Monday, July 31, 2006

keeping an open mind

Okay, sometimes strange ideas actually pan out...so I'm keeping an open mind.

No, not about the 18 year old. Okay, maybe about the 18 year old, but I'm talking about an idea a peer pitched me the other day:

"The Pocket Panther"

Yeah, I know. But let me tell you what it is...we take the massive 3 lb book that is "THE COMPLEAT PANTHER CYCLES" and shove it into as small of a physical volume as possible.

I'm not kidding. We cut out whitespace, reduce font size and jam the damn thing into a book small enough to easily be carried to the beach without causing a hernia.

I'm keeping an open mind. I'll worry about this one later this year. I have enough on my plate.

the media and killing in the name of God

I see we are now into "that" phase of our media coverage of the War in Iraq.

I read a piece in yesterday's paper about a Marine sniper who is credited with not less than 20 kills. He does his job well, and I don't doubt for a second that his targets were armed combatants. I would presume there are at least twenty armed men with bad intentions in Iraq at any given time.

But the media piece, which could have been written by any pro-war politician or military recruiter, made sure to include the soldier's rationale, being a Christian, for killing, citing God supporting David against Goliath (funny, he says he's a Christian, not Jewish, I wonder if anyone has explained to his what happened to the covenant about two thousand years ago...)

"It doesn't bother me. Obviously, me being a devout (his word, devout) Catholic, it's a conflict of interest (nice way to put it...a "conflict of interest"). Then again, God supported David when he killed Goliath, I believe God supports what we do and I've never killed anyone who wasn't carrying a weapon."

Nota bene: Jesus disarmed his disciples, even healing a soldier one of his followers had wounded.

I understand the pragmatic need for men such as this, just stop trying to make this a right, a good, a noble thing. It isn't. It is, to steal an old and much abused phrase, a necessary evil.

As a Christian, and a pacifist, I am disturbed the media is helping to raise the banner of "killing in God's name"...isn't that what the guys who hijacked the airplanes on September 11 thought they were doing? I agree the distinction that the people this one man kills are armed is real, but I thought killing was killing was killing was killing. The Right argued throughout the Sixties that "situational ethics" were garbage.

Now they employ them.

Killing a human being is still wrong.

Sunday, July 30, 2006

after eight hours editing erotic poetry

snarl snarl snarl growl snarl snarl growl snarl bark bark snarl woof woof

yep, barking mad. You try editing all these wonderful works ("101 Great Erotic Poems"), some of them fantasies, some of them depictions of actual events that took place between me and the few grand ladies I have been fortunate enough to have been intimate with. It is, in its own way, as bruising as "The Compleat Panther Cycles" was...

I had a young woman the other day, unfamiliar with the backstory of TCPC, quiz me about whatever happened in the end between the original Panther and I.

Last dialogue: She called to let me know she was considering a move to Los Angeles, where I was living (this was just weeks before the young woman who was to end up being my second wife moved in with me, timing that did not escape me...) I said to her "I do not care where you live. I do not care if you live. Stay out of my life."

I heard from her one more time after that, when she sent me a ridiculously threatening email about the use of the cover of "PanthEon" in generic symbology on my website. Seems she felt that, despite the fact that I bought the self-portrait she painted (I have the cancelled check...) she should still have veto power over my use of the image. I responded to her email with a terse statement indicating that she was in the wrong, but since I was never intending to cause her any emotional distress (I seem to cause emotional distress, inadvertently, to women who try to lie me out of their biographies, owing to my public visibility) I would, this once, accede to her "request".

I then wrote the poem "Shadows in the Shade", which reflects my position that she broke the covenant between us to be civil, and thus I am no longer required to treat her, in my writings, as an object on veneration or respect.

I still haven't gone out and trashed her, indeed, she comes across quite sympathetically in my memoir. Unlike me. I come across as an idiot. The young questioner said as much.

Just thinking out loud.

Now, back to the book...damn, I wish someone were here to...well, maybe when the book comes out...

baked goods, the superhighway and free books to the victors

If you don't already, take some time (from time to time) and drop by Rick Lupert's Poetry Super Highway. Rick's place has been a major site for net-based poets for years and he sponsors one of the better legitimate poetry contests out there...which I usually contribute some books towards the prize pool for (this year, several books, to be honest...)

I should get Rick on the show someday soon...he's a first-water poet with several books out, including the tome "I'd Like to Bake Your Goods", which is a collection of poems he wrote about his honeymoon (cover visible to the left). Check him (and his poetry) out sometime.

Well, back to the edits...

Saturday, July 29, 2006

to the horizon

I've gone ahead, in a fit of insanity and vanity, and posted the single cut for "Horizon" on the MySpace area for William F. DeVault and the Gods of Love .

This is not your usual rendition of my works, we've got a definite club rock-acid dance groove going now...Surprisingly tasty.

The new podcast will be up tomorrow night and...it looks like I will complete the edits on "101 Great Erotic Poems" without committing suicide. But damn, these works do make me miss some remarkable people I have known.

an introspective Saturday with my edits and my memories

Now I remember why the three books I did last year almost killed me: Editing. I hate editing.

I'm in the final edits for "101 Great Erotic Poems"...still eerie doing a book like this when between relationships. Aside from a couple brief make-out sessions with a charming friend, I have been as monkish as humanly possible (without surgery) for the past 30 months...how am I possible? The drive is there...stronger than ever, but the aversion therapy of my last major relationship is still like phantom leg pain, real but inexplicable...I find my ability to judge people's intentions and motives and feelings towards me compromised, and therefore suspect.

Of course, I have always been this way to some extent. Most of my relationships started with an overt cue from a woman. (How overt? How about showing up on my doorstep in a long t-shirt and leg warmers? That overt.)

