. It is a bit overwhelming and cluttered.

So, if you have a favourite recording (or just haven't gotten around to the older ones) you might want to download it/them now, as some will inevitably end up on the scrap heap.

Sorry, we're just trying to tighten up and focus in.

I, personally, think it's the damn testosterone kicking in. He's grouchy.

The Return of the Testosterone

As the new training regimen persists and succeeds, I am entering that phase that several friends who have experienced significant weight loss had warned me about: the return of the testosterone.

It's pretty profound. Having been substantially super-sized for the last several years (after a youth of feckless slenderness that I took for granted) I know the physiological explanations for the reduction of the big-T.

Now I'm dropping ballast like a nuclear submarine with a reactor leak. And suddenly: I can feel the testosterone in my veins, sort of like a junkie as he depresses the syringe plunger and feels the cool liquid fire of the smack.

Things taste different, I react differently to sounds and smells and textures. And hugs from pretty girls. Oh yeah, hugs from pretty girls. And the way a woman smells (can I get a "Hoo-hah" from Al Pacino in the back row?). And the way the light plays over her face in the sunlight. And the sway when she walks. And the music of her voice. I better shut up now...

I can see it now as a movie: Viggo Mortensen as the testosterone ("return of the testosterone", get it?).

But seriously, my delight with the diet, which is known in the media as The Paleo Diet, is great. Look out world, the dragon is back. Look for some changes.

I remembered yesterday, for the first time in years, what my other nickname was when I was a manager at CACI. The most common nickname was "the Assassin", as I was called in when someone needed fired and I was to take their place. My presence on your project site usually meant you could clean out your desk now.

The other nickname was "the Smiling Bastard". It was for much the same reason, but there was a certain flair to that nickname. I am a good natured person and one of the least bastardly people you'll meet, and my parents were married when I was conceived and born. But my tendency to smile under stress sometimes made people think I was taking cruel pleasure in being the angel of death for careers.

Thus the name.

The truth about the Mosquito Ringtone

The "Mosquito ringtone"...what a rip.

They tell teenagers that if they download your tone, they will be able to have their phones ring without adults hearing it.

Hey, kids...I checked three different versions: I heard all three. I have above-average hearing, but I'm unconvinced that this is anything other than some idiot journalist needing a "now" story who bought into some marketing company's exploitive drivel, like the guys who were selling anti-bacterial soap as a defense against AIDS (AIDS is caused by a virus, and usually stupid or incautious people, not a bacteria).

One of the samples was so loud I had to rip my headphones off...it was painfully loud.

The laugh's on the kids who are now on marketing lists and/or paid money to download a worthless ringtone and are gonna get busted out anyway. But the shame is on the sloppy journalists and the dishonest marketers taking advantage of the unsophisticated consumer skills of teenagers.

June 14th

A very personal note: Happy Birthday, Leopard. I hope you have stayed strong. I am proud of you. You are in my thoughts and prayers today.

Getting juiced for next week's appearance. I have selected the flavour. The demon is back (see photo, left).

I have shifted much of my online resources to focus on Venice, California, where my heart still largely resides and where my return is inevitable (barring love or money. no, barring love. money doesn't stop me, it just slows me. love can stop me, always.)

New works I am percolating: "The Grand Cotillion" and "Addicts Have Soft Skin" - it will all be revealed in time and both are probably destined for RONIN IN THE TEMPLE OF APHRODITE.

Donald Hall is the New US Poet Laureate

Congratulations are in order to Donald Hall, the intense and emotionally gratifying master of the projective form and former Poet Laureate of New Hampshire, who has been named the new US Poet Laureate.

While I have, on occasion, admitted to not always being delighted in Mr. Hall's work, he is the only poet living whom I have made tribute to, in my poem "I rained poetry" which was based on stylistic impressions from his works and has become a mainstay of my reading appearances.

Congratulations, Donald, give 'em something to chew on.

I reprint, here, my piece of tribute to him:

I rained poetry

there is no fear on the edge:
joy.

joy is what I find in the instants
between moments
when my feet are touching nothing but
sky
and the rocks recede
to return.
sooner or later.
driven by grave gravity
and the intemperate nature of natural law.
but
in the brisant moment,
leaping from
precipice to precipice,
I am reborn,
triggered and transfigured.

worn away are the chains of
the pains of
the stains of
mortal mediocrity
and I -
I am one with the clouds.

and I rain poetry.
(for that is my nature.)

as you turn your face skyward
to catch a few drops
on a tongue parched
by the dry air of memory
and the sun of shallow sentiments,
sold in the Hallmark rack
in the name of mass seduction.

and I rain poetry.

to irrigate the fields of forever
and make them ready for the seeds
planted without your realizing it
when you waved to me
as I ran the cliffs
high above the plains of stale acceptance.
and danced.
and danced.
and danced like a hurricane.
at the thought of you,
naked in the rain.

and I rained poetry.

bringing the thunder at the appropriate moment
when all other senses were spent
and only sound could
penetrate

the wet shell of overloaded synapses.
what passes for the echo
of fire that surged
and purged
the very ions of our irony.

and I rained poetry.

calling the winds to lift me.
to gift me with the words
that you would carry,
eroded into your sandstone soul.
nevermore the monolith,
but an aggregate of your essence
with flecks of my pitchblende.
bound to you by eloquence
that quenched an ancient thirst,
cursed to you
in a garden you will never see
except in the mirages of the maelstrom.

and I rained poetry.

and it was nothing.
compared to a single, honest kiss.
but it was,
in the absence of passion,
a worthy golem in the armies of solitude
up
on the cliffs
where I still dance with the winds.
and call the thunder.
even when no one watches.
or cares
or dares
to dance along.
(for that is my nature.)