I am piqued and strangely bemused that I may end up remaining ronin for the rest of my life, but I accept the possibility. Not that I am without women of interest in my life, women who drive me to write poetry, even. A pantheon of rich diversity, richer than ever before in my life.

And, as I step to the third person, a pantheon I find myself warily circling, ever mindful of the pain and brutality of the human heart. I am distrustful. Those are hard words in the mouth of the amomancer, but true words.

I have lost faith. Terrifying. The priest of passion no longer believes in the sacrament. No that's not true. He believes in it, he just no longer takes it. That is a truer allegory.

One old friend said it is of my own nature, that I have stepped out of the mainstream of life. I am now no longer human to those who know me well, but practically an abstraction, an archetype. No flesh and blood to love, but blackened bones and angel's wings and otherworldly choirs. I am transcending myself, fulfilling the prophecy of my old poem "My Electric Lady". It is true that those who know my works treat me with a different spectrum of emotion than those I obscure it from, perhaps as with Joe Gideon I can be adored, but not loved. I hope he is full of crap. I miss the ten thousand sensations of giving, receiving, making and being in love...in this living tomb of emotional detachment, I can only recall them, not really feel them.

Perhaps this is the beginning of sorrows...too much to do to contemplate this for now.

...back to the edits.

Friday, July 28, 2006

the Gods return

The Gods of Love will be making a return appearance to the podcast (From Out of the City) with their new cut "Horizon".

No sneak peeks. But it is...unique. We laid the music first, then fought over the vocalization. I had to prove I can't sing before the concession was made to let me read the lyrics, based on my classic poem "Horizon". The mix of the dual percussion and guitar was problematic, I think we solved it in the filtering and by boosting my voice (Cringe. I still, as always, hate my voice...although I have been told it has been known to cause ovulation in women. Innes banned me from using "the voice" on the phone during editing sessions for "Love Gods of a Forgotten Religion".)

Check it out when it surfaces thus Sunday (I needed a break from editing, and finishing this cut was the perfect excuse). The incredibly gifted Jessica Mathis will probably be joining us next week, and after that, I've got some interesting ideas and some new guests...but expect, very soon, a full on promotional show on the new book.

The Amomancer is alive, and marshalling his ruby-blue forces for a return to the light.

MySpace profiles in limbo

Word is that something has happened at MySpace...both my personal and "band" profiles are reporting they don't exist anymore, but a quick perusal of other people's boards indicates that a large percentage of profiles are showing the same thing...let's hope they get it fixed, soon.

While I am out here...

I was pointed to a used book for sale on Amazon.com by a reader. It seems that radio talk show host "Deliliah" is selling the copy of "from an unexpected quarter", my 1999 volume, autographed by both myself and my ex-wife (and cover model). It is signed to "Deliliah", but as a collector's item I'm tempted to buy it, just as I have now taken the station that carries her show locally off my scan on my radio. I don't like seeing personally autographed books sold. It's insulting and shows a lack of class on the part of the seller.

Delilah, shame on you.

The heavier elements in the infrared supergiant

The edits on "101 Great Erotic Poems" are almost complete. It is taking a lot out of me...wondering how much I'll have left for later this fall and "Ronin in the Temple of Aphrodite". There is no new energy source in my life, so I am slowly peeling away bits of myself and cannibalizing them for the energy. The reaction is progressive, like a sun burning out...eventually all fusionable materials run out, leaving only fissionable materials, and then they deplete...I have every faith that, before I find the bottom of the well, there will be new rains.

We shall see. In either case it will be...interesting...to watch.

It is partially intentional. I have felt the need to divest myself of much emotional baggage. Too many people lived up to neither their vows or my perception of their capabilities, including myself. But I am stuck with me, so best to burn away the chaff and build on what is worthy.

Yes, I am smitten. But I believe her to be unaware, and I daren't approach her, except as a friend. Rejection risk, very high, and I'd rather keep her as a friendly acquaintance than risk losing her completely from my life in the awkwardness of an ill-considered approach and the aftermath.

We shall see what robes the winter wears, when she comes. For some reason or other, sapphire blue is flickering in and out of my consciousness. And I would pay twice the price of Odin to know the truth.

Thursday, July 27, 2006

I'm late...I'm late...

Much going on...tooooooo much going on. It is like a chaos-storm here.

But, I love it.

Have to scoot and drop off the prize for tonight's slam at 123 Pleasant Street...they're giving a copy of my book "The Morgantown Suite Poems".

Spent the morning editing and helping out a friend who needed some practice driving....

I'm trying to be very good and NOT write until I finish the edits on "101 Great Erotic Poems", but it is tough...the muse is upon me.

Will be back later with more news, more details...

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

fresher winds

Finally got caught up on my sleep.

This is a good thing.

Been writing (caught an inspiration wave...) which is actually a pain, as I am in the middle of a book edit and when the venom is upon me, I have to go to it. So, I'm just going to write until the life drains out the pen and I can get back to the edits.

Troubled dreams last night, but good ones, full of complex resolve and colourful, evocative images. Life is good.

Inspiration in a woman's eyes: Proof of a benign and loving God.

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

pretty pretty soul

pretty pretty soul

best be wary, faerie,
lest you find the flavour of my magicks
to your liking
striking sparks from stones
you cannot atone for with a string of beads

bleeding silence into darkness into memory
blessing the formless
heating the warm flesh that before
before
had only known a pale shade of red

the magick stirs and purrs and ferments
inside this vessel
until it seeps out creeps out
leaps out
to swallow whole your pretty pretty soul


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

"There is more darkness in my light than in ten thousand abysses." - "the Amomancer"

update on February 9, 2006

I'm up, I'm moving...

shower time.

but we'll see what I am like around midnight tonight...

awake at 4 am

blink
blink

I'm still awake.

it is almost 4 o'lock in the morning and I am still awake.

not good.

not good at all.

will try a few other tricks for sleeping...

new book, odd stresses, an intriguing presence.

all add to the mix.

need sleep.