William F. DeVault (all rights reserved)

the grand cotillion: a prelude in prose

I received two very different emails last night, on the same topic.

The first was from an old friend, wondering if my references to "leggy Lit majors" was a heralding of a new muse. The other was from a friend of more recent vintage, but no less respected, taking me to the shed as she felt that my references to such were destroying my ability to cultivate a romantic relationship on the web.

To the first: No.

To the second, I understand your point and respect it, but anyone who is going to end up with me has to understand my chaotic sense of humour and if they are not able to laugh along, it would probably be a short-lived romance, anyway, and I am not looking for those situations. Besides, having seen the massive levels of dishonestly ladled by persons on the web, I am not quite ready to commit to finding a lover/muse/goddess in virtual space (and, no neophyte I, I have been involved with many women what I first encountered on the far side of a microprocessor...)

Love is chemical to me. Like Ellen Barkin in "Sea of Love"...I believe in the ::snap::. You either have it or you don't. I have had women fall in love with me as a writer, but in the real world find me someone unsuited to daily wear. And I have had those who adored the man, hated the poet. The truth is, it would be difficult for anyone unable or unwilling to embrace both spheres to be with me.

I am mercurial, obsessive, hypersexual, aggressive and intellectually curious. I am also passionate, affectionate, loyal, dependable and resourceful with a hyperkinetic sense of humour. I believe in love. I just believe I have either mangled it several times, or have had a run of bad luck selecting (or allowing myself to be selected as) partners for the grand cotillion (which sounds like a great idea for a poem...so be it).

I don't drink, I don't do recreational drugs and have come to realize that a habit I had in the past of being intellectually dishonest was a side effect of having to keep too many secrets and cover too many asses. Don't ask me to lie for you, over and over again, then tell me you think I am a liar. That's hypocrisy. Another vice I loathe. I make my lovers immortal icons in a grand chess game of the heart. And, yes, I would like to find my queen.

And no, she does not have to be a leggy Lit major. But she does need to be able to make me go "Wow!" on as many levels as possible and deal with a man with feet firmly planted in many spheres and whom is planning to take the facets of his life, in the near term, and reassemble many things he had left dormant.

I have actually met a few who would qualify for this. Most are already taken. Some are in places and nooks and crannies of my life where further exploration would be a minefield and without indication of reciprocal attentions, I will not go. I do not go where I am uninvited (I learned that from Count Dracula and even he came to a bad end). I will not bring into my life someone so frail as to be dusted by the fires and shattered by the cold where I go in my emotions and my writings.

And, if that means I sleep alone until the end of my life, I can live with that.

on reflection

Just eight days until the B&N read...I am still undecided as to the exact pieces, but I will work it out.

Odd day today, people I have seen a hundred times and have never initiated a conversation with me, did today. I wonder what was different about me?

The books are coming in focus, got a shipment of the CD today...Peri is back in my life. Life is pretty good.

The Naked Reads surface

I slept until 6:30 this morning...I feel positively lazy.

Don't let E.J. fool you, Claire. He contacted me and asked the significance of your name...I'm the George Gordon, Lord Byron, jock around here...I even gave him the Allegra bit (that'll teach him to try and come off more literate than he really is).

The podcast is up! Check out this week's show, entitled The Naked Reads.

These are ten works that I recorded last fall at Studio A in Morgantown, under the watchful eye and ear of Alan MacDonald, whoe help was instrumental in convincing me that a podcast was viable. I'm calling these naked reads as they are not filtered, accompanied or altered in any form, you can even hear me turning the pages as I read.

No, I wasn't naked for the reads! I only read naked for very select audiences. Audiences of one. And in those circumstances, I usually do more than read.

Later, all. My circadian rhythms are going hob on me.

leggy lit majors and...aw hell, what else do you need?

I was just up at Barnes & Noble in Morgantown, taking in the scenery, and I did check to see if my books are in for next week's event...they are.

By the way, if you live in or near Morgantown, West Virginia, or attend West Virginia University (WVU) you should come by next Tuesday, June 20th, in the late afternoon or early evening. They'll be having several noteworthy writers of West Virginia extraction appearing...I'll be there from 7pm to 9pm, unless lured away by a leggy lit major wishing to show me her villanelles (in which case, all bets are off, but imagine the stuff I'd be writing if I found a good, solid, hypersexual muse right about now...)

Here's hoping the local radio stations like WAJR and WCLG and the local newspaper (The Dominion Post, for whom I was a paperboy in my youth and whose award-winning lensman, Rob Rittenhouse, shot the photo that is the cover to my book THE MORGANTOWN SUITE POEMS) give the event (on West Virginia Day, to announce the release of the "West Virginia Encyclopedia" which I am pretty certain I am not mentioned in, because, after all, how much fun would my life be if I ran out of heathens to convert? Okay, keep the heathens, find my that leggy lit major...) a proper play.