Monday, July 24, 2006

My September Itinerary

With some slight application of tongue to cheek and sub-references that would make Dennis Miller proud...my first cut itinerary for my trip to LA for my daughter's wedding....

September 12:

The corpse has left the box. Call out the villagers. Do not talk to strangers on the plane. Do not talk to strangers on the plane. I can see the light. The light is good. Walk into the light.

September 13:

While everyone else is off celebrating my ex's birthday, I am left to my own devices...So I will go to the desert and hold counsel, upon my rock, with my most ancient and excellent sand dragon brothers. I will stand in the Santa Ana Winds and feel the fire in my veins. Too long dead. And yet, not long enough for the purposes of some. I am still alive. And reborn. God smiles.

September 14:

Maybe I'll see someone associated with the wedding, my family or from my former life here, maybe I won't. Maybe I will stand on the beach in Venice and observe the passing of the sky. Maybe I will have dinner that evening with my future in-laws and give Skip a copy of "The Compleat Panther Cycles". Maybe I won't. Maybe an old girlfriend will be in town and demand I spend the night with her. Maybe I will.

September 15:

The rehearsal dinner. Do not talk to strangers. Do not talk to strangers. Strangers are bad. She smiled at me. Don't talk to her. She is bad. Oops, that's my daughter. So that's what she looks like. She's taller than I remember. Who's that guy with her?

September 16:

The wedding. I am to sit quietly to one side while parents point me out to their children as an example of a bad person. I am not to speak unless spoken to by someone I know and they know the code word. I forget the code word and end up spending the second half of the day locked in the bathroom, trying to talk to myself in the mirror, but I get no response. I try to dance with my daughter at the reception, but there is no music and she doesn't know the "Slingo Slingo Slide".

September 17:

I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run. I will not do the Topanga Run.
...The Hell I won't.

Then, find an open mic event and let the dragon loose.

September 18:

The villagers have quit looking for me...I will, under cover of darkness, steal back into my crypt and wait out the next sun rise. This time, sooner, and with the fire restored.

Friends who watch over me

Just got a mile-long email from my friend Ana, who looks after me (she was the one friend who tried to talk me out of my second marriage...and she ended up being right on about 75% of of her rationale).

Anyway, whenever I travel to DC to see the boys, I stay with Ana and her husband, Tony. She always quizzes me on my personal life, then gives advice (I try to avoid rolling my eyes, I promise)...

Well, she didn't have much to say yesterday, but today she wrote a Russian novel of advice on many of the key topics she quizzed me on, this evening. She now believes I am in the 90-95% "over it" category from my second marriage. I agree...I still twinge, especially when dealing with manuscripts and books that feature "her". But, such is life. I care what happens to her, but you could say the same about every other human I have come in contact with.

She (Ana) is nervous about the fact that I may be interested in someone I work with (where I spend my secret identity time it is very common to date co-workers, something that is practically forbidden some places...) And she crapped all over my excuse about avoiding making a move on someone "too young"...she invoked Harrison Ford and Callista Flockhart (I usually invoke Tony Randall and his second wife, or Charlie Chaplin and Oona...)

But it was a valid write and I respect her points. We shall see if I act on them.

To quote Billy Connolly in "Still Crazy"..."We wait with bated breath..."

Sunday, July 23, 2006

Sunday Morning, Sunday Morning, Sunday Morning...

Alive and well, and in the bedroom communities just outside of Washington, DC...going to see my boys today in honor of their birthday...

Had a great talk yesterday with an acquaintance about my reticence to dive back into the dating pool...he all but ordered me to get back out there...guess I shall.

I'll talk more later, much to do...busy, busy weekend.

Saturday, July 22, 2006

the grateful live

My first great love, Psyche (if you don't know my totem muses, this may be a little confusing to you...E.J. wrote a wonderful treatise on the identities and aspects of my totem-muses, which appears on my website The City of Legends), predicted that as I grew older I would become bitter, as poetry would never be successful again, and she did not want to watch me grow old and bitter about my love for it.

Well, poetry has been very good to me, not as financially rewarding as I would like, but I'm still working on that, refining the process. But after 8 books (two more, later this year, bringing it to 10), a CD, an international recognition as a poet of note, an honor or two from schools and states and organizations and some extraordinary people intersecting with my life, bitterness is hardly the word I would use. I'd lean more towards grateful.

On the personal front, there may be moments of that tinge, but I am working behind the scenes, manipulating myself, arguing down those aspects of me that may feel rejection or pain from relationships where, as often as not, I chose unwisely or hastily, allowing pheremone and hormone to over-rule the more judicious parts of my spirit.

Of course, I would never want to be so cold and mechanical as to be that way with people, where I pick my friends and lovers on a ledger sheet of sanity and mutual support. Have I enjoyed being the transitional man? Well, the short terms joys are great, the sense of accomplishment is mighty, but the long term pain is grim. It can lead to bitterness.

But I still possess the capacity to sublimate my emotions, my pain, my regret into the pure essense of emotion, and use it as the lambent fuel of my creativity. And I burn, if not brighter than ever, at least as brightly.

So, Psyche, as your birthday approaches in just a few weeks, let me say you were wrong, perhaps even because your words, your lack of faith, inspired me to what I have done and become, but irregardless, I still would trade it all for an honest, earnest and worthy kiss.

But that's what makes me a poet. And, as the one I most often give credit for my initial recognition of that evolution and transcendence, I thank you, for Psyche is, in so many ways, the mother of this poet's soul.

Friday, July 21, 2006

world record poetry reading for charity, part II

I had a very nice meeting with the local CRM for Barnes and Noble, regarding the event we are now officially in the planning stages for: A world's record poetry reading (yes, we are contacting Guinness).

We'll get more to you as we work out the details: Best guess is it will be in October of this year, and we'll auction off the book(s) actually used to raise money for charity.

It should be fun. Well, Larry Jaffe used to called me the "greatest living poet", now I get to be certified.

Thursday, July 20, 2006

July 20th, 2006

A very happy birthday to both Dante and Elric, my twin sons who are thirteen years old today.

Guys, so far so good. Love you both. See you this weekend.

I have a meeting tomorrow with a rep from Barnes and Noble about a world-record poetry reading I'm going to do (not attempt, to quote Yoda "There is no try, there is only do.") to raise awareness of my books, and to raise money for charity. I'm not going to give out all the details yet, but let's just say I will be speaking like a frog for several days after it...and yes, we are getting the Guinness people involved. I'll let you know more as the event details get hammered out.

Today is also the birthday of my friends Kira and Chanda, two charming young ladies who have the dual and unfortunate flaw of being too young for me. "had I the will..."

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

the rise of a new pantheon?

A friend pointed out to me the other day that my life is not void of muses, I am just more subtle about it...

He listed a hafl dozen, some you've seen my documentation of: Abstra, the Phoenix; some, you have not: The Faerie, Jasmine, and others...

So it is not as though my life as passed in darkness...merely shadows.

And, for the time being, that is fine with me...

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

101 Great Erotic Poems - unveiled

It is done...

we are now taking advance orders for my next book,
101 GREAT EROTIC POEMS.

To go to the store at my website to check this opportunity out, you would click here.

We'll be shipping the books out on or about August 16th (my birthday) and they will be customed autographed. At $15.95 each, with free shipping, it's a pretty spectacular deal.

Ladies, after reading this, you know where to find me. And guys, if this book doesn't get you laid, you're hopeless.

the eleventh anniversary of The Panther Cycles

Eleven years ago, this very day, I wrote a cycle of poems to a young woman who had emailed me her picture. I called to "The Panther Cycle" as she had spoken at length of the black speedo she wore while riding her bicycle every morning and her suggestion of using the totem of a lioness I had rejected, as I did not feel the vibe for "The Lioness Cycle".

Ninety two cycles, two books, a website, a marriage, two divorces, a half million in spousal and child support debts later...I am still proud, not so much of my conduct, but of this monument to passion, this "novel length poetic memoir".

The first book, 1997's "PanthEon" featured sixty hand-picked poems from the total work. The cover was a Patrick Nagel-influenced self-portrait of the Panther herself and the internal layout of the book was done by her, as well.

The second book, 2005's "The Compleat Panther Cycles" features all the cycles, complete with annotations and is, in the word of one critic, "the most ambitious book of poetry, ever". It is a monument. The cover and internal illustrations to this volume are not of her, but are manipulated photographs of New York model and avant garde musician Jillian Ann, whose look, I felt, captured the essence of the feral beauty I had projected on a woman.

I would like, I should like, to find someone to replace her in the mythology of my life, and no doubt shall, as there have been others I have loved more and have given more of themselves to my joy and work, she just happened into my sphere at the right moment (David Bowie once said that being successful at anything was mostly a function of being at the right place at the right time) for this outpouring of six hundred and forty-two poems.

I know the Panther, at last word, lives in Los Angeles, my city, where I shall be returning next year, with her husband and her daughter (there are those who find it necessary to their faith in the universe to keep me aware o the movements of the pieces on the board, even when I am not in the game). To be honest, I harbour no agenda or desire for a reunion...I think she is a part of my antiquity, not my future, and thus would prefer she retains her mystique and distance, but stranger and more unexpected things have happened in this life.

But, to those who have read and enjoyed the works, to she who was the catalyst (in a very real sense) of this supernova of poetry, and to all who have, are, and will be a part of this life, which I am most grateful for, happy 11th anniversary of the striking of a most brisant spark, a spark that, in many ways, was the opening shot of the digital renaissance.

Monday, July 17, 2006

Psalms of the Monster River Cult!

The new podcast is up, at Radio City of Legends.

In it, my guest, Dan McTaggart, and I discuss our joint book project "Psalms of the Monster River Cult" and we share a few works we've selected for inclusion. It's a lively time. Check it out.

I see where the statue of Don Knotts as Barney Fife is having problems finding a home. It seems it was originally going to go in a small town that prides itself on being the model for Mayberry from 'The Andy Griffith Show'...but Knotts' family vetoed that...so Morgantown, West Virginia, his hometown, expressed an interest in it, but Knotts' family wants a statue of him, not a character he played (although, let's be fair, to the vast majority of people, he IS Barney Fife...)

I understand the problem, and I hope the statue finds a home...

Sunday, July 16, 2006

a "Passionate Craft" textbook

Yes, I know...I'm insane (just ask my daughter, she insists). But, it's a happy insane, and I am able to function in society and haven't killed anyone or joined the Republican Party, so I'm not really dangerous.

How insane? I'm evaluating another project. Yeah, I know...4-1/2 live books projects already set for the next year, and at least one more CD during that period. The podcast, the blog, the website, the real world and my aforementioned daughter's wedding. How am I possible?

God has a sense of humour.

But an old friend sent me a note the other day and advised me to reconsider a previously discarded project: A poetry textbook.

We had kicked this idea around a few years ago, the nickname for the project was "The Passionate Craft" and it would combine both a history of poetry and instruction in various schools and styles (yes, even the much-loathed haiku). I actually had started the project.