And buy the damn books. Those by me and by other "regional authors" who will be appearing. Yes, I despise being identified as a local or regional author, but it makes The Powers That Be (TPTB) happy and I always love giving TPTB some rope before I snap it back like a heavy gauge steel chain on a wayward puppy's collar. In the end, I know I am in charge of my own life and responsible for my own successes and failures (so far, enough of the first, surprisingly few of the latter, and working on unbalancing the load yet further). Arts Monongahela, for one, appreciates it when you buy THE MORGANTOWN SUITE POEMS...they make money off of it.

Word for the day: Mountaineer. I am just waiting for WVU to trademark that word, they seem trademark happy in claiming all sorts of phrases and terms as part of WVU's intellectual property. While they're up to their rumpled khakis in that, why don't they just trademark "West Virginia" and sue the state for using it?

Here's the list from their website:

The words "West Virginia University" *
The West Virginia University Flying "WV" graphic *
The West Virginia University Seal *
The West Virginia University Mountaineer graphic*
The initials "WVU" *
The initials "MDTV" *
The words "West Virginia"* (When used to refer to West Virginia University.)
The script "West Virginia" graphic **
The word "Mountaineers" *
The word "Mountaineer" **
The words "Let's Go Mountaineers!" **
The "Mountaineer Magic" graphic **
The interlocking "W" and "V" graphic **
The "100 Seasons" graphic **
The words "Spot the Ball" *
(* Denotes federally registered trademark and should be accompanied by ® trademark designation. ** Denotes state registered trademark or common law trademark and should be accompanied by the ™ trademark designation.)

Ooops, I was wrong...they do claim trademark to "West Virginia"...my bad.

So far I have only been arrogant enough to lay claim to "Romantic Poet of the Internet" and "Amomancer"...maybe I need a marching band. Or a leggy lit major. Wow, one track mind...

tip for tap for the librarian's lap

I was browsing my way through the web and encountered a catalog search for all California Public Libraries.

I searched on the poet's name and found two libraries that have books of his:

The Monterey County Free Library System

and

The San Jose Public Library.

I also checked in the state of Mississippi, and there are a few libraries down there that have his books. A couple in West Virginia (there should be more, but what can I say?), and I am still checking everywhere else.

The bottom lines are that a) That's not enough libraries b) Not enough incentive.

We'll work on "a" later, but for now, any library I find that holds one or more volumes of the poet's books in their catalog is going to get one or more free volumes to expand his collection on their shelves. This is nation-wide, people. So if you are a librarian, or you know a library with remarkable good taste, drop me a line at trojanhearse@cityoflegends.com and I'll add them to the list.

Meanwhile, I have to get these copies of THE COMPLEAT PANTHER CYCLES ready for mailing.

feedback to a naked poet

and this just in:

Last night I listed some key poems I wanted to include in the new CD. Well, the public has spoken!

a few addition pieces that are "must haves" for the next audio rendition of my works, according to some readers:

* tread softly
* theocricide at Mach 10e6
* pink jade: soft as dawn
* TRIUMPH

someone also write to make sure to include the "poem with the line 'I would peel back my own flesh
with raw fingertips to know again the texture of her lips'". Already done, that's from "Love is an Howing Beast" which is already slated for the disc.

just a notch beyond lightspeed

I just dropped E.J. a line to explain what I want him to start working on for the CD...

I want a single recording session, we'll clean it up in post-production.

I want a script of works to be read...at least three pieces from each book, and others besides.

I want the works to be identified by book in the liner notes.

I want no works done for THE LAST ROMANTIC VERB to be included in this reading (so we've eleiminated 33 of the 13,000-14,000 works available to me...)

I want a cover design that is stark, edgy and clean. Something like this (presuming we use AMOMANCER as the CD title):

It's a first draft mockup, but I like the intensity.

I am including certain pieces already as "extremely likely" for inclusion. These are:

* Cithara Song, strummed lightly as the sun leaps the horizon
* The Unicorns
* I rained poetry
* Footsteps in the Bell Tower
* Love is an Howling Beast
* Joining the Machine
* Love Gods of a Forgotten Religion
* rise
* Return to the Cliffs

All in all, if this is the entire list, I should be a drooling, gibbering shell by the end of the reading.

Sounds like fun.

nekkid poet? an amomancer, of course

Currently, AMOMANCER is leading the voting for the "naked" CD title.

I had a writing session with Dan McTaggart at the Books-A-Million near Morgantown...I wrote probably twenty pieces...this was the one that Tag liked best:

observation: the blonde with the well-tanned thighs

a slender heart-bender in cutoff shorts
sports hair that falls in disarray
as if windblown by an unknown storm god
angry that he was not assigned
as deity of her bedroom.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

I actually liked another piece better, but I'm saving it for now.

Tomorrow night, history will be made when I add another writer's book to my book at the City of Legends. We will be offering Daniel S. McTaggart's MIDNIGHT MUSE IN A CONVENIENCE STORE for $16.00, autographed and with free shipping.

we are our own collateral casualties

There are four reasons why I'm not out celebrating the death of Abu Musab al-Zarqawi. I will explain myself.

1) I don't celebrate death. I'm a Christian, we don't kill, especially for revenge. Since God and Jesus enacted the crucifixtion and resurrection as a means of instituting a new covenant, death is no longer synonymous with "justice". To hear men who have wrapped themselves in the label of self-professed faith and adherence to the teachings of Jesus rejoice in this killing makes as much sense as electing a pimp for Pope. It mau have been "necessary" but it wasn't moral.

2) Someone will take his place. You think al-Zarqawi was the only clever Muslim with a grudge against the United States? Wow. I'm speechless. Go back to school. Read a newspaper. Grow a brain stem.

3) The "WarGames" syndrome. In that old movie, a young boy, trying to steal software, almost causes the end of all life on this planet when he triggers a dormant personality in a wargaming computer. In the end he figures out how to defuse this armageddon (whose fuse he himself lit)...and is treated as a hero? Duh. We made, in some regards, many of the leaders of the terrorists, either through initially elevating them for our own purposes (and arming them), or engaging in such hypocrisies in our foreign policy that they got pissed and we became their "great Satan". It may not be fair, or right, for them to demonize us, but supposedly we have one or two fairly bright individuals at the helm who, in the past twenty, thirty, forty years might have seen this coming.

4) It has been widely reported that amongst the "collateral casualties" when we hit Abu Musab al-Zarqawi with our heavy munitions were two women and an 8 year old girl. I don't accept collateral casualties. Our unwillingness to kill women and children is supposed to be something that proves us better than the "bad guys". Don't think this won't be used by our enemies to demonize us further that, in our rush to kill one man (in strict non-adherence with our own religious principles) we killed women and a child. This will fuel vengeance, and the game starts again. If someone trying to asassinate a high US government official he had a grudge against stooped so low to kill women and children in the "kill shot", we would consider him a monster.

Yes, I think Abu Musab al-Zarqawi was guilty of at least most of the charges against him. Yes, given a choice between him and Ann Coulter as a dinner date, I might actually choose the latter. Not because she is less odious of a person, but, to be honest, I think she is prettier. And, I wouldn't have to worry about dinner being interrupted by a barrage of remotely-fired missiles killing me and everyone else in the restaurant.

No, my principles are not pragmatic, Christianity is not a practical religion, it is not geared towards preserving life in the flesh, but in the soul. And we risk becoming the very soulless monster our enemies call us in the name of rhetoric when we celebrate our hypocrisies.

five arms are not enough

::sigh::: I hate it when people have a spotty contact record. If you're going to correspond, correspond. If not...

That having been said, in a fit of pique.

It's Saturday. If you work the M-F shifts, the weekend; if you keep the Old Testament Sabbath - the Sabbath; otherwise, just a day.

One day I am going to complete a project, sit back and just relax for a while (hold it, that was my last relationship...). But this whole "finish one, start another" is just so natural. As I read it, I have a good half dozen or so balls in the air at once:

101 GREAT EROTIC POEMS

RONIN IN THE HOUSE OF APHRODITE

PSALMS OF THE MONSTER RIVER CULT (co-author)

unnamed CD project

WAR STORIES OF A BLOODLESS BATTLEFIELD (my anecdotes about my years in corporate America)

DIETY TECHNOLOGIES (my science-fiction novel I am finally finishing)

Yep, that's six. I wonder how many people have me in their dead pools?

no rest for the wicked

After an intense day's negotiating, based on an idea passed along by an old friend, I am going to be my usual overstepping self and announce that we are already beginning pre-production on the next CD. I've been very gratified with the reception that THE LAST ROMANTIC VERB has received and if you haven't already bought yourself a copy, I would suggest you need to do so now, so as to not seem tragically unhip.

The new CD, we're still fighting over the title, but the leading contenders (with comments) at this early date are:

NAKED (descriptive, evocative...)
DEIFIC AND ASCENDENT (how I often answer queries as to how I am...maybe too arrogant?)
IN VIOLATION OF THE GENEVA CONVENTION (strange suggestion, but it has a certain texture to it)
AMOMANCER (why quibble? this is an incantata)
SOLFERINO (There's already a mockup of a cover for this name!)
KAIROS OVER KRONOS (One of my best lines...)

Any suggestions? Votes? Ideas? The premise is a full-length CD of a cappella readings. No music, no sound effects, just the naked voice of the poet.

My issue with the concept is selfish. To do some of these works justice, I'm going to have to "go there" and anyone who was there that afternoon at the Fairhope Arts Center in 1997 knows what that does to me, I am torn apart and rebuilt...a bloody version of the legend of the phoenix. I, personally, would rather have a root canal without anesthesia, but...

I like the challenge. Besides, the catharsis will be...refreshing and good for me.

Thanks for the suggestion, Pam.

a question, not of targets, but trajectories

It has been twenty days since I started on the "Paleo Diet", based on a random encounter with the book of the same name, and I am gratified at the results.

twenty pounds lost in twenty days. A good start. Nowhere near where I need to be, in the long run...but an excellent start. The positive feedback I am getting, in terms of actual results, is making it an easy diet to cling to, and the fact that I am not hungry, or even really tempted on any level, to "cheat" on this diet...well, that's just dandy.

Soon I will have lost enough to trust more my knees to a resumption of some serious roadwork (the phrase there holds me mindful of a stanza in my poem "Radiant Tigers" -

"roadwork with the soda jerk mixology of words
that effervesce with a laugh in the daft draught
of expressions caught caterwauling to glance
off the silvered glass mirrors of albedo'd radiance.")

Time to get serious. My daughter pointed out she is now a quarter of a century old. I riposte that I am half a century old. Eventually I will achieve and pass my prime and begin the decline inevitable in all things that survive their apogee. What a re-entry burn of a life that last portion shall be...but I am not content to slow and start calculating my retirement plan, yet.