I'm not worried that my lack of academic standing will torpedo sales (one dilletante at an arts council meeting once tried to draw the line between what I write and the "academic poets" and I was quick to point out that the main difference seemed to be I didn't depend on a state and tuition subsidized university press system for my publications and don't write as a by-product of my job (to quote the immortal Prince: "You can be the side effect. I'd rather be the dope...") but rather as a primary function of existence.)

Will I do it? You know I will, eventually. I have some time available next year, and I think a good text on how to write poetry, as well as how to respect those who have written before (including a defense of eloquence, vocabulary and passion in writing) would do well, not only as a possible book for classrooms, but also for individuals, Lord knows I've had enough proteges to know there are people out there who want to learn.

Saturday, July 15, 2006

hearing the bones creak against the mass of the sky

In the next ten days I am due to have "101 Great Erotic Poems" put to bed (so to speak)...and it is about time. I realize that my moods are influenced by my works, and editing time just bathes me in the emotion and memories implicit in key works (you should see me when I am absorbed in the edits for "Ronin in the Temple of Aphrodite").

But add to that the real world gravitas of the way people have always come to me with their troubles, and it sometimes is a bit overwhelming...it is a bit of a flex to fight against the impulse to slide into the boots and cape and try to reshape reality into a better place. There are moments that I can only suppress the urge via a brittleness that I find most unbecoming and inconsistent with my worldview, but is now a necessary tool in my utility belt of mental self-manipulation.

I hope, when the time comes, I can put it away forever. I hate it. But like a man forced to eat what he must eat to survive in an hostile environment he must navigate, I find it a necessary evil to visit upon myself.

But not for one instant longer than necessary.

Remarkable recording session earlier today, I may have something surprising, in a day or two...

Friday, July 14, 2006

a question of lust bunnies and Cyrano

A young man approached me the other day, after listening to my CD "The Last Romantic Verb" and had some questions. Not unusual in and of itself, as a writer I get questions about my works, it is expected. Besides, you learn more, I always say, from a good question than from a good answer.

His question was this..."Who was 'Lust Bunnies' (from the piece 'Erotic V') written about, and when?" It took me a moment of contemplation to give a clear answer on that, not because I didn't know it, but because I needed to express it clearly.

I explained that it was written within the last year or so to someone I know.

He pressed for a fuller answer, as if he were a reporter for the National Enquirer and already had half an idea who. I told him 'Just someone I know'. He asked if it was someone I was involved with. Nosy, hm? I told him 'Not really'.

People, particularly young people, have this idea that I must, as the 'Romantic Poet of the Internet' (thank you, again, Yahoo, for that sobriquet) be chin-deep in romantic dalliances 24/7. The truth is that the vast majority of my works over the last few years have been written from reflective emotion, rather than active moments. I have become something of an emotional recluse, one peer even referring to my 'armored heart'.

It is merely a defense mechanism, and one I am slowly, carefully, deactivating. I'll get there. One does not endure the kind of reverses and betrayals that I have been subject to and not have some burned flesh to heal. Usually, I am a quick healer, this time I have intentionally slowed the process. Not wishing a repeat of Venice Beach, I have politely declined the invitations I have received to dive back in, wiser for the wear.

So to answer his question, finally, and totally: "Lust Bunnies" is not about anyone I am involved with, just someone I know whom I have found intriguing, and feel that sense of longing, that gravitational attraction, towards. It is playful, but beneath the surface it has great gravitas, as it deals with unspoken affection, much as Cyrano held for his Roxanne. Don't understand this reference? Read a damn book sometime, loser.

And I am, after all, as one critic expressed, the "American Cyrano", speaking on more than one occasion through others, sheltering my own passions and affections from harm behind a larger-than-life mantle. It is not the most pleasant of afflictions, but it is who I am, and it is where I need to be.

And the "Lust Bunnies" remain beneath my bed.

Thursday, July 13, 2006

Pink Jade, to a Latin beat

I just posted a new piece on MySpace...a peculiar blend of Latin rhythms and my poem "Pink Jade: Soft as Dawn".

You can hear it on MySpace at William F. DeVault and the Gods of Love.

Let me know what you think.

on the Zen of being 'fixed up'

I look at my history with women, those I have actually had some sort of relationship with, and I note a pattern...a pattern that reinforces my natural shyness.

I have almost never made the first move. Psyche and Suede were strange exceptions. Almost all involvements were triggered by an overt move by the woman, from the soulful eye picture of the Panther to the pagan mating dance of the Leopard to the Valkyrie's space cadet overtures (a long and bizare story in and of itself).

Now, for some reason or other, it seems like half of my closest associates are spending a portion of their brains wracking them for ideas as to whom to fix me up with, let me just say this: Don't. When the lover is ready the paramour appears. Let nature and the flow take its course, rather than risk a friendship in what could be a disastrous match.

In a subculture where aggression is considered a sign of passion, I am an awkward conundrum, but I am always to seek my own level. In time, all plays out, appropriately.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

anniversary note

Congratulations to my parents, whose 54th wedding anniversary is today. Nuff said.

Surrogation, Part II

With any luck, we'll have Divinity Rose as our guest on "From Out of the City" this weekend or next, with Dan McTaggart making an unprecedented 3rd appearance the other weekend, pimping his book and new joint project with yours truly.

Sorry I have been so unavailable of late...busy, busy, busy...and you know how I get when I am editing.

Anastacia called the other day, just to see what my dating status was...I told her there was a good candidate or two for my interest at work...but still nursing the deep scarring from my last relationship, I am being strangely circumspect. She applauded me for my caution (it should be noted that Ana was the one really close friend who voted openly and totally against the Leopard...and it cost us a few years of that friendship. In retrospect, 99% of everything she predicted came true...which is not so much a credit to her wisdom, but of my stupidity...but I meant well and I did good by others and I can at least say I tried to make chicken salad (an aisde to you fans of "Cousins")).