Truth is, I don't believe in retirement. Oh, I believe it exists, like syphilis and rusty nails and lying suitors, I just don't want any of those in my life. Every day I make minute adjustments in my thinking, preparing me for an acceleration that I know I have already begun, but want to make the best of. I have accomplished more in the second 25 years of my life than I did in the first in almost any measure of value. The next twenty five? I'm not setting specific goals, as if I had set goals twenty five years ago, ambitious goals, and marched to them, I would not be halfway to where I am today.

So this is to be a question, not of targets, but trajectories. And how much thrust the engines I have fashioned from my heart and soul and mind are capable of. I am curious, furiously curious, to find out, whether I ride into the darkness alone, or find light to fuel a ten-fold increase in the magnitude of my joy and that of those around me.

What an exciting time in my life this is, a life of so many possibilities, of so much good fortune, of so much gratitude. To God and to those mortals who have paved my way, so far, with their hopes, needs, fears, hearts, beliefs, desires, evils, virtues and passions.

I hope, I pray, my daughter has better times than I, makes sounder judgements, trusts better people. But I do not regret my life and the honest resonances of it (I have no control over slanders, I can only affect who I am).

In Major World News for June 9th, 2006

I should be promoting the CD, or commenting on Abu Musab al-Zarqawi's death, but instead I'll keep to the important stuff.

Peri
is
25 years old
today!
Happy Birthday!

Toot!!

If you missed last week's tribute to her on my podcast show...you should check it out at Radio City of Legends.

CD Release Party, Virtually

The CD, The Last Romantic Verb, is now up here.

There is a free download of one track available there, "glass roses", which was originally written for my longtime friend and editor Janet Innes and is one of the more sought after poems of my authoring. That track does not have any music behind the vocal...but I figured to keep it simple to the uninitiated.

I made some cosmetic changes and broke up the tracks, per Alan's suggestions. The CD does not carry a parental advisory, although there is some mature content.

Enjoi.

(Heard from Peri today, finished the CD, found out I had lost twenty pound since I started the diet, so all in all, a good day.)

a simple formula

Multitasking poet + All-night engineering sesson for CD release tomorrow = Exhaustion.

I do have to say, these last two years, by almost any scale, are the most productive time in my life. The first year I was in exile in Los Angeles runs a distant second. I should get divorced or abandoned more often.

No.

defending my parental advisory on THE COMPLEAT PANTHER CYCLES

I have received a lot of flack over my decision last year to place a "parental advisory" on my book THE COMPLEAT PANTHER CYCLES. I want to take a moment to explain why.

I have not set it so that anyone may not buy it, but for parents who are considering buying it for a child, I want them to stop and think. Think harder than you do when you buy your child a video game whose main theme is to sell drugs, get laid and kill people. Think harder than you do when you desensitize your child with R-rated movies when they don't yet have the life experience to place the stories being acted for them in a context that is healthy for them.

While there is no overt obscenity, no four letter words, no pictures or depictions of violence, there is sexuality. Most of it in the poems themselves, some in my annotations.

The Panther Cycles are the poetic diary of a love affair. With all aspects examined in the time and scale of the events. The full spectrum of the affair I had with the muse I named the Panther is examined in these work and I express emotions and events that we experienced and shared.

There is graphic and frank discussion of sexual activities, including oral sex. There is explicit reference to some sexual fantasies that she brought to the relationship, which I am not going into in detail in this blog.

All in all, I would not give a copy of this book to my twelve year old sons. I would hesitate to give it to any teenager. That's me. The book is frank and direct and honest, but emotionally explicit and intense. I had to think long and hard about it before granting it the PARENTAL ADVISORY label on the back, as I believe in a freedom within literature, especially when it is honest and true and valid.

People get shocked when they read some of the content. All I can say to that is that The Godfather, by Mario Puzo, has more graphic sex, and violence on top of that. That it is a fiction rather than an intense and earnest expression of a real affair dilutes the impact, I am told, but nonetheless...

I've been criticized for the advisory, mostly by people who are not parents. I am not necessarily proud of everything I have done or even did within the framework of these poems and that affair, but I am honest about it. Despite the evidence that we live in a society where we now value denial above contrition, I'll stick to my values, as I consider them the right core values.

Anything less would be cowardly and morally indefensible. I will continue to try and be as honest a man and as honest a creative artist as I can be.

quotation from the Amomancer

"All is as it should be. We must merely accept it to be free."

This does not mean to allow injustice or ignorance to continue. Sometimes accepting things as they are means acknowledging the status of the world, then working to improve it. I accept that there are rabid dogs. I am at peace that this is a truth. But I also would vaccinate mine own puppy and keep my children from a drooling, vicious mutt.

I don't scream at the tempest, but I do, sometimes, wear a hat (I hate umbrellas),

Billy Preston, an appreciation

Billy Preston passed away yesterday, June 6, 2006, at the age of 59.

The first person I mentioned this to looked at me and saud "I have no idea who you are talking about"...which did not diminish me, or Billy, but did lower my respect for them.

Billy was a person favourite of mine ever since his performance of "That's the Way (God Planned It)" for the Concert for Bangladesh. He was a gifted, exuberant and successful singer, songwriter and keyboardist, who raised the level of the work of those he associated with, including Joe Cocker (who took Billy's song "You Are So Beautiful" to #1), the Beatles (for whom he became the only artist to ever receive label credit on one of their singles, for his tremendous keyboard work on "Get Back"), the Rolling Stones (his work on the album "Goats Head Soup" was notable, as well as on other albums) and countless others.

He also had a Grammy-winning solo career and I think that his instrumental piece "Outta Space" was probably about the most common music in the late-sixties and early seventies to which one learned "The Funky Chicken" dance moves.

He had his troubles, who doesn't, but there was a joy and a hope and a talent there.

He will be missed, and mourned and celebrated.

conceding the rationale

Okay, you win.

Alan MacDonald has a great gift for cutting through the crap (I've always respected him, even when we were politically opposites during the Viet Nam War) and he slammed me for my decision to keep the CD as one huge file. He made his point.

So, when the CD finally makes its official release on June 9th, there will be separate and distinct tracks - 8 in total:

Track 1: From Out of the City
Track 2: Eros V (8 poems, linked musically)
Track 3: Kisses for Karma
Track 4: Bragi to Freya, on his deathbed
Track 5: Wordslinger (12 poems, linked musically)
Track 6: Beasts of Legend (6 poems, linked musically)
Track 7: Glass Roses
Track 8: The Gods of Love, Live at Kyrienar (3 poems, linked musically)

I'm still elated over hearing from Peri...so I am more malleable than I might usually be.

Plus, there's this very attractive and intriguing woman I've run into...

Curious Day

Curious day.

Heard from my daughter, Peri, today...for the first time in two years. A short email, letting me know she is okay and that it is too hot for her in Los Angeles. And that she is happy.

That's all I need to know. I have said before, and I will say with total conviction, that I would rather she be happy, healthy, safe and estranged from me than come to grief or pain while close to me. God listens, and laughs.

Several other missing persons popped up on radar today, very curious. It must be national "where are they now?" day.

Delivered Alan MacDonald his copy of the CD...he immediately pointed out some packaging flaws and the idiocy of the single-track recording. Sigh. My omniscience is again brought into question.

Tired now. Very tired.

shut up and rhyme: Tip for Tap

bored with my meanderings? okay...someone has, more than once, asked me what this poem is about.
to me, it is obvious, it is about seduction and what is done in bed to make one's lover more enthusiastic and cooperative to one's own desires (think Prince's "The Continental")

Tip for Tap

tip for tap. the crush and thrust of contact made,
displayed, paraded in a prayed-for instinct of distinction.

run red, the heart is bled.
run red, the heart is bled.
and all that I have said
is to get you into bed.

chaste chasings on the framework of folly, ornate
to innate feelings. irate thought censors sent packing.

run red, the heart is bled.
run red, the heart is bled.
and all my passions, dead,
awake to mourners, fled.

crimson lips to solferino folds, gold to the barter,
the starter's pistol for my heart discharges rainbows.

run red, the heart is bled.
run red. the heart is bled.
and these thoughts are all wed
by a weaving of romantique's thread.

tip for tap, the crush and thrust of contact made,
displayed, paraded in a prayed-for instinct of distinction.


copyright William F. DeVault

note the line: "crimson lips to solferino folds". solferino is a shade of purplish-pink. think. think. think.

oh yeah, now you get it.

Unzipping, Politically

So, the big banking is going to be on opposition to gay marriage and flag burning for the Republicans in power in the fall.

So much for a wrecked economy, Social Security failing, gas prices and the war in Iraq...

Sorry guys, if that's the best you can do to prove you are worthy to lead...you need to fold your tents and go now, quietly, because even if you win, the country loses.

There may be enough single-issue voters out there who do not care if they pay $5.00 a gallon for gas and they have no retirement system and the US follows the Soviet Union into collapse through financial disaster and our sons and daughters are still asked to die for an ill-defined foreign policy that helps raise the gas prices, bankrupt the economy, stagnate our education system and collapse our safety net.

But is it worth killing our children and sacrificing their futures just so you can stay in power?

Show as much loyalty to Christian principles and the US Constitution as you do to your party membership...because right now, you are pathetic by any sane measure of character, scripture or sanity.

The Soviet Union died a staggeringly awful death as a world power because party zealots could not embrace reality. Let's save our country now, and vote out those who want to sell us down the tubes to ensure their positions on the boards of multinational corporations when they retire.

Memory is the Curse of those who care

Bleah...Monday morning.

But, my mood is much better and I seem to be awake (and all body parts are still attached).

I have not been writing much lately, but the poetic lassitude seems to be based on a certain emtoional flatness I encounter every year around this time...many anniversaries, birthdays and commemorations of special events for people whom I care of and for but are no longer in my life just reminds me of their absence.

I once wrote the line "memory is the curse of those who care" in my poem "Virgin's Dawn" and it is so true. If I had to make a list of my ten most profound lines in my poetry, that one would certainly be on the list...memory is fine if you are dispassionate, but when the memory invokes heartache or misery, that's a different ball of gall.

Of course, yesterday my old friend Bob Wasson told me he'd be reading my blog and noticed how busy I have been. Maybe my lack of creativity is more a function of I am temporarily diverted onto structuralizing existing projects rather than summoning new djinni? Another question to be resolved in time.

Went nuts yesterday, trying to select a gift for an acquaintance who is having a birthday. I had promised a book. Now, which one?