I am right now working on a new musical piece/poetry fusion. It's funny because I have decided to make the big leap and actually tune my voice to a singing project. Maybe I need to get with Alan...he knows music...I'm just the wordman. The "project title" for this work is "Surrogation, Part II"...but the final title will almost certainly be the name of the poetry I use or write for it.

Well, time to go make some chicken livers. Yum!

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Battleflag by Lo-Fidelity All-Stars

I'm kidding, right? Nope. I like this piece for the primitive energy it imparts.

"Your construction smells of corruption"

And the lyrics are edgy, brutal, and slightly obscure (read: intimate to the writer). Obscurantism critics would attack them for being "inaccessible" just as comic book fans screamed in fear when Stan Lee brought comic books out of the dark ages by raising the vocabularly level required to read a comic book from that of a nine-year old to that of a college student (college student back then, prior to the democritization of the higher eduction system resulting in its dumbing down...I meet college students, college graduates, every day who lack three good brain cells to rub together).

"I manipulate to recreate this air to ground saga"

There is a martial violence implied here, a threat that takes the writer/performer and transforms his thoughts into napalm and nuclear bombs.

"Gotta launder my karma"

Who doesn't?

"I said hallelujah to the sixteen loyal fans..."

Wow, you have sixteen loyal fans? Probably anyone with any exposure in the media marketplace has at least that many...not fans, but loyal fans. Fans who will still be listening to you or reading you long after it is fashionable to do so...

In the immortal words of the great Any DiFranco - "God love 'em".

Anyway, I needed a physical pick-me-up today so I wound this one up and turned it loose on my brain....that's better...although I am still waiting for the day when on my radio I hear the deep, reassuring tones of Sam Elliott saying:

"Caffeine...it's what's for breakfast"...(This message brought to you by your local carbonated beverage bottler...who still isn't providing me with the Diet Coke with Splenda fix I need while waiting for Dr. Pepper to move to the less toxic levulose...so I'm stuck with Pepsi One)....

Monday, July 10, 2006

Podcast and MySpace updates

The new podcast of "From Out of the City" is up, featuring a very disturbing audio rendition of my poem "Joining the Machine"...

You can find it here

or, if you JUST want to listen to the piece itself

On MySpace

an honest man cannot be the hero of his own memoir

I wrote that highly quotable line, a few years back, and it is transparently true to me. An honest man cannot be the hero of his own memoir.

Sometimes, at night, the demons come to play. The second guessings. In "The Lion in Winter" Henry Plantagenet says "My life, when it is written, will read better than it lived."

Get over yourself, Henry. It won't. Some will say you were a great king and a lousy person, some will say you were a lousy king and a great family man. (Whom? I don't know, but if the first true King of England lived today, I am sure Fox News' Rupert Murdoch would find a way to bilk to public consciousness of a little more money and a little more truth off of that illusion.)

So last night, until almost 4 in the morning, all the while knowing I would be rising at 7 am due to my schedule, I was trapped in a memory loop, replaying my lowest actions of the last decades (don't worry, they are all, in gory detail and proper self-flagellation, listed in my memoir, what sits virally, waiting for my silence, to launch itself upon the world). A brutal thing. To quote one of my better poetic lines, from "Virgin's Dawn", "Memory is the curse of those who care." I am afflicted, but not conflicted. People wonder why I keep "rescuing strays", helping people whom I know are disaster areas just waiting to add me to the carnage, and that is my main motive force. A guilty conscience drives a loaded wagon. Loaded with memory and regret.

Would I change the past, if the wish were offered. No. As that would tamper with the present and with truth. It would be remarkably selfish of me to try and transform the present to ease my own guilt.

Dwight Moody said that "Character is what you are in the dark" and I have allied myself with shadow a few times. Not as much as some, more than others, and with a photographic memory complete with the components of all the senses and emotion, that triggers every time I look in the mirror. I am a perverse doppelganger of Dorian Gray, seeing things in the mirror no one else will ever see, until I am gone and the mirror is unveiled.

The funny thing is, most of the things a few people hate me for are inaccuracies, and those will be revealed. We believe what is in our own best interest to believe, as we define self-interest. Most of the people I know who are the most virulent critics of the man I am, I find myself defending them to friends and family. I excuse ignorance and arrogance in others, when it is aimed at me. I guess that feeds a budding martyr complex.

And perhaps, that is even true for my dark conscience.

Saturday, July 08, 2006

eros versus pornos?

I am not a pornographer. I do not like the industry. Call it pornography, adult entertainment or what you will. I have met many people in and on the fringes of the business and my opinion has not changed since day one: It is an exploitive business. For every "adult film star" who makes a fortune at it there are thousands of wannabes who never make it and the only money ever seen is in the pockets of the producers and publishers. I've always said that Hugh Hefner is a pimp, just a successful one. And, to me, "pimp" is not a compliment.

That having been said, I find myself having to defend my decision to publish a volume of my more nakedly (pun intended) erotic poems. I see a great chasm of difference between an erotic poem or story and a photo or film.

In the first case, I am not requiring a stand-in. No wannabe actress or actor has to pose or playact to deliver the images. I was once accused of exploitation for allowing a lingerie-clad image of my second wife to appear on a book cover, and I see that point, and I apologize for that. That it was her notion, her desire, and her belief that not only would the image help the sales but the legitimacy of having done a book cover would help launch a modeling career stuck in perpetual neutral. Was I wrong to go along? Probably.

But the contents of the new book is the real issue here. I recall several years ago having been invited to address a Christian Writers group, then having the invitation rescinded upon closer examination of the "kind of" poetry I write. I defy anyone to find me one work in my published catalog, even after the release of "101 GREAT EROTIC POEMS" that is more deliberate, direct or obvious in its sexuality than The Song of Solomon, a book in The Holy Bible. And certainly the image of sex I present is healthier than the average beer commercial. Hell, than the average soda commercial.

This is my final defense of this notion, that somehow sexuality is and of itself a bad thing. A close associate of mine the other day challenged the notion that "all things are from God" and stated that some are from Satan. I reject that, in totality. Only God created things, by means and processes only available to God. It is our corruption of those things created of God, perhaps under the influence of a satanic element (I think of "the devil" as God's prosecuting attorney, whose job it is to trip us up and prove us unworthy) that create evil.

In a perfect world, only married couples would have sex. Last time I checked, with us invading foreign countries in the name of peace, media tycoons getting rich encouraging an increased polarization and loss of real values, the ice caps melting, the rich getting richer while the poor get poorer and self-proclaimed ministers driving BMWs, I don't see a perfect world. I hope that my works are never abused or misused or misconstrued as supportive of a lifestyle or activity that is exploitive of others.

But I do plan to teach the world a thing or two about eroticism, this August. So help me, God. That's not an oath, but a request for moral support from the Divine in the contentious time to come.

Thursday, July 06, 2006

putting things in perspective

I am most gratified by the broad range of new people I am encountering on MySpace...quite nice. I may have been hyper-hasty in my judgement of that hub of web activity. Their words of encouragement are welcome, and the reaction to the "songs" I have posted is solidly supportive.

The curiosity to see some of the previously unreleased works to be in "101 GREAT EROTIC POEMS" is fun to witness, although it does amp up the pressure to make it all perfect. But then, I always liked pressure.

I haven't heard from Tag in a few days, perhaps he is busy pimping his book. I will have to check in with him when my schedule allows.

Next week is my parent's 54th wedding anniversary, the week after that my boys turn 13. The middle of the month after that, you have my birthday. And the middle of September brings the birthdays of both of my ex-wives AND my daughter's wedding.

And the band played on...

the tenor clears his throat

Some minor problems with my email filters, so if you're trying to reach me today, you might experience a slight delay in my response...usually these events are short-lived and do not result in undelivered mail, just delayed mail...so be patient.

It's amazing how a combination of exhaution and testosterone can affect (effect?) you. I was punch drunk by late last night, but it felt good to unwind. I don't drink. Never really have (on my second honeymoon, my now ex-wife demanded I share a drink...I took a mouthful of the offered champagne and, finding it as nasty to the taste as expected (alcohol to me tastes of death and decay) spat it in the sink...maybe that set the pace for the marriage?) so the giddyness of being truly tired is as close as you can get to seeing me soused.

I have received some feedback on "An American Father"...as expected, highly polarized. That's good...at least some of you out there still have passions. Just wait, I have only tested my muscles with a few sotto voce flexes of thought...the sledge of Hephaestus is still sitting idle...to be swung with Olympian fury in a rapidly approaching future. To quote from Pierre Choderlos de Laclos, "One does not applaud the tenor for clearing his throat." It has been too long since I truly flexed my mind, and waiting for a worthy muse has been a sad excuse for the delay.

My apology.

I have tested myself and find myself a shadow of the light I have been and will be again, so I am pushing myself harder, farther, faster.

And, yes, Pam. I have lost about thirty pounds on my diet, but I have much yet to lose. So the excuse of being out of shape fades.

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

July 5th and all is...well?

Busy month now already 5 days in...this month my boys, Elric and Dante, have their 13th birthday(s). I have to put the book "101 GREAT EROTIC POEMS" to bed (pun intended). I've got a few million side projects, most literary and audio, that I am involved with, including the planning of "The Compleat Panther Poetry Read". The podcasts and blog go on. And, in theory, I am developing a life.

Took my time getting there, hm? Not there, yet. But getting there. Updates on that as I feel like it. I am still on an editing versus writing kick, too much to do to indulge my soul in catharsis. Old wounds have at least scabbed over and the re-entry of my daughter, Peri, into my life has been has been of some soothing aspect.

I will survive. I will prosper. I will take it up a notch. Because...that is my nature.

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

World record poetry reading for charity

We have begun negotiations to set up the total read of THE COMPLEAT PANTHER CYCLES in association with Barnes & Noble. The premise, to be clarified and verified later, once final plans are perfected, is this:

There will be a reading, by the poet (myself), of the entirety of the book, in a single sitting, for purposes of establishing a definable record for a single poetry reading. There will be, in accordance with generally established guidelines, a regular break afforded the poet during that reading (normal is 5 minutes per hour). This reading will include the forewords and annotations.

Copies of this book, THE COMPLEAT PANTHER CYCLES, and others by the author will be available for sale at the site. The actual, physical volume which the poet uses for the reading will be signing, certified and sold at auction to raise money for a charity to be defined prior to the event.

As plans evolve I will keep you up to date.

An American Father

I wrote this poem three years ago, expressing the thoughts of a father, such as myself, at the notion of one of my sons perhaps growing up to be the avatar for some arrogant or ignorant politician, who would seek to send him into harm's way for his own purposes. I got a lot of email on it, I expect more this time, on this reprint.

On a day, this Fourth of July, when Americans are supposed to be celebrating their freedom from tyranny, we forget that this battle is ongoing, and not just overseas, not just against foreign powers or terrorist organizations, but also against those who would, from the inside, wrap themselves in the flag, pound their pulpits and pervert the words and sacrifices of martyrs of past generations, to their own ends.

An American Father

I did not raise my child to be
the fodder for your fight,
to be the blood to wet the sands
or prove that might makes right.