PANTHEON? Perhaps, but maybe she'd read that as a come-on and while she is most interesting, I'd hate to make her think the only reason I hang with her is an attraction on than plane.

FROM AN UNEXPECTED QUARTER? No, no, no. It has she-who-must-not-be-named on the cover and has too many erotic works (see reason for rejecting PANTHEON, above) and, besides, I was never 100% happy with some of the pieces that were slapdash added to that volume, why give a gift I am not that proud of?

THE COMPLEAT PANTHER CYCLES? God, no. No. No. Maybe. While it still carries the romantic/erotic tinge of PANTHEON and FAUQ, it is just such a fine book, able to impress on its own merits.

THE MORGANTOWN SUITE POEMS. Hmmm...leading contender. Not overtly romantic/erotic. Nice flavour to it.

Okay, my mind is not made up, but I am closer to deciding. I'd say 75% chance of 'Morgantown and 25% chance of 'Panther.

psychic acceleration via gravity slingshot

I'm a big believer in the gravity slingshot. That's the maneuver where a spacecraft allows itself to fall towards a planet or moon, using the acceleration afforded by the gravity well to actually pick up the momentum necessary to escape the planet's gravity in a near miss by using a vector of its own engines.

One problem, sometimes it doesn't work and you either end up with a trapped spacecraft or, worse still, a direct hit at high velocity. It's a risk you have to take to accomplish certain things, allowing for resource and necessity, to achieve certain speeds and trajectories.

I do it myself, from time to time, emotionally. It helps me get over a funk, it helps me fight off a mood. Maybe I am slightly bipolar, maybe not (One doctor and one relative think I am, everyone else and the consensus of medical authorities say "No"...but I allow for all variables in these calculation). But I know this, the risk of losing my gifts as a writer if I were to take meds far outweighs any complications in my own life caused by what I merely consider stong tidal emotions. It is a shame that having a personality in these graceless times is the basis for being medicated into mediocrity. Of course, many of the people who manufacture, prescribe and fill the prescriptions get rich off of that little concept, so I don't expect it to change. It's lik the old saying: War is good business, invest your son.

So, here I am, on a Sunday evening. I got all my "to do" list done yesterday. The CD ads are up, the podcast is put to bed. I have a major reading coming up in a couple of weeks. I've lost almost twenty pounds in the last two weeks on the Paleo Diet (and I like both the diet and the effect) and I'm bored.

Let's face it, Morgantown is not Los Angeles. It is fine for what it is, but for a restless soul such as myself who doesn't think self-medicating with alcohol is the same as being entertained or being productive, it's pretty much a gravity well in and of itself.

So, here I sit, firing the rockets by amping up the iTunes with the most emotionally wrenching songs I know, the equivalent of psychoreactive drugs: "Crash Into Me" by The Dave Matthews Band, "Heart of Gold" by Neal Young, "KIss from a Rose" by Seal, "Don't You Forget About Me" (the Billy Idol version, I prefer it to Simple Minds' - this is my head, not yours), two from Dire Straits - "Brothers in Arms" and "Romeo and Juliet" and finally, the fusion-drive death spiral that is Don Henley's "Heart of the Matter".

All "end of life as we know it" songs in and of themselves. But, laced together and unleashed on my naked preconscious, pure acceleration. Twelve G's of pervasive bend in the continuum.

I've done this before, so don't worry, I know what I am doing...and I am not ready to sabotage myself unto madness or death or despair, the heat of the high mental atmosphere friction will burn away the space barnacles I've been collecting over the last few days and weeks...and I will emerge the other side with a shiny new hull of a brain pan and a new joy for life.

And I will write of wonders that, right now, still seem only vague visions and fading memories.

Ah...I can feel the pull now and the heat of the rarefied gases. Life is good.

words for Perelandra

Yay! The podcast is up. A strange one, to say the least, and perhaps my most emotional, as I pay tribute to my daughter, Perelandra (Peri) for her 25th birthday.

Radio City of Legends

the shades of jade fall

trust...an interesting word.

how do you trust? who do you trust? who do you "believe in"?

you can use just straight, balls-to-the-wall "faith"...but what happens when it isn't enough, when the level of disappointment you've encountered is so massive you can't seem to find your faith in people?

barring a miracle, I think I am cursed to remain a "ronin in the Temple of Aphrodite". I don't think it is impossible to find someone to trust, I just feel that perhaps I am someone whom others are not trustworthy with.

Innes used to say that everyone believes in me when they meet me, everyone loves me. I'm larger than life, I inspire people to believe in themselves. but when they one day lose that faith in themselves, because the person they are hasn't really changed, and we all fall down from time to time, they grow angry with me, as I haven't given them what they thought I had promised them.

I don't know...


a new poem, from this evening's venting...

The Shades of Jade

Not a stone to atone, but a heart
a heart and a mind and a point of view
true to a perspective I cannot seem to find
the angle on, so I dangle on,
wondering if gravity always pointed this way
and if I stay and play
will everyone else go away
and leave me in the shadows
as the shades of jade fall
over my once purposeful heart.


William F. DEVault. all rights reserved.

naked for the sake of argument

The title of this entry is actually the title of a poem I'd just written that I am not going to share with you for now. It is, however, slated for RONIN IN THE TEMPLE OF APHRODITE, later this year, so be patient.