I did not raise my child to be
a marker on the board,
my spawn the pawn of coward's brawn,
the chaff beneath the sword.

I did not raise my child to be
less than those you love,
I did not raise my child to be
the slaughtered, bartered dove.

Tell me why my child must die
to prove that you are brave,
to prove that you are noble
to prove tis peace we crave.

I did not raise my child to be
a number or a cross,
a memory in a photograph
of loving father's loss.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

In this time, we are the peace gods of a misplaced religion. To Cindy Sheehan, and everyone in these times called to serve and die, or who have lost loved ones, I, as an American, thank you for your sacrifice, and hope that one day, rich men will learn that poor men's lives are worth as much their children, that truth is more powerful than lies and secrecy, that might doesn't make right, it merely corrupts people into thinking they are right.

I am a patriot because I believe in the principles of America, not necessarily its leaders.

Monday, July 03, 2006

In between the days

I had a perfectly lovely sit down with my friends Alan and Deb yesterday, after my second viewing of "An Inconvenient Truth". We discussed many things, including creative projects (Alan assisted in the creation of my CD THE LAST ROMANTIC VERB and is one of the finest musicians, engineers and real-world music theorists I know, the project, indeed even my podvasts, would ot have come to be without his knowledge and wisdom).

Today will be a jungle of a day, with me looking at a full 16 hours until I can rest...9 am to midnight I have things planned. Yeah, I know.

Lots to do tomorrow...but that's tomorrow.

Later, all.

Sunday, July 02, 2006

the MySpace works

I was stirring the mix at my MySpace site and decided to change the available sound files, so I did.

I added "Erotic V", off of THE LAST ROMANTIC VERB - it adds some spice and a long form piece to the mix. With an evolving musical tapestry, poems from the amusing (Lust Bunnies) to the blatantly erotic (Feral With Desire) and the amazing backing vocals by the Selke, it is a lust-tinged treat. At about 11 minutes in length, it makes for a nice background.

This goes with "Love Gods Multivox" which I just added yesterday. I had fun with this one, recording a half-dozen different readings of my approach to "Love Gods of a Forgotten Religion", then layering them. With filters to various tracks, you hear a spectrum of voices, each interpreting the work slightly differently, adding their own rhythm and inflection. It works. The you have the harp-like guitar and the ceramic drums backfilling and you have a strangely primitive chant of the work, almost like a gathering of priest and priestesses (or gods and goddesses) contemplating their role in the tapestry of love.

Remaining is "The Gods of Love, Live at Kyrienar". Who could refuse that work? Three poems, in a virtual concert, with driving music and an appreciative crowd...when they roar their approval of the line from "TRANSCENDENCE" - "and raises high the last romantic verb..." I get chills. That poem has been a great comfort to me. Originally written as a "screw you" to the Panther, it stood me well in more recent disaffections.

And finally, we get "NQ" - my hip hop take on "The Nosferatu's Quandry". You can dance to it, it is designed for that. Well, actually, it was set to the natural rhythm of the human reproductive system. Yes, it is timed to sex. You have a problem with that?

And referring back to yesterday's rant about global warming. I am reminded, when people talk about the potential for economic slowdown if we keep everyone from dying horribly: Elaine Boosler used to do, in her standup routine, a bit about public service announcements during the early days of the AIDS crisis, telling people to wear condoms because "It's not worth dying for"...her response was "The hell it isn't"...she'd point out you should be telling people to wear a condom so they can "Have sex for years to come"...

To those Captains of Industry who want to say "Screw you' to the American people and the people of the world, just remember, if we survive this situation, you can continue to abuse and exploit us for your own immoral and avaricious means for years to come...(Or as Charlton Heston said so ably in "The Ten Commandments": "This is a brick. Hungry slaves make few. Dead slaves make none.")

Saturday, July 01, 2006

a friendly note from the Amomancer

Sometimes you have to put aside your own issues for the larger benefit. I have spent my life trying to do right by people, often sacrificing my time, energy, sanity and wealth in an attempt to do the right thing.

Now, I'm putting aside my personal issues for a brief time to raise some very important issues. Well, one issue. Global warming.

Whether or not you have found it in you to believe in it prior to now, you don't have much choice. The existence of a skeptic does not change the temperature, the damage that we have wrought and brought and caught ourselves up in for the sake of commerce and folly.

Go see the movie "An Inconvenient Truth". Go to their website at www.climatecrisis.net and investigate the painful truth, that we must address this issue. It may already be too late to stop it, but we may be able to prepare for it.

Argue all you want about your priorities, but all of the things you want for yourself are meaningless in a dead world. They won't be here for you, you won't be here to enjoy them, and it is the coming generations who will have to suffer while our greed, avarice and ignorance has damned them.

Get off your ass and get involved. I, for one, will not support a candidate for public office, from this point forward, who does not accept the reality of global warming and does not embrace the necessity and urgency of our actions. I ask you to take that pledge with me.

Find out which of your state and federal officials running this fall is concerned enough to act, concerned enough about something other than loyalty to their party (which has no standing under the US Constitution) and backing or attacking a lame duck Pretendent in the White House.

Vote. For sanity. For survival.

Love Gods Multivox

Me, again. His Royal Poeticness is still of a mood to avoid human contact. He is really around the bend and down the street, emotionally.

He did, however, permit the release of a new "single". It is a curious piece, a "multivox" of "Love Gods fo a Forgotten Religion"...

you can listen to it at MySpace.

And, yes, those are all him, run through various filters...I am not sure how many times he recorded the poem...I counted at least five or six different readings...

I find it strangely compelling, truly weird. I have no idea when he recorded it, it would not surprise me to find out he did it today.

Oh, Nordette, I was merely taken off editing the newsletter...

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