I'm changing my production schedule, slightly, to allow for more efficient use of resource. From this point forward the podcast FROM OUT OF THE CITY will be released on Sundays, instead of Fridays...a new one will be going up tomorrow, June 4th, dedicated to my daughter, Peri, whose birthday it is later in the week,

Got my tickets to go to Los Angeles for my daughter's wedding in September. Used Orbitz and found a good price, I am satisfied and now don't have to worry about what to do if ticket prices go up.

I think I shall have a productive weekend...have some personal matters to attend to, and also want to just do some major hanging out, kind of meld with the world...

Yes, that would be good. By the way, the autobiographical poem "Naked for the Sake of Argument" is pretty good. No. It's very good, and very honest. I tell people that I have no secrets, just read my works and you know me...who I am, what I have done and what has happened around and to me over the years. The poem is about a relationship I had where the woman used sex as a weapon to get her way. Not to complain, but that meant the sex was not earnest passion or an expression of love, just a bargaining tool. I realized it early on, I found it even distasteful, but I am male, after all...

It's the genesis of the great, great line in the poem "in the memory of lovers" (click here to view in separate window) which is also one of the featured works on my upcoming (just six days until release) CD, THE LAST ROMANTIC VERB.

NB: I love royalty checks.

An Inconvenient Truth in Morgantown?

It occurred to me a certain irony: Here I am, trying to put together a caravan of people to drive up to Pittsburgh to check out Al Gore's "An Inconvenient Truth" when it kicks in two weeks...because no theatre in the entire state of West Virginia is owned by anyone or any corporation with the brass cajones (or integrity) to do what needs to be done (that may be pressing the point, I am not sure the distributor has been aggressive in pursuing the state's theatres. But one would think a state where the Governor is considered a very possible candidate for the Vice Presidency in two years (imagine a Clinton/Manchin ticket, her with a telegenic, pro-life Governor of a state that went Bush in both last elections)...)...and I know it will be a bad symbolic gesture to cause global warming in order to hear about the necessity of stopping it.

So, while still trying to get as many people as possible energized about it, largely by pointing out the Pascal's Wager aspect of accepting the notion of Global Warming at all (at least even Christian fundamentalists accept the premise of Pascal's Wager, since their faith and lives are predicated on it), I have to conclude a wiser, sharper and more symbolic gesture would be to get a local theatre to host (or local business to underwrite) at least one showing of this film.

We shall see...I have some spare time next week (tonight's schedule: put the podcast to bed and write a batch of triskadekian cantos I've been putting off)...

poet on fire

Welcome to the new front door of my website:

The City of Legends

I'm gutting the contents as the month goes on...but like the new flames? The animated fire (if your system hangles animated gifs)?

conspiracy theory number 11562.6 in an infinite series

One of my pet peeves is the sloppy way iUniverse, who is the publisher of record on three of my books, publishes royalty statements. If you're not a writer, this won't mean much to you, but even if you're not a published author, you still might understand I don't like it when people don't meet self-imposed deadlines.

iUniverse, the POD (Publication On Demand) titan, gives writers a schedule on which we can depend to see what our royalties are for a given month or quarter. That's nice of them.

But, as often as not of late, when I go to check the statements online, the totals aren't posted on or by the date they list...and usually on the next day, the day after the deadline, they change the deadline date published, wait a few more days, then publish the statements, without comments or even a "Ooops!"

Such is life, but it aggravates me, as I like to track these things.

Tag and I had a pleasant discussion at the local Barnes & Noble, included in it is all was the master strategy for world domination through poetry books and reading. Anyone can seize absolute power through force of arms, bloody revolution, extortion, subversion of moral outrage or money. We're doing it the hard way. We're made of sterner stuff.

I heard an interesting conspiracy theory the other day. This fellow I was casually dicussing politics with is convinced that "the powers that be" are on their way to perverting the US into a totalitarian state. Their logic is shaky, but interesting. They point out that the recent governmental/media cooperation on raisng public anxiety on the issues of terrorism and sexual predators is convincing voters to allow the government to clamp down on civil liberties in the name of doing what is good for us. This increases the government's potential control level.

Now, you will argue that the mere fact they have the muscles to flex doesn't mean they'll flex them. Yeah, just like giving the standing President the authority to invade Iraq doesn't mean he'll just go ahead when he feels like it and destroy the US budget and send thousands of our brave young men and women to their deaths so he can sit on the Board of Directors of Exxon when he steps down? There is a class of mind in the world that believes once authority exists, it must be used. These are the kind of people you do not want in power, or even working as a police officer ("You issued me a gun, I presumed that meant I was allowed to shoot a juvenile petty thief in the back when he tried to run...") A Democracy lives in constant threat from these individuals and their alliances with like-minded people.

The pendulum will, in all historical parallel, swing. Another punishing "global warming is a liberal lie" season with New Orleans becoming a soggy national cemetary will break their backs. The defensiveness of the military-industrial conplex over Iraq (and Iran) will add to it. It will be like the 50's, when in one blinding flash on the road to a media Damascus, the American people will wake up, realize they've been flim-flammed, and wreak a bloodless coup at the ballot box.

I don't diagree with him, this friend with the theory. In fact, I find it a not-insane notion. We shall see.

I'm too busy worrying about my own plans for world domination, and if the looks that too-young-for-me woman at work keep giving me means I need to be thinking of retiring the sackcloth...

'bout damn time